Tag Archives: Fun

Day Thirty … Riding Low And Getting High

Yesterday I went for a bike ride.  For a guy who says that he’s going to ride his bicycle across Canada next summer and who’s been driving ta-pocketa across most of Canada this time, it’s strange that this was the first time he’s been on the seat this trip.  I rode some when Jody was sick and after she died, but not much.  I used to have a problem when I didn’t ride.  It was a “positive addiction”, a term that some author coined.  Hmm … the seasons of a life.

A month ago back in Union, I convinced myself that I’d go for a ride after every day’s drive.  Well so much for that idea.  I was tired from my hours behind the wheel.  Instead of the asphalt, I’d head to ye local pub for too much nachos and too much beer.  During the day, however, I never had too much ice cream, especially chocolate peanut butter waffle cones.  The net result of all this indulgence has to be a weight gain in the 5 to 10 pound range.  A mite blimpy I’ve become.

Ta-pocketa urged me yesterday to ride east of Longview on a fairly level road.  A few little rises but nothing to write home about.  It felt good for awhile moving the legs and floating over the land.  Then I started panting on those uphills.  I thought back to all the 100 kilometer rides I’ve done over the years and asked where that Bruce had gone.

I limped back home after a 12 k ride.  And I was sad.  I know I can get back to good fitness but I didn’t have it yesterday.  I watched myself getting depressed and then decided that pooping on me is not what I’m up to in life.  If I’m to love people and be good to them, I need to have all my resources available to me.  So I declare the beginning of my return to fitness.  Ta-pocketa, will you help me with this?

Late yesterday afternoon, our family took a long car ride into the foothills to a picnic spot that Lance loves.  Towering fir trees smelled so good and sounded so good in the breeze.  Ham and cheese sandwiches, potato chips and watermelon, followed by slingshot aiming at rocks and trees across the Sheep River.  I was the least skilled of the slingshotters but who cares?  We laughed and enjoyed each other’s company.  Ember too.  On the way home towards sunset, we saw three deer, two bighorn sheep and one elk.  So cool.

Back at the hacienda, we watched two episodes of “Just For Laughs Gags”.  One skit had a homeless man asking passerby if they had any money.  As they tried to scurry away, he placed $100 in their hand.  Oh so funny.  In another one, victims were persuaded to bring balloons and a bottle of champagne to some deserving person behind a curtain, only to find people gathered around a casket.  They took one looked at the deliverer and started crying.  Oh my.

So a roller coaster day it was.  Lots of thrills and chills.  The yin and the yang.  The up and the down.  The alpha and the omega …  Okay, Bruce.  They get the message.  Stop already.

***

As we contemplate the glories of today’s visit to LaserQuest in Calgary (no doubt a major workout), the last word belongs to Lance:

“May the Force be with you”

Day Twenty-Six … Back Home Again

To be clear, I’m 3200 kilometres from Union, Ontario, but I’ve arrived at my second home.  Lance, Nona, Jaxon, Jagger and Jace have thoroughly welcomed me.

On Saturday, Holly and I had a sweet goodbye hug on her driveway.  As I waved to her smiling face, I was already turning toward the kids who are the closest thing I have to children of my own.  I knew we’d have fun for the next two weeks.

First though, it was back to Bruce and Isabelle’s place in Calgary for an afternoon visit.  Bruce served me tea and I munched on banana bread and apple slices as we talked.  Isabelle told me of her oldest daughter Andrea who once upon a time felt moved to go to India.  She came back the richer for it.  Andrea moved to Edmonton for school (either college or university) and gradually adopted another mom, this one of East Indian origin.  Isabelle said she was genuinely happy that her daughter was close to this woman, who would be looking out for Andrea in the far north.  (Okay, that was exaggeration: Edmonton is only three hours away from Calgary.)

