Tag Archives: Travel

On The Rails Again

Well, not quite.  It’s 10:16 am and my train for Toronto leaves at 11:00.  I’m an early bird in the London Via Rail station and wireless is working.  It’s a two-hour trip and I’ve decided to sit at the window with my laptop on top of my lap, and just record what I see and what I think about it.  Sort of stream-of-consciousness.  I bet it’ll be fun!

Only about ten passengers waiting and it looks like all of us are attached to our electronics.  No meditators in sight.  Outside, it’s a sunny day with some fresh snow.  Should be a February wonderland as we float over the fields and through the woods.  See you in an hour or so.

***

Okay, it’s me again.  We’re rolling across farmlands lightly dusted with brilliant snow, just east of London.  The flags are flapping madly … guess that will mean major wind chill between the towers of downtown Toronto.  My search for deer has begun.  Hope springs eternal.

***

I think of Jody’s words:  “I am all trees, Bruce.  I welcome you everywhere.”  And here’s a woodlot with bare branches reaching to the sky.  All trees.  My wife.  I can see through the lot to the field beyond.  I love vertical things.  They remind me of Spirit.

***

The train’s whistle seems far away.  Takes me back to my childhood, sitting on the porch of grandpa’s farm, listening to his stories, while a steam locomotive crosses right to left a couple of miles over the fields.  How easily I slip into the past.

***

We’re stopped in Woodstock.  Three old railway cars painted orange are on a siding, welcoming visitors to the city.  Murals include rolling fields, an ancient locomotive, and animals wearing sunglasses peering out from their train windows.  Very cool.

***

Now it’s a tunnel feeling.  The land is sloping upwards on either side of the tracks.  My nearby horizon is filled with the silhouettes of deciduous trees and sumac bushes.  Sculptures against the sky.

***

A Brantford residential street floats by.  Some fine old homes, large and small, facing the daily schedule of trains.  Do the residents become oblivious to the noise?  How well would I deal with transient eyes evaluating my porch and yard?

***

Now we’re parked at the station.  A high metal freight car sits to my left.  Suddenly my train starts reversing madly!  Faster and faster.  My mind knows that this isn’t happening but my heart’s not convinced.  Finally the track to the left is clear as the freight train pulls ahead.

***

I yearn to write about wildlife spotted but alas, nary a wolf or chipmunk so far.  The truth wins.  Maybe there’ll be no outside creatures on this trip.  A huge part of me wants to see life out there.  But you can’t always get what you want (so says Mick).

***

A highway parallels us.  The cars are going faster than the train.  I want it to be the other way around.  I want to come first!  But another part of me is welcoming the way it is.  I wonder how many facets of me there really are.

***

There’s a field of yellow school buses.  Just think of all the kids those vehicles have transported over the years.  And so many of those children are now adults.  So many stories in those lives.

***

Now we’re in an industrial park.  Big trucks backed up against loading docks.  A huge pile of broken concrete slabs.  Rectangular buildings that all look the same.  And a tall rectangular smokestack that looks like it’s from a science fiction movie.  No human beings in sight.

***

Onwards from Oakville to Toronto.  I pass lots of backyards full of kids’ toys, a few covered swimming pools, back porches for talking.  Here’s a schoolyard with remnants of snowmen.  Parking lots full to the brim.  An American flag draped over the railing of a deck.  Now fancy condos, more vertical than horizontal.  A sleeping golf course drizzled with snow.  Back to industrial and pastel graffitis, such as “Loser Shop”.  Huge earthmoving machines with their massive buckets … and I realize I don’t even know what to call them.  Steam shovels?  Front end loaders?  Clearly, I would be left far behind in any construction conversations.

***

The friendly announcer says we’re ten minutes away from Union Station in Toronto.  Time to shut this post down.  Thanks for being here.  It has been fun.

