Friday, October 14, 2011

Day Thirty-One: Flying High

I gather lint from the laundry garbage for kindling, then I light a fire in my dining room, home alone on this windy evening. I play guitar and sing, a little. My left elbow is still bothering me if I play too long. I eat left over turkey and listen to As it Happens. There's a story from Ireland of a raging bull charging through the back door of a pub. I love those accents. A prominent MP from Winnipeg has passed away. Paul Martin, former Prime Minister of Canada, shares his memories. At the Saskatchewan news break, the local announcer reports that for the first time in Canadian history, a treaty flag will be flown permanently in front of a government office. The smoke alarm sounds, and I jump up, waving a towel at the detector. Sandy had told me about the Treaty Four flag raising plans, and I'd thought we should take students in for the event, but I'd forgotten. There were over one hundred people gathered, says the reporter.

At noon I walk down to Outreach, visit with Jim and Luella on the corner. Jim is frustrated with his math upgrading, says he's been getting tutoring at the Friendship Centre. He says he said to the teacher, "Slow down. I'm not a teenager and you're throwing all this stuff at me." Luella and I giggle. I see Dana, shake his hand. Keitha texts me and she has closed Outreach today to give her leg a chance to heal. I text back that I'm glad she went to the doctor, finally, and that I love her. Years ago, she'd heard me on the phone with my daughter, and I hadn't said, "I love you," as I hung up. Her granddaughters and she gave me heck, so now I say, "I love you," to nearly everyone, especially if she's in earshot.

I'm taking pictures at Outreach, and then I sit down on the bench. "Ahhhhh," I scream, jumping up. My butt is soaking. It's been raining on and off all morning. Some students are walking up to Outreach and I say, "I sat in some water," and one of the girls says, "We can tell." Another suggests that I tie my jacket around my waist, so I do.

Arwen doesn't want to wake up to walk with me this morning. I kiss her and have a little nose to nose snuggle. She'll go with her Uncle Ian to the farm to help Grandma Mary babysit the little cousins. I take an umbrella, but it's not raining right now. There is some wind and I put on my mix matched ninety-nine cent gloves, one sage green and one baby blue. I'm drinking coffee from a Shakespeare's Globe Theatre mug that Andrea brought me from London. Really, it's an in-your-face trophy to her English teacher sister, not-so-subtly saying, "I've been to Shakespeare's Globe and you haven't." I pass the ski hill and forget to snap a Friday ski-hill-update like I have each week. I'll have to get it on the way home. At the All Nations Healing Hospital the four flags are stretching out in the wind.

1 comment:

  1. in your face trophy or a piece of the Globe for you to touch and hold. A friend brought Brian once some pottery from Israel. I will probably never go to Israel, but it's kinda cool to have something from "THE Land!"- just a thought.