Now here’s where my memory is doing tricks on me.  It was either Andrea’s graduation or her wedding and both moms were present.  The first person she went to after the ceremony was her Indian mother.  Andrea knelt down and kissed both of her feet.  Isabelle shared that she was sad that her daughter hadn’t come to her and kissed her feet.  And there we have it, another one of those bittersweet moments that life presents to us.  We want to be the most important person in someone’s life and yet we try to let go and rejoice in the loved one’s relationship with another.  So not black-and-white.

Goodbye, Isabelle and Bruce (after they took me out for a delicious meal at an authentic Indian restaurant).  My nose was turning to Longview, less than an hour south.

I had imagined the moment of arrival on the driveway.  I would get out of Scarlet wearing my “Shine A Light Upon My Day” T-shirt (yellow print on red).  That’s one of my favourite lines from Nona’s poetry.  All together, I’d had three of them immortalized on shirts.  I told her that months ago but I was hoping she’d forgotten the conversation.  Oh, I love moments of surprise!  Anyway, I could see Nona walking down the driveway, seeing the message, and being totally startled.  However … it was cold on Saturday and I had my coat on.  Hugs from everyone awaited in the hallway.  Nice.  Nona went to sit on a kitchen chair and I took my coat off.  I moved to stand in front of her.  (No, Bruce, You’re wrecking the surprise.)  Well, I couldn’t resist.  Nona’s eyes were going everywhere except my shirt.  “Stop staring at me.”  Finally I pointed at the poetry and she gave me a little smile.  She doesn’t like to talk about her achievements.  Oh well.  Today I’m wearing “Lovely Is Your Heart” (white on black).  I wonder if Nona will say anything.

We sat around the dining room table in the evening, eating watermelon.  Young Mr. Jace (age 8) started in on me about raisins.  He’s had fun on previous visits bugging me about my intense distaste for the noxious little wrinkled things.  “They’re just dried grapes,” someone said.  Great, now it’s a whole family thing.  Jaxon (age 14 in a few days) thoughtfully placed three of the offending objects on my placemat while I was trying to consume the watermelon.  Just as thoughtfully, I lifted my plate and plunked it down on the beasts.  And on we went, with smiles all around … except for me, that is.  I’ve made feigned revulsion into an art form.  Good family fun.

Jaxon came up to me and said he had read Jody’s book.  I’m glad he did.  I was tempted to ask “Did you like it?” but I’ve learned not to go there.  People will volunteer their reactions if they choose to.  I told Jaxon how very much I miss Jodiette.  He said that he misses Aunt Jody too.  It was a quiet moment.

And then there’s the sixth member of the Doram family – Ember, their fuzzy black cocker spaniel.  Driving down from Calgary, I wondered if she would remember me.  After all, it’s been three years.  As I made the hugging rounds, the little fur ball was bouncing at my feet.  “Hi, Ember!  Do you remember me?”  I’d say the answer is yes.  During the evening in the living room, Ember would often come over for rubs and lyings down but I wanted my little friend to go say hi to Jagger, Nona, Jaxon, Lance and Jace too.  And she did, some.  I guess I’m a novelty.

Here I sit two days later, on the same couch.  Nobody else is up yet.  It’s just Ember and me hanging loose.  Later, I’ll see if Jagger wants to do some proofreading with me, and whether he wants to compose a final blog comment.  And now for some toast and coffee.

***

Jaxon was upstairs and Jagger was down so I asked Jaxon if he wanted to proofread again.  He said yes.  And now … here’s Jagger!

“I don’t know.  You’re never too old to have fun.”

Day Twenty-Four … Just Us Guys

Late Wednesday evening, I was on the last leg of a very long day from Longview, Washington to Clark Fork, Idaho.  I was the only car on the secondary highway east of Sandpoint and it was dark.  I was pooped.  Then I heard the sound.  It seemed to come from inside me, and then all around me.  A low groan, not human.  It was a spaceship!  Momentarily I would be abducted into the bowels of the beast, where skinny little grey guys would start doing unspeakable experiments on my innocent body.  The noise got louder and then stabilized … to my right.  I looked over there and all I saw was black.  Suddenly, a string of lights rose up and a train blasted past me in the opposite direction.  Whew!  No internal organ inspection today.  The tracks had been way below the level of the highway and hidden by trees, but then they climbed up, revealing the terrors.  I got to the motel shaken but still in possession of all my limbs and digits.