Personal Training

I worked out with my trainer today.  Marcin pushes me a lot and this afternoon was no exception.  We’ve decided that I need to be “fierce”, absolute gritting-the-teeth determined to complete all the reps.  I seem to growl inside towards the end of most exercise sets.  And I’ve never experienced myself as a growler.  At times since Jody’s death, I’ve let myself fall into “poor me” … a woefully weak energy and lack of engagement with life.  Strength training brings me back from that malaise.  Today Marcin wanted me to do bicep curls with a 45-pound bar.  I tried the first rep and nothing happened – the bar stayed at my waist.  I was appalled.  Marcin, however, was unperturbed.  “I’ll help you get the first one up.”  And he did.  Then I got going, with the occasional wee bit of help from my very fit friend.  “I’m doing it!  How is this possible?”

I’ve had enough of comparing myself to others and finding the composer of these posts wanting.  So Marcin and the other well-muscled gents in the gym are on their own path of development.  I’m on mine.  Sure, he assisted me some with that bar, but look what I did – 45 pounds.  Not so long ago, I thought 20 was an achievement.  I want to be strong.  When I’m 80, I want to be mobile.  I’m on the way.

Meditation brightens the moment, often with a sublimely peaceful energy.  Lifting weights also focuses me on the present, but with a completely different energy.  I’m so happy that I have both in my life.

***

I’ve decided to create some vacations for myself.  Two months ago, with no lovely woman in my life, I decided to go to Toronto for three days … alone.  No sense in just sitting at home and sighing.  So tomorrow morning, I’m riding the train, then staying in a hotel downtown, then going to three folk music concerts over the next few days.  There’s no way that I’m going to relegate adventure, discovery and joy to the past.

So off I go.  I love the window seat, looking out at the world without having to watch for traffic.  Searching for deer in the fields that lie far from any road.  Watching for the treasures that show up in backyards and industrial sites.  Other worlds.  I hope someone cool sits down beside me and that we have a groovy conversation about life.  And the train can be my vehicle for all this wonder.

***

I’ll let you know about tomorrow when tomorrow is done.

Day Forty-Three … The End of the Road

I got home at 2:30 this morning, after thirteen-and-a-half hours of driving from Eau Claire, Wisconsin.  There were trees.  There were fields.  But all I saw was home approaching.  Way after dark, the freeway narrowed to one lane each way, with miles of orange pylons showing the way for Scarlet and my tailgating semi-trailer friend.  I grabbed the wheel hard and then saw the futility of such behaviour.  Let go, Bruce.  Hold life lightly.

And I do hold my trip with tenderness.  All the astonishing people I met or remet.  All the cool conversations.  What does it all mean?  Well, one thing it means is that I’m meant to be around human beings, rather than retreating to a monastery for endless bliss.  I’m meant to learn from my fellow orbiters on the planet Earth.  To see their beauty and their pain and to accept it all.  And I’m meant to boldly go where I have not gone before, within both the interior and exterior landscapes.

In eleven days, I begin a long period of silence in Massachusetts.  I’ll be surrounded by 100 fellow retreatants.  What will I offer them, as we each reach towards the deeper meanings of life?  I don’t know.  The journey of connection will continue.  Last month’s mountains and prairie and next month’s fields and woodlots will be equally marvelous, but will pale in comparison to the human souls who will dance across my stage.

It’s such a privilege to be out and about.  Sadly, the second season of my travels will not be accompanied by nightly blog posts.  Just me and my body, me and my soul.  But I will reach you somehow.

I hope you’ve enjoyed my six-week road trip.  I couldn’t have done it without you.  Stay with me for part two, please.

Day Forty-Two … Driving Hard For Home

I left Henry and Louise’s place in Weyburn, Saskatchewan at 10:30 am yesterday.  I rolled into the motel in Eau Claire, Wisconsin at 12:48 am.  Allowing for the time zone change and maybe one hour for eats and gas, I was driving for 12 hours.  Oh Bruce, you silly goose.  When I was planning this trip a couple of months ago in the comfort of my man chair, I thought “Three days to get home from Lance’s.  No sweat.”  Wrong.

