September

September is such a slow burn in Western Canada. Until it isn't. 

Among the greens, hints here and there of new colours, mostly yellow, and then all at once everything's yellow and those leaves flutter away like ash.  

Even though they are still fruiting, our strawberries are ignited too, showing off with so much (fleeting) beauty. 

Let's be honest:

Spotted in this restaurant (5 stars)

 

Things one should never outgrow:

gallivanting. 

The Spot

Niagara Falls, Ontario Canada
aka the Horseshoe Falls

This is the spot. 

My wife and I attended a wedding north of Toronto recently, so we used the opportunity to visit Niagara Falls. Since she had never been to the Falls, we did everything we could in an afternoon: rode the funicular down the escarpment to the river, took the boat tour (so much fun!), braved the thongs of tourists tasting maple syrup, bought the requisite t-shirts, and paid $15 for a small bag of chocolate almonds at a store I'm sure was named The Tourist Trap. It was a lovely day. But I was waiting to get to "the spot."

With my parents and older brothers, I visited Niagara Falls decades ago when I was 11(?) and snapped a photo in this spot. Although I don't recall much from that first visit, I do remember it was early on January 1, and thus a thoroughly different tourist experience. Essentially we were the only people there that morning. 

I remember how it felt, for me: powerful, beautiful, alive. Yet my Dad looked over the edge and said in his characteristically deep and slow voice, "it's just a bunch of dirty water falling off a cliff." My Dad was often reductive, but I suspect his particular disdain that morning was due to the fact that he had just spent a week with his older sister, a person I observed during that visit (from afar) with equal fascination and fear. She was scary. 

So what was so special about revisiting this spot? Reflecting on it now, I have no idea. Before we arrived, I guess I was hoping to feel something...special? There's an alchemy that sometimes occurs when revisiting childhood places, reinhabiting sentimental spaces, a kind of emotional time travel experience that can be especially meaningful and deepen those experiences. Right?  

Nope. Not this time. My tone may seem negative, but that's not my intention: just being honest.

I wanted this spot to say something, mean something, signify something (explain something). Despite my magical thinking, there were no voices from the past or explanations about long-ago hoped-for happiness, nor new connections or understandings. There were better feelings though: gratitude for this experience with my wife, gratitude for the time and resources to travel, gratitude for my life now. Being able to unapologetically marvel at life!

The Falls have changed and so have I. Erosion is inevitable and the Falls have been reshaping themselves for thousands of years. All progress is typically upstream. 

I think longing for "the spot" was about discovering something that never was. It's one of my romantic default bad habits: revisiting the past hoping to write a better narrative. Although I often continue searching there, happiness is not in the past; it's right now. Shakespeare may have said "what's past is prologue," but a happy epilogue makes for a great story too. 

That Time

source

Thinking about Jasper. 

Shedding some tears. 

I love that corner of the world. It's special. Nestled in Canada's Rocky Mountains, reports say the wildfires destroyed almost 30% of the town yesterday, a one-of-a-kind community so beloved to Albertans and visitors from around the world. And it's still burning. 

It's probably insensitive to say I know how Jasper's residents are feeling, because I've never lost a home and community to fire, but there are growing numbers of Albertans who have been terrorized by wildfires, me included. 

A few Junes ago, I recall taking video of everything in our home before we flew to a celebration in Montreal. Why? For insurance purposes, I needed a video record of our dwelling contents; there was a definite possibility our home could be ash when we returned. Then we packed our most important keepsakes into our vehicle and drove it to another community to park in a friend's yard, outside the evacuation alert zone.

Amongst all your cherished possessions (knowing you cannot take them all), contemplate having a few hours to decide which ones are the most important to save. You can take as many as will fit in your vehicle. Which ones would you be okay with never seeing again? 

That was a tough month. Unlike many Albertans who've lost homes and businesses, we were spared. That time. 

Our family has collected so many happy memories visiting Jasper. It's difficult to summarize why they are so special, so I won't try. If you'd like to read about a few of them click here, or here, or here, or here. 

But one other memory keeps bubbling up, one I didn't write about. It brings tears; it shouldn't but it does. After skiing all day, just the four of us visited Jasper's movie theatre. The crowd was small and our kids were a little young for Blades of Glory but happy-tired from all the fresh air and mountain scenery, we settled in with popcorn and candy like that movie was made for us. It was. We laughed the loudest and longest, all at the same time. We were that family. Hilarity filled us to the brim and we watched until the very end of the credits, basking in the "Iron Lotus" induced endorphins, bahahahlalahaha. Remember that film?! "Spandex. Glitter. Egos. Ice blows." Clever satire, top tier improv, and goofy characters.   

I don't know why but this memory feels so poignant today. It doesn't make sense. But what does in a world where one of the four seasons is now fire season? 

And where next?

Things one should never outgrow:

a large dipped cone from Dairy Queen (especially when the temp is 36 degrees). 

Wordfuse

(adj) foofaraw + awesome = appreciation heaped on what some might deem no big deal, but said deal totally does it for me

My examples?
1. random bagpipes
2. a really good orange
3. my chocolate-chip cookies (small cookies are stupid)
4. children's drawings
5. taking off my socks
6. my own bed
7. grandchildren grins
8. feeling healthy

9. flat caps

10. making up dorky words

Dates or Days?

I once remembered important dates with ease, especially birthdays. Nowadays, I forget a few here and there. Some dates are burned in my memory, oddly unexpected ones. Does anyone else remember their driver's test? 

I can recall almost everything that occured during that hour on Thursday, June 3 the year I finally turned 16. It seems my pea-brain decided to scan the driver's test details along with the date and file that information in forever. But why store this memory?