I slept the sleep of the dead and knew that coffee would be the solution to my traumas.  The gentleman at the front desk said there was a café just down the street, so off I went.  I walked through the door of the Cabinet Mountain Bar and Grill wearing my “I’m The Crazy Uncle Everyone Warned You About” T-shirt and yellow short shorts.  Three guys in outdoor work clothes looked up from their table.  “So you’re an uncle.  Nice shirt.”  “Yeah, it’s pretty cool.  My sister-in-law and brother-in-law gave it to me.”  A little smile in return.  They returned to their conversation and I perused the menu.  I read about sports in Bonner County and news about kids who had entered 4H competitions.  One girl had raised a goat for meat and now it was hard to let him go.  I enjoyed the read, as well as my ham and eggs, hash browns and brown toast.

My friends across the way were engaging in topics of which I knew nothing.  “That offroad forklift handled the whole thing but geez it was expensive – 10000 bucks.”  And one fellow talked about how long it took to fill his swimming pool.  And then Person A at Table 1 started razzing Person D at Table 2.  D gave it back to A in spades.  And so the fun unfolded.  Our waitress bipped from table to table, smiling.  I had great fun.  Just normal people leading their lives.  The fact that I hadn’t had many of their experiences was irrelevant.  After my meal had mysteriously disappeared we all had a good talk, including how best to get from Clark Fork to Cranbrook, BC.  We blathered on about stereotypes.  I mentioned a trip I took through Southern Ontario and New York, where I assumed Canadian drivers would mosey along with me at the speed limit while as soon as I crossed into the States, Americans would tailgate me mercilessly.  So much for assumptions.  The reality proved to be just about the opposite.  I think the guys enjoyed my story.

Long later, after I had worked my way through Idaho, BC and Alberta, I was sitting in the kitchen of Ray Doram in Lethbridge.  Joy had gone to work.  Ray spun a tale about his dad Joe.  When Ray was 5 or so, he was looking up at the stars with dad.  “You know, son, the stars look even better when you see them through the sleeve of a coat.”  “Oh.”  “Let’s try it.”  And as young Ray gazed up through the tunnel of fabric at the silver dots, dear dad poured a pitcher of water down the hole!  Ray and I doubled over, him with a great memory, me with newbie astonishment.

So it was a day.  Plenty more to come.

Day Fourteen … Fired Up With Fun

Sometime I’m slow and mellow.  I figure I better be that way when I go on my long meditation retreat in the fall.  Other times – boys just want to have fun.  I’ve learned recently that my brand of humour often consists of lying to another person in a way that they know I’m kidding.  At least I hope they know.  People usually laugh.  And that’s what I want to do with the rest of my life, whether it’s five years or twenty-five.  Make then giggle.  Maybe when I’m withering away in some nursing home I’ll still be able to gather my forces and bring nurses’ mouths into an upright position.

Yesterday was a drive from Barriere, BC to Kamloops and over the mountains down to Vancouver.  Gosh, I’m having fun.  I’m not used to a six-lane freeway piercing the mountain grandeur at a speed of 120 kph (75 mph).  I just don’t want to drive that fast.  No prolonged worries on that score, however, because there was a series of red taillights ahead.  Gentle and not so gentle braking brought us all to a halt.  We were high up on a mountain slope, with the pines towering above us on the left.  The sky in front had a blob of smoke hanging in the air.  And that blob was getting bigger.  Within half an hour, it had enveloped us, but not dangerously so.  I could breathe in the subtle fumes just fine.  My small mind kept looking up to the left, with visions of flames crackling the tops of the trees and embers flying over the road to ignite the ones down the slope.  Oh, Bruce.  You’ve been watching too many movies.