I decided that the wilds of North Dakota and Minnesota would be perfect for listening to Ken Wilber non-stop.  He’s a spiritual teacher whom I really like.  So I enjoyed about 9 hours of Ken and me.  He has so many cool ideas.  Here’s just one:

Ken talks about “The Pre/Trans Fallacy”.  His contention is that in our rational world, some people assume that anything non-rational is basically infantile, not allowing for the possibility that some behaviours outside of rational may come from a higher level of consciousness than the thinking mind.  So … I’ve been trying to convince myself that what I often do with supermarket cashiers is the epitome of maturity.  (By the way, I pronounce that word “e-pi-toe-m”, just for fun.)  When it’s time for my debit card, I plug it into the machine, which I then hold to my ear like a phone.  A brief but impactful conversation with my mother then ensues.  “Hey mom.  How are the clouds today … cirrus? … cumulus?”  I’m sure you can detect the evolved being right away.  Anyway, it’s fun, whether pre or trans.

Blissing out on Mr. Ken, I also had to embrace the world of semi-trailers and hills.  After dark, east of Minneapolis, and fortified with a cup of coffee, I was still fading some.  It felt like the road ahead was one endless hill, for at least half an hour.  Maybe it was, or perhaps my mind had created a vision of upwardness.

Earlier, knowing that a midnight arrival was likely, I passed lots of vehicles and was usually 10 kph over the speed limit.  Neither of those choices were “me”, or so I thought, but maybe I should expand my definition of Bruceness.  In the late evening, I had no more oomph for passing so I quietly stayed behind a climbing (?) semi for many miles.  Oh, for another coffee, but there was no neon until I took the exit in Eau Claire.

As you can tell from the existence of this e-mail, I made it.  And I’ll make it again today.  According to Google Maps, I’m 11 hours and 6 minutes from my home in Union, Ontario.  Plus another time zone change.  And the possibility of a border delay.  I better get going.

Tomorrow morning, I’ll write my last road trip blog post.  It’s bittersweet.  I’ve sure enjoyed talking to you cyber folks.

Day Forty-One … Leaving and Laughing

The day before I left Longview, Nona, Lance and I sat down with bins of jewelry, dishes and crystal.  These were items that Jody had bequeathed to the family.  Especially hard were my dear wife’s necklaces, bracelets and rings.  We all gulped and sighed in our sadness, but also smiled to see Jody’s love of bling, of funky shapes and colours.  That’s my wife.  I love you, Jodiette.

Yesterday morning, I hugged all six of my family members and told them that I loved them, starting with Ember outside in the yard.  The doggie was bouncing around, her nose to the wind, but then came over and sat beside me for a short petting.  We’re friends.

Jaxon, Jagger and Jace had located in my car, which was a trick since it’s so full of stuff.  It looked like I was going to have to take them all home with me.  Finally to have kids.  Jace’s hug was very long and sweet.  The boys sat on the lawn and said silly things as I backed Scarlet out of the driveway.  Then they raced after me on the street as we left Highwood Drive.  Such sadness on the leaving but I will be with them all again.

It would be a 9-hour drive to my friends Henry and Louise in Weyburn, Saskatchewan.  Around lunch time (How convenient!) I rolled into Eleanor and Cam’s place east of Lethbridge.  They’re Jody’s aunt and cousin.  I sat on their deck a month ago and enjoyed a Mike’s Pink Hard Lemonade.  A few days ago, I had talked to Cam on the phone and discreetly requested another one of those cool coolers.  And Cam came through for me.  Plus I got to have a delicious home-cooked meal of chicken and corn-on-the-cob.  Gosh, I’ve been treated royally on this trip.

The three of us sure laughed a lot.  Cam started talking about my alleged Buddhist powers.  Apparently I can levitate and travel vast distances in no time at all.  News to me.  In ten days, I’m taking the Greyhound to Massachusetts.  But I went with it, my ego floating high on the possibilities of specialness.  Except the Buddha would say just be ordinary and realize that within each of us resides the extraordinary.

Eleanor told us that she’d seen the Dalai Lama interviewed on TV:

Q:  How is it, sir, that you’ve gained so much knowledge about leading a life?

A:  It’s all bullshit!  (Giggling and bouncing up and down)

To which the three of us collapsed in spasms of mirth.