The answer is anxiety, or as I refer to it, my inner narrator's default mode. He and I disagree on how to perceive any situation: where he (typically) sees a horror movie, I (attempt to) find the comedy. If you've struggled with anxiety, you know what I mean: THREATS are EVERYWHERE; I MUST PROTECT YOU FROM IMMINENT DEATH while rational reality begs to differ. Yup, my inner narrator is a drama queen. I have known this forever. But my (unreliable) inner narrator does not give a rat's pizza about what I think, some days. He can be soothed, but the process is fraught and he rarely leaves the building.  

For example, during my road test—I can recall this with absolute clarity—while I waited to turn left at a red light, a pedestrian began to cross the street, but not just any pedestrian MY GRANDFATHER OMG IT'S MY GRANDFATHER PLEASE DON'T NOTICE ME PLEASE DON'T NOTICE when he noticed me in the driver's seat he stopped, smiled, and waved frantically. I remained (externally) calm, barely nodded, and waited for him to continue, THE LASER EYES OF THE DRIVER TRAINER BURNING INTO THE SIDE OF MY HEAD. When the light turned green, I casually proceeded left INTO AN ABYSS OF WORRY AND SHAME AND IRONY OR COINCIDENCE OR SOMETHING WRONG WRONG WRONG AND HOW IS THIS MY LIFE? Soon after, I parallel-parked perfectly, but by then I was convinced I HAD FAILED THE TEST and would never get my license, plus ALL MY FRIENDS WOULD LAUGH AT ME AND NO ONE WOULD EVER DATE ME, but in reality the outcome was decidedly neutral: I passed. And later, my grandpa laughed until he had a coughing fit. 

Fusion horror-comedies can be stressful, so whatever, inner narrator, I passed. Neener neener. 

Anyway, this (finally) leads to my question: do dates matter? Thanks to anxiety, sometimes dates are useless brain storage. We can get stuck by dates, especially those dates that challenged us, or those that commemorate something painful: regret, loss, grief. So in the grand sublime scope of our lives, which is more consequential, more meaningful, more precious: dates or days? 

Friends, I choose days.  

Decades ago, my wife and I got engaged on a sunny, warm Spring day in April. We visited a glass conservatory with a wishing pond situated among a sea of Easter lilies and tulips. We made a wish, she opened the box and there was no ring inside. I tricked her; she looked up at me and laughed so I pulled the chain out of my shirt and there it was, a marquis diamond ring we chose together. It was a very happy day for both of us. Later, when people asked us if there was any significance to the date, we explained that no, it was just the right time and the right place. Curious though, I looked up the date's history: the anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic. 

Even my anxy inner narrator had to laugh at that. 

Whatever the Sport May Be

My oldest grand-
daughter, M. 

Maybe keep this on the downlow, but I'm not a hockey fan. As a Canadian, it's a controversial declaration. Feel free to judge me if so inclined, but it isn't just hockey: I have no allegiance to any sport or sports tribe. Okay, one exception: I love Scottish Highland Games. Fight me. (And my kilt.) 

So this begs the question, why am I currently obsessed with the Edmonton Oilers?

If you are a long-term fan in these last days of June, 2024, YOU KNOW WHY but it's not just that they are finally in the Stanley Cup Finals; it's that they are continually on the PRECIPICE OF DEFEAT and yet continue to RISE AGAIN, LIKE PHOENIXES, which is probably the name of some other hockey team, I have no idea, but anyway. THIS TEAM. THEIR DOGGEDNESS. After losing the first three games, it's like they had a much-needed Rosa Parks moment: no, I belong here! (This is definitely a false comparison logic fallacy because Rosa Parks is way more important than these bearded, bleeding millionaire-dudes chasing a puck around, but as I said, when it comes to hockey I don't know what I'm talking about, okay?) One hardcore fan told me the Edmonton Oilers often impress, then shit the bed, but these last two games?! Let's just say that despite their history of stench, they are currently quite a lively clean-up crew. I have such high hopes for them and I am glued to my seat...okay, let's be honest: I read a novel while watching game 4 and in fact, I didn't watch Game 5, just nervously googled the score, my Grinch-heart sizing-up each time I did. Truthfully, I have no idea when the next game is scheduled, but I can't wait. 

Why?

Lots of reasons. Sure, I love an underdog story but I'm just happy that my Albertan/Canadian friends and neighbours are surprised how joyful they feel. Kids everywhere are proud to wear their jerseys, including my grandkids who mimic their parents' excitement although distracted by snacks and Lego. I love seeing Oilers flags on vehicles everywhere. They are such a sight for my sorry eyes after years of seeing various other flags protesting issues inspired by Fox News propaganda. I encounter strangers wearing Oilers t-shirts and we chat, both revved up on optimism, finding common ground. This hasn't happened much since 2020, has it? Right now, I can't recall my last positive culturally-collective experience. Can you? 

This tired old world needs a few wins, doesn't it? The odds are still against the Oilers: apparently, the current scenario hasn't been successful for the underdog since 1942. It's likely they will be unable to deliver the win, yet they are reminding anxious old me to still hope for better things to come for us all, whatever the "sport" may be. 

AND IF THEY DO WIN?! 😂

Dust

My grown son and I enjoy texting our Wordle and Canuckle scores to each other. 

We both love all things words: precision, connotation, word-play, the power of words, etc. If you're wondering about this post's title, it's one of his favourite words and it's an apt choice for the entire narrative that is this particular wordle, including a plot twist.  

If words were people, I'd be polyamorous, but what I truly love is that my son texts me his scores, daily. Hmm, what word describes the feeling this generates? Toast. 

Here's hoping there's someone in your life who surprises you with toast.