In truth, we weren’t in danger.  But someone sure was.  Once we got moving, maybe an hour and a quarter later, I saw a burned out car on a flatbed truck.  The median was crisped for a few hundred metres.  Oh my God, I hope the folks in that car got out safe.

Back in time, there we stood – hundreds of travellers in and out of their cars.  I wandered over to the folks beside me, a couple from Calgary.  I told them that I was going to climb over the little barrier at the side of the road to take some pictures and asked them to watch Scarlet so that no one would steal her.  Lilian and Foluso laughed.  I then did what any normal human would do in our direless situation: I suggested we sing.  Lilian liked the idea and recommended “Jesus Loves Me”.  Sounded good to me so our duet rang above the vehicles nearby.  I think her husband was impressed …but I’m not exactly sure.

Next I shared that Scarlet has a special accessory which allows it to levitate over the short wall that separated westbound from east.  I could get in the other lanes and head back to where I’d come from.  (Strangely the traffic eastbound was unimpeded.  They were zipping away at 120.)  Anyway, Lilian and Foluso laughed again.

I was really feeling my oats now.  I moved over to the wall, stuck out my thumb, and hitchhiked.  “What’s wrong with these people?  No one’s even slowing down!”  Foluso, from the driver’s seat, just stared and grinned.  Truth is, I love it when people stare at me in … wonder?  Amusement?  Even disgust isn’t too shabby.  But I especially love the smiles and titters.

I’m now in Vancouver, waiting patiently for my ferry to Victoria to board.  I’ve found a parcel of shade so I can see what I’m telling you.  No Internet but thank you, Microsoft Word, for letting me do my thing and I can send it to you from the hotel tonight.  Makes me happy.

So … I’m officially caught up.  If I have the engerny tonight, I’ll let you know about the voyage through the Pacific waters to Vancouver Island, the seagulls who I trust will leap and spin to the foodstuffs I toss their way, and hopefully some fine soul whom I meet.  On we go.

I’m Glad I Did It

My life has been a flurry of activity the last few days.  Not exactly in tune with the meditative fellow that I see myself as.  But it’s good.

First there was SunFest.  I wanted to dance.  There were times after my tendon transfer surgery in 2003 that I thought I’d never dance again.  Last Sunday, though, I threw my body around for three hours, spaced out over the afternoon and evening.  Fast dancing, usually surrounded by more than a hundred other revellers.  I occasionally thought of my right foot.  “Bruce, you’re putting too much pressure on it with all your gyrating!  There’s a screw in that foot, you know.  If you don’t stop, you won’t be able to walk in five years.”  Or … “Bruce, you’re going golfing tomorrow.  You’d better forget dancing at the 10:00 pm show, and rest up.  Otherwise you won’t survive eighteen holes of walking.”  Such a small, squeaky voice.

I danced at the last show, once more to the group “Five Alarm Funk”.  Go ankle, go!  I gave ‘er, joyously, and then limped to Hugo, my Honda CRV.  The next day was hot and humid on the links and the whole body suffered.  As for my golf swing, it was a thing of … (something).  But I love Tarandowah – the rolling fairways, the deep bunkers, the tall fescue grass in the rough.  Despite my pain, I knew I was home.

Yesterday I limped, but I still went out to lunch with a friend, and to dinner with another.  Weeks ago, I had e-mailed all sorts of folks, asking them out for a meal, since I wouldn’t see them again until January.  I’m now in the home stretch of social engagements, with my estimated time of liftoff for the west being next Tuesday.  I’ve loved the conversations.  I’m certainly not tired of people, but I’m tired.

All good things, these dancings and golfings and yappings.  They make me happy.  Even my feet are singing a wee little bit.

Another Celebration of Life

In January, I hosted a Celebration of Life for my dear Jodiette at the Bellamere Winery in London.  It was a sweet couple of hours … chairs set up theatre-style, people coming to the front to talk about my loved one, music videos, a light buffet lunch afterwards.  Love filled the room.