The road was long but I like driving.  Near Maple Creek, Saskatchewan, I drove by a pond whose surface was partially encrusted with white.  And the shoreline was often piled with white.  My mind said “salt” but truly I don’t know.  Driving by that spot was like much of my life:  Normal … Normal … Normal … What the heck is that? … Normal … Normal …

It was about an hour-and-a-half from Moose Jaw to Weyburn.  Two lane road.  Dark.  Tired.  Semi-trailers approaching.  I was some scared but also felt a strange confidence.  I know that Jodiette is always with me.  “I shelter you, Bruce.  I protect you.”  Thank you, my dear.

I got lost in Weyburn but actually that’s one thing I really enjoy in life.  It often means that I get to talk to new people but last night I meanderingly figured it out myself.

Henry plied me with rum drinks and Louise with little cheese and spinach ooverdoovers as we talked about everything and nothing.  Henry brought out a small bottle of liqueur, in the shape of a naked woman.  I was encouraged to rub all the appropriate body parts (knees, elbows …) but naturally I demurred.  But I sure like the feel of smooth glass!  I wasn’t drunk but I was certainly well lubricated.  Henry and I sang “Home On The Range” and I favoured my friends with animal sounds, especially the rooster and chicken.  Oh my, we tittered and gorped.

Henry and Louise are such fine people.  They love each other quadruple oodles and laugh together easily.  It’s another home for me.

Two extremely long days to home.  Tonight I’m in a motel in Eau Claire, Wisconsin – a 12-hour drive from here, plus an hour for the time zone change.  Sounds like a midnight arrival.  Oh well.  More fun.  I’ll see you tomorrow morning

Day Forty … Quiet Times

Just sitting around at home, or better said, my home away from home.  I feel accepted as a brother, without the “in-law” tacked on.  Also as an uncle, even though I’m 50 years older than the kids.  Several times during our trip, servers have identified me as “grandpa” and who am I to complain?  I like it.

If you look at a lifetime through the lens of a year, I wonder where I am?  It feels like October.  All those bright fall colours.  I don’t get that I’m buried in snow and cold, even though the white stuff is lovely when it glistens in the sun.  But I wonder what I’ll be feeling like on New Year’s Eve.

I was watching women’s golf on TV yesterday afternoon, trying to suppress my obsession with Canadian golfer Brooke Henderson.  I was comfy in a black leather chair.  I expect that Jace doesn’t like TV golf, but here he comes to snuggle up to me.  We watched several holes that way.  I felt like dad.

Later, Jaxon came over to me as I sat on the couch.  He leaned over and gave me a hug.  The boys and I hug to say goodnight but it was cool that he did it in the middle of the day.

I can feel that Jaxon, Jagger and Jace are sad that I’m leaving this morning.  Ember too.  Bruce too.  Family, you know.

We watched another episode of “Just For Laughs Gags” before bed.  Gosh, I love that show.  Here’s my favourite:

A woman walks down the street wearing a hat.  She tips her head back and the hat falls off.  She keeps walking.  A fellow behind reaches down to pick up the hat.  As he does so, the woman takes an identical hat that she’s been carrying and puts it on her head.  The man looks up and, astonished, sees that another hat is in place.  He comes up to her and extends the hat to her, to which she replies ” Oh, no thanks.  I’m already wearing one.”

Makes me happy.

In a couple of hours, I’m back on the road towards Weyburn, Saskatchewan, where I’ll be staying with Henry and Louise again.  I’m not going alone.  Lance, Nona, Jace, Jagger and Jaxon will be in the back seat.

Day Thirty-Nine … Back to Longview

Two nights ago, we were staying at the Sleepy Hollow Campground in Pincher Creek, Alberta.  The creek after which the town was named flowed lazily between long grasses as Jaxon and I sat on the shore.  An Aerobie (like a Frisbee) sat marooned on the far bank.  Jaxon and I rescued a plastic glass that had dropped from a human hand into the water.  Mostly though, we just sat, enjoying being with each other.  I wondered if he would start talking about “chicks” or some other teen topic.  No.  We just were Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer watching the world float by.

