It’s 2:37 am; I can hear the rain ricocheting off the balcony. I love the rain. It reminds me of home. Newfoundland gets a lot of rain. It can be a little overwhelming sometimes, especially if it rains for weeks on end, but I miss it. I think I must have begun to count on it, as if it were the metronome that kept my life in time. It’s a strange comfort for me, likely because we just don’t get that much of it here in Calgary.
It’s been raining for a couple of hours now. It’s a good thing too; it’s been really dusty lately. The last few days have had a bit of grit to them, hopefully the water can wash it all away.
I fit into a pair of shorts that haven’t fit me properly for 2 years. That makes me happy. I’ve been doing well and the rewards are starting to make themselves known. My target is still about 30 pounds away. It seems like a mountain to climb, but at least I’m at the first base camp.
I went for a walk today. The smell of lilacs greeted me as I marched down 17th avenue. The fragrance reminds me of being at my grandparents’ house in the summer. There were always brilliant flowers in their backyard. My Grandfather was an amazing gardener. It was in his blood. He was a farmer first, and then when he retired, he moved to Calgary and got a job growing roses for a local greenhouse. It made him happy. He loved to putter around in the yard; I think it kept him going.
He always had the sweetest carrots in the yard. You could just pull them out of the dirt, give them a little squirt from the hose, and voila. They were almost like candy.
I miss him very much. He was just about the best person I have ever known. He was a kind and gentle soul, and he had this impish twinkle in his eye.
When I was in college, he did his best to make sure I never went without. Every time I left their house, usually after grandma (who was equally saintly…) had laid out a feast, I’d find a crisp 50-dollar bill in my pocket. I tried giving it back a few times, but never with much luck. He would pretend he had no idea where it came from, and then he’d just wink at me.
He always had the best advice. Sometimes it was masked as a story from his youth, but it always made sense. (Not always right away mind you… Sometimes it would go off like a little time bomb in my head as I headed home…) He helped me through a lot of heart ache, and was really patient with me, especially when I was less than patient with myself.
He’s been gone for about 6 years now. I was with him when he died. It was New Years day 1999. I had just gotten back from Saskatoon and had barely made it to see him. I managed to say goodbye. I’m not sure I ever got over hid death.
He was my moral compass. He was the measuring stick I used to pick my friends with. I heard somewhere that everyone you meet leaves a mark on your soul. I believe that to be true. I suspect that he left more than a mark. Most of the time it feels more like a riverbed.
Sometimes I still see him, usually in the strangest places. Once in a while I’m convinced I see him at the Edo Japan in the food court at the mall. It was his favorite.
I’m not sure why I decided to write about him tonight. Perhaps I’ve been thinking about the road too much. The distances are long, and there are a lot of farms along the way. I guess they just remind me of him.
Anyway I miss him.
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