This afternoon, I went to another Celebration of Life, at the International Hotel in Leamington, Ontario.  Jim Brundritt was a mailman, a jokester, and a rollicking good friend and dad.  His daughter Kym knew that a local bar was the perfect place for Jim’s celebration because he loved to party.  And the Jody Raffoul Band was rockin’ at the front of the room.

There I was, bellied up to the bar, playing table piano as Jody did his vocals.  I loved it.  Never missed a note.  And all around me were big smiles and multi-hugs.  Jim’s friends and family were out in force, and the biggest smile, I’m sure, belonged to the guest of honour.  Often Jody (of the he, not my darling she) would mention Jim, and the beer bottles were hoisted high.  Clink!  The wardrobe was mostly T-shirts and ball caps rather than the more formal dress at Jodiette’s day, but it was all the same … love and remembrance of a great human being.

I hugged Kym.  I drank beer.  And I played the keyboard until my fingers dropped off.  Here’s to you, Jim.  And here’s to my dear wife.  Maybe the two of them are jiving on that upper dance floor.

Restaurant Light

I’m quite partial to Wimpy’s Diner in St. Thomas.  I won’t admit to you how many seniors’ (Who me?) breakfasts I’ve consumed on Talbot St.

I was in London yesterday around supper time and decided to partake of Wimpy’s excellent Greek salad.  I knew the staff in St. Thomas.  Not so for London.  A young woman named Katie was my server.  She was so courteous, even calling me “sir” a few times.  She also arranged for me to receive eight black olives on my salad, virtually a world’s record.  After digesting the olives,romaine lettuce, onions, green peppers, tomatoes, cucumbers, feta cheese and Saturday’s edition of The London Free Press, I contemplated dessert.

Bruce to Katie:  Would it be decadent and excessive to have dessert after consuming such a large salad?

Katie to Bruce:  No, not at all.  It would be entirely appropriate (or words of that nature).

Bruce:  What kinds of pie do you have?

Katie:  (Blah, blah, blah), coconut cream, (Blah, blah)

Bruce:  If I had the coconut cream, do you think I’d be alive at the end of it all?

Katie:  Oh yes, I’m sure of it.

(Katie leaves to serve another customer)

(Katie returns)

Bruce:  I’ve decided to show moderation, in that eating pie right now would be seen by many as excessive.  So … I’ll have the coconut cream.

(Katie smiles)

(Katie returns with the biggest piece of pie I’ve had in this lifetime)

Katie:  I thought you deserved it.

(Bruce eating and eating and eating some more … pie mostly gone)

(Katie comes over)

Bruce:  Excuse me, miss.  I have a complaint.  You see that fellow over there in the next booth?  (I had been talking to him and his wife, and I was sure he was willing to play, as I knew Katie was)  He came over here, said that coconut cream looked awfully good, and proceeded to put his face in my pie, devouring almost all of it.  (Man smiles.)

Katie:  Well, that’s it.  The next time you two come into Wimpy’s, I’m seating you at opposite ends of the restaurant.

And so it went.  We all had fun.  Good people.

***

As Katie brought me the handheld machine for my MasterCard, I decided to ask her a question:

“My wife Jody died in November.  I wrote a book about what we experienced during the last year of her life.  I’m giving it away to anyone who’d like to read our story.  Feel free to say no, but would you like a copy?”

(Katie starts crying, and keeps crying for the rest of my visit at Wimpy’s)  “Yes.”

I go out to Hugo to get one of Jody’s books from the trunk.  I open the door of the restaurant.  Three servers – Katie, Robyn and Yasmin – are staring at me.  Katie continues to cry.  “May I have a copy?”  “Of course.”  “Me too?”  “Yes.”  And another trip to Hugo.

It’s all life.  It’s all love.  It’s all who we are.