That evening, we had a campfire.  The campground in Waterton didn’t allow those.  It was fun, seeing the family faces in the orange light.  And then Daddio started telling stories.  Lance is just awesomely good at it.  I looked on, marvelling at his creativity, spontaneity and any other -ity I could think of.  The boys were glued to his words.  My fave had Jagger, Jaxon and Jace sitting around, worrying about the impending start of school.  Their spirits merged and, in a flash of celestial light, time reversed itself.  It was no longer Thursday, August 27 moving towards Thursday, September 3.  Homework and tests faded away, to be replaced by endless ice cream cones, dirt bike trips, and sleeping in.  Ecstasy!  At least for awhile.  After many calories expended and consumed, the dreaded b-o-r-e-d-o-m set in.  Could it be possible that s-c-h-o-o-l was a good plan after all?  The young men decided it was.  Circular again, the power of youthful oomph brought the world forward once more.  And it was good.

Waydago, Lance.  I applauded.  The 3 J’s smiled.

Yesterday morning, we packed up in the smoke and headed home before the winds picked up.  The camper is a big one and the westerly hurricanes often rushing across Highway 22 have been known to flip semi-trailers.

I sat beside Ember and petted her.  We were quiet.  Then she laid her head on her paws, about eighteen inches from my left hand.  I wanted her to come closer for more loves but that’s not the way life works.  Let them all go, Bruce.  Let them do what they need to do.  They may come back or they may not.

I watched fence posts.  Several hawks stood on guard during our journey.  I wanted there to be more hawks than there were.  There weren’t.  Winding down towards home, I am.  I’ll sure miss my family in Alberta.

I thought of my three marathon days of driving to get back to Union, Ontario.  That’s okay … Sunday, Monday and Tuesday – piece of cake.  Get good sleeps and be alert for those tipping semis.

We sat around last night and watched a bit of “Stand By Me” until the language got too bad for 8-, 12- and 14-year-olds.  And so to snooze.

Day Thirty-Eight … Cameron Lake and Missoulan Friends

The whole family was having fun on the rocky beach of Waterton Lake, with the somewhat smoky view down into Montana still spectacular.  Nona found some cool rocks, a couple of them with a heart shape imprinted.  She took a sharp stone and carved messages on a few of the tablets, such as “Live. Love. Laugh”.  “I’m hoping people walking on the beach will find them.”  What a marvelous idea.  The boys and Lance were skipping stones and in general hanging loose.

It was time to head back to the camper and the family left the beach before me.  As I roamed over the stones, here came a family: mom, dad and their daughter, perhaps 20-years-old.  I couldn’t resist saying something silly, so I looked at dad and said “How about if you and I have a race, swimming to the end of the lake?” [7 miles!]  Dad laughed.  I conveniently forgot to mention that I couldn’t swim.  Anyway, we stood there blabbing about the mountains, the trails and other good things.  I talked about myself too much but these folks laughed easily at some of the stuff I said.  That made me happy.  I told them about Jody dying last November and that I had written a book about her.  Theresa (mom) immediately said that she’d like a copy.  Emily and Kevin seemed keen too.  Oh my, I was happy some more.  I had new friends – from Missoula, Montana.  We agreed that the next night I would come over after supper for a visit, with a glass of wine a possibility.

Early the next afternoon, Lance started driving up the steep highway from Waterton townsite to Cameron Lake.  I remembered the first section of road.  In the early 70’s, some Prince Of Wales Hotel employees created the PWSJMA, which, as I’m sure you’re aware, means the Prince of Wales Slow Joggers Memorial Association.  I created the “Memorial” part.  I was actually quite proud of my contribution.  Many evenings, the group of us would run (jog, walk, totter …) onwards and upwards to a big rock on the edge of a pullout.  As far as I know, none of us ever died.  Yesterday, I kept looking out the window, searching for that rock.  My goodness, did we really run that far?  I must have been a man of steel!

We were all in the van, with Nona in the front passenger seat, Jace and me in bucket seats midway, and Jagger and Jaxon goofing around in the back.  I thought of my dear wife Jodiette, and of our travels with the family in 2011 and 2012.  Jody was always in the front, and Nona at the back.  I looked at the back of Nona’s head and saw Jody instead.  It was lovely.  It was loving.  I was sad.  How I miss my wife.