Investment Journey

Jody and I bought shares of ATCO Gas in Alberta a few years ago.  I’ve wanted to buy some more.  Last week, I closed the joint account that we had with the brokerage TD Waterhouse and opened one of my own.  It was active as of Monday and my goal today was to buy 300 shares.  But it wasn’t totally easy.  If I delivered a cheque to TD today, it would take a day or two to clear and only then would I be able to do the trade.  Should I serenely wait or do all I can to make the purchase today?  Well, I had a goal, didn’t I?  So I went for it.

Going for it would mean withdrawing the cash from my credit union and plopping the money on TD’s counter.  Both institutions are in St. Thomas.  Then go home, phone the brokerage and consummate the deal.

Step number one: show up at the credit union.  “Having that amount of cash ready for you will take about two hours, sir.”  “Oh.  Okay.”  It was 11:00 am and I didn’t want to go home.  What to do?  In my driving wanderings of the past few days, I’d noticed a new asphalt walking path that led from Pinafore Park in the south part of town, north a few kilometres to downtown.  Oh, I love exploring.  So I parked at Pinafore and sauntered northward, trees to the left and trees to the right.  (“Hi, Jody!”)  It was lovely.  The sun was shining, the temp was a degree or two above zero Celsius, and the huge banks of snow from our recent storms were melting to beat the band.  Quiet little streams flowed over the asphalt, glistening.  And there were black wrought iron benches every 400 metres or so.

I sat.  I looked at Jody’s trees.  I talked to my dear wife.  I talked to many passersby, who seemed as delighted with the new path as I was.  And I thought of the snow.  Such a bad case of piles, all dripping away.  Slowly fading.  And in a week or two?  Perhaps nothing.  Just as in our lives … shining in the sun, big globs of energy, but slowly moving towards diminishment, and eventually disappearance.  I closed my eyes.

After much pleasurable dipsydoodling of the feet, here was Talbot St. and further along, a mom and pop eatery serving an all-day breakfast.  They even had those little containers of peanut butter for my toast.  I rested.  I ate slowly.  It was good.

Then off I ambled a few blocks to my credit union.  1:15.  Perfect.  A smiling young gentleman teller greeted me with “Hello, Mr. Kerr.  Your money is ready.”  After a few signings of this and countings of that, the cash found a home in an envelope and in my coat pocket.  “Bye.”

It was a 20-minute walk to the TD Bank.  Was I nervous?  Okay, a bit.  I hoped that I was walking normally – nice, relaxed gait, not too fast, not too slow.  Nothing to get potential criminals sniffing around.  Actually, I smiled a lot.  Never before had I walked the streets with such a load of moola.  Sort of exciting.  A bit James Bondish perhaps.  I heard the nervous voice inside … “Bruce, you should have driven to the bank” … but truly, who cares?

I found a few back streets between credit union and bank, and discovered new and rare snow sculptures on my way.  And I didn’t think the left breast of my coat was bulging at all.

In the front door I strode, like a wealthy industrialist from downtown Toronto.  The staff were very nice.  Fifteen minutes later, the delivery was complete.  More smiles.

I continued my loop trip and eventually made my way back to the wondrous path.  Still sunny, still dripping, still happy.  Half an hour later, I was with my trusty vehicle Hugo, and homeward we went.

I phoned the brokerage at 3:58.  The Toronto Stock Exchange closed at 4:00.  Too late.  Hmm.  But tomorrow is another day.  They open at 9:30.  I’ll be there.

Who knew investing could be such fun?

Up in the Air

“Some days are diamonds.”  So sang John Denver.  And I had one of those days just before Christmas.  It all happened at Costco.

I walked in feeling light and left the same way.  It’s such a mystery why this happens.  Mostly my life has been heavy lately, crying and crying for my wife Jody.  But then …

I walked over to the photo department, hoping to bug my friend Tara.  But she wasn’t working that day.  Instead I said hi to Melissa, a woman I hadn’t met before.  I was carrying my trusty chocolate waffle cone, and licking copious amounts of the good stuff.  Suddenly, with no thought involved, I threw the cone into the air,  I watched it peak at maybe twelve feet and come plummeting down … into my right hand.  Nice catch.  Part of the cone shattered and the ice cream flowed down my hand.  Another employee got a paper towel and offered me the use of their sink.  I just stood there, though, marvelling at what had happened.  I’m not interested in knowing why I did it.  I’m just happy that I did.  As for Melissa, she seemed fascinated with the moment.