Up at the lake, Lance and the young guys decided to rent a canoe.  While Nona was doing her thing somewhere nearby, I strolled onto another rocky beach and saw three familiar human beings – my friends from Missoula.  I was happy to see them.  They were happy to see me.  How can it be that I’d only known them for less than a day?  Such comfy folks.  We talked about mountains, I guess.  The topics didn’t matter.

Now, back to family doings.  The guys were off, smiling into the wild blue yonder.  Nona and I wandered down the lakeside trail and stopped at a beachette.  We sat down.  We talked about how we each had traumatic experiences in swimming pools.  We watched the canoeists from Longview head way down Cameron Lake.  Later, we strained to see the little canoe shape, wanting our loved ones to be safe.  Mostly though, Nona and I sat there in silence, comfortable.  A woman came by to cuddle Ember.  Another woman and her young daughter walked past us on the beach.  Ember didn’t like them for some reason.  Lots of barking.

That evening, I walked over to site A2 and saw Kevin sitting at their picnic table.  A bottle of red wine was also in place.  Emily and Theresa soon joined us.  We talked about how Theresa and Kevin met.  Emily told me what she was doing in college.  All of them were missing Elyse, the older daughter, who lives near San Francisco.  It was natural.  I had fun.  I do hope I see the Finnegans again.

After darkness had come visiting, I got up to leave.  I hugged Theresa.  I hugged Emily.  I looked at Kevin and we decided to hug with a laugh.  I waved goodbye, turned towards the home camper, and felt my eyes moisten.

Oh, what wonders can appear in the space of a day.  Lucky me.

Day Thirty-Six … The International

The MV International is a wooden ship that was built in the 1930s.  It has plied the waters of Waterton Lake every summer since then.  Waterton is seven miles long and halfway down we enter the United States.  As a young man working at the Prince of Wales Hotel, I got free trips on the International.  I’ve been down the lake over the bounding main at least fifty times.  Yesterday was fifty-one.

As we walked onboard, I looked up at the little shelf in front of the captain’s cabin.  That’s where I always sat.  Not yesterday though.  A young girl from Calgary was fully in place with her still younger brother.  I told her my shelf story.  She smiled.

I sat with my nephews for the first half hour of the trip.  We were on the top deck, breathing in the sunshine and feeling the wind against our faces.  I was 24 again.  There were the valleys – left, right and straight ahead – where I had backpacked up to high lakes, staying overnight in the silence.  The Crypt Lake trail, with its 60-foot natural tunnel to crawl through, with vistas then opening to an aquamarine jewel, and with snow hanging above.  How very happy I am to have had those moments in my life.  More to come.

I moved to the front of the boat and soon Leonardo DiCaprio came through.  I raised my arms and gently shouted “I’m the king of the world!”  Some folks laughed.  Some stared.  I just wanted to know where Kate Winslet had got to.  I talked to all and sundry, people from here, there and everywhere, looking like they were loving the trip.

At the southern end of Waterton Lake, we docked at Goathaunt, not even needing passports.  I chatted for awhile with the captain.  He’s been the boss for 20 years and I knew him not.  I talked about the International captain whom I knew and loved – Galen Nielsen.  Today’s captain told me that Galen died a few years ago.  I was sad to hear that.  Captain Nielsen was a big guy, and such a kind man.  Once he led a group of us towards the summit of Mount Cleveland, just south of Goathaunt.  We made it to a point only a few hundred feet from the top when rain and slippery slopes forced an executive decision.  The captain said we were going back down.  We were all disappointed but we knew that Captain Nielsen had our backs and that he rightfully called the shots.

Lance, Nona, Jaxon, Jagger, Jace and I spent time on the rocky beach, skipping stones over the skin of Waterton Lake.  It was fun.  I saw Jaxon pick up a rock too big for skipping and I called out to him, “I’ll give you a thousand dollars if you can skip it more than once.”  The result?  One > Two. (!)  Good grief.  There goes my retirement fund.

As the International cruised north and we were nearing the dock in Waterton townsite, the PW loomed above us.  I looked to the same young girl, now standing beside me, and talked about my years at the hotel, that I saw how great people are, no matter where they’re from.  She smiled some more.  Seeing my opportunity, I told her I was a teacher and that I’d discovered kids really appreciate being given a math test in the summer, when they’re missing school really bad.  And I just happened to have one on me.  She smiled for a third time and lowered her head.  I guessed there wouldn’t be a math test today.

***

It’s all so much fun, this life of ours
Not always, of course
But enough to make my day

Day Thirty-Four … Old Rooms, Old Friend

We arrived in Waterton on Sunday.  Despite the smoke from forest fires, I was home.  While Lance was setting up the camper, I gazed at the peaks.  Way down there beyond the head of Waterton Lake, there was Mount Cleveland.  A group of us almost got to the top in the early 70s, turned back by slippery slopes in the rain.  At the other end of things, on our approach to the park I saw the silhouette of Chief Mountain.  It stands separate from the other peaks at the edge of the prairie.  I came within fifty feet of reaching its summit.  My friends got there. The short cliff between them and me ended my mission.  I was so scared as I looked up.  And that is as it was.  Decades later, the experience makes me smile, and has me reflect on life as a little bit of everything … gain and loss, pleasure and pain.

Standing in the campground, I also saw Bear’s Hump, a shoulder of Mount Crandell.  It was the scene of my crawling up it on hands and knees.  Such a silly goose I was.  Tomorrow we’re hiking up to the speechless summit view and I’ll tell you all about the past and present.

Nona, Lance, Jaxon, Jagger, Jace and I went for a walk downtown.  Approaching me was the Waterton movie theatre, or so I hoped.  The door was open.  I walked in, and found not rows of plush chairs but instead a bunch of tables.  The building was now a restaurant and a venue for concerts.  Tonight was an open mike event.  These were fine new uses but I wanted the old days … sitting with friends munching popcorn, laughing at “If It’s Tuesday It Must Be Belgium.”  I lingered in the space and remembered.  I was a young man, ages 20 to 25, discovering what life was really like, discovering people.  Now I’m an older man, age 66, and I’m happy.  I have friends.  I love them and I love me.  And I’m very thankful for that that young guy who came west to see the mountains.

We walked along Main Street and just happened to find an ice cream shop.  I didn’t remember it but my tongue sure remembered the taste of a chocolate chip cookie dough waffle cone from a few weeks ago.  Gosh, I’m even getting nostalgic about 2015.

Farther along, we entered a gift shop.  The building felt familiar.  I asked our hostess if she knew where the old Waterton pharmacy had been.  She didn’t, but a fellow looking at the displays said “Right here.”  And so I stood in the room where I had many fine conversations with Dave Cruickshank, a young pharmacist.  I remembered the little books on rotating racks, the aisles of health aids, but mostly Dave.  Young Bruce and older Bruce stood in the same spot.  Silence.  I saw Dave four years ago in Waterton.  He had bought a gift shop (not this one) and was managing it.  I wondered if he was still there.

I asked my resource person if he knew where the Tourist Café had stood.  He did.  Long ago, as a long hike neared the townsite, I would start dreaming of rhubarb pie at the Tourist, with a dollop of ice cream.  And then we would bring the dream to life.  What incredible pie.  I remembered watching an old fellow doing the baking.  He always wore a white chef’s hat and white clothes.  And my memory told me that he was always dangling a cigarette from his mouth, the ashes of which often dropped into the pie.  More flavour.

So I walked into the scene of baked yumminess.  Now it was a steak house and I told the young host my story.  He smiled a lot.  And he let me stand there, breathing in the aroma of rhubarb and youth.  Ahh.

Eventually I found Dave’s gift shop and I found Dave.  We talked for fifteen minutes about the old times and the new times.  I was right back there with the young pharmacist who was now 74.  He’s been in Waterton for 48 summers.  He was sad that Jody died.  He happily remembered the 1976 production of “You’re A Good Man, Charlie Brown”, with me as Snoopy and my former wife Rita as Lucy.  He said we were good.  Thanks, Dave.  You’re pretty good yourself.

Onward and backward
Happy now and happy then
With a touch of angst for flavour