Earlier I had been sitting at the snack bar, enjoying a hot dog and Diet Coke.  A woman sat at the next table, with her three young granddaughters.  After a few minutes of conversation,  I asked the older girls if they’d heard of the poem “Twas the Night Before Christmas”.  They said yes.  “Would you like me to recite it to you?”  Yes again.  I told them that I had learned to recite it really fast.  “Fast or slow?”  “Fast.”  And so I launched into Santa’s story.  My record is one minute and twenty-eight seconds.  The girls’ faces were full of antonishment, but nowhere near as much as grandma’s.  After a rip-roarin’ “And to all a good night”, it was smiles all around.  I’ve said the poem to thousands of kids and they always loved Speedy Twas.

Sooner rather than later, it was time to leave my blessed Costco.  There was a woman sitting at the front, collecting money for the Salvation Army, I think.  I made a contribution and got talking to her.  From out of the blue, a question poured from my mouth:  “Would you like to sing ‘O Canada’?”   She said yes.  So we serenaded the incoming and outgoing shoppers with our national anthem.  As I remember, no one smiled … except us!

And then it was off into the twilight, humming along.  An hour of ease and fun.  Would that all my days be so.

 

Just For Fun

I went to Costco today to pick up some meds for Jody, grab some groceries, and have my traditional hot dog and Diet Coke.  Only $1.60!  At the snack bar, I’m used to lining up on the left, telling one employee what I want, and then receiving the goods at the right end of the counter.  Well, that’s okay, but how about shaking things up a bit?  For a second, there was no lineup.  I entered on the right and gave my order to the staff person at the till, and then proceeded leftward.  I handed my ten dollar bill over a high display case to a woman who was preparing a baked prosciutto sandwich.  She vaguely reached out her hand to me before realizing that this was all wrong.  I moved to the far left end of the counter, waiting for someone to take my money. Meanwhile, two women wanted to start a line but were blocked by my stationariness.  Big smiles from them – they knew what was happening.  I scanned the employees’ faces and there was no shortage of smiles there either.  Boy, that was fun.

I’d like to say it was the first time I’d done something weird like this, but that would be an untruth.  In 1986, I was a waiter at Fiddler’s, a high end restaurant in Lethbridge, Alberta.  One Sunday afternoon, at a staff party, we decided to have a slow pitch game in a local park.  My turn at bat.  Just for fun, I hit the ball to the outfield and ran like hell to third base.  Seeing the left fielder still chasing the ball, I turned the corner and sprinted for second. Now the fielder was up and throwing.  Faster than a speeding bullet, I motored to first base and slid under the tag of my astonished opponent.  I stood up, brushed myself off, and grinned.  Some of my teammates were laughing.  The more competitive types were glaring.  But heck, it’s called a “game”, isn’t it?

Eleven years later, I got a part-time teaching job at an elementary school.  As well as my main duties, I had to cover a Grade 1 class for one period a week. Usually I read the kids a story.  They’d fan out in front of me on the carpet, and I’d rock contentedly in the teacher’s chair.  One day, I picked a book whose story I knew well.  I turned the book upside down and started “reading”, flipping the pages with authority.  Most kids looked pretty blank. But a young boy named Paul in the front row started pointing at the book. “No, no, Mr. Kerr.  The book is upside down!”  “That’s okay,” I replied, and kept on with the story.  Poor Paul.  Some week later, I branched out.  I opened the book to the last page, and read sentence by sentence from back to front.  Totally incomprehensible, but such a good time.  Even Paul, who stood up, pointed and protested, eventually enjoyed the show.

Is there some deep meaning in what I did?  Probably not.  But why are my memories of these three moments so rich and indelible?