Like a Whirlwind
Verily, like a whirlwind he settles into our lives ever so briefly, then lifts off leaving a trail of memories in his wake. Our youngest son, taking time out from his 'real' life away from us, to briefly touch base then resume the manifold elements of his life. He's as physically spare as always, hair shorn close to his scalp, the everpresent backpack and hiking boots as he strides along to meet us at the arrivals lounge. We grin ear to ear, hug, really hug tight then await, as usual for his skis to be unloaded and his big, really big backpack to spin around the carousel.
Takes no time at all for this son of ours whom in his truly tender years we named "the Vicar" to lecture his father on his (lack of) driving skills, his (aggressive) attitude toward other drivers sharing the road. And, of course, his father responds with (uncharacterisic patience) recounting how the driver ahead had truly earned his ire. We're into our habitual stride of parent-child interface.
In the week and a half he spent with us he brightened our lives, our already-bright and happy lives with his presence. For of our three children it seems, somehow, that we are inextricably bound to him in a way that eludes us with the other two. It may perhaps have something to do with the fact that he's our youngest, that he has never married, has no life-companion and we feel vulnerable for him. This, our travelling child, our adventurer, our scientist, naturalist, wood-working child.
During this trip we did many things, but none perhaps quite as important as the bond-enhancing discussions; deep-delving, thorough arguments on the quality of life, the meaning of individual lives, the personalities and penchants, the orientations and perceptions, the values and proclivities that we share. Then there were the thrice-nightly viewings of the many photographs he took during his Swedish-Italian five-week-long foray in Europe. CD'd through our large television screen they were breathtaking in their scope, beauty and majesty. Since they also included his last Stein Valley climbing adventure, his Vancouver coastline kayaking trip and his Alaska trip complete with whale-watching and glacier-calving.
We slipped and slithered together in our daily ravine jaunts; we clad in ice-gripping cleats and he managing somehow without cleats, all of us thriving in the elements and the beauty set before us with the trees not yet having shed their layers of snow and ice. Crows, ravens and Pileated woodpeckers entertained us on these forays and once, our granddaughter who, also without cleats, managed using the techniques her uncle demonstrated to traverse the hills and valleys of crusted snow and ice. On that occasion, almost out of the ravine and clambering up the last long hill we came across a slight, middle-aged woman clasping a tree trunk. Her tale of woe was that she thought, since it was such a beautiful sunny day she would venture into the ravine for an enjoyable walk, never suspecting the conditions which lay in wait. She had decided to slide down the long hill rather than venture on her two legs and in so doing had lost control and tumbled twice head over heels to finally come to an abrupt rest against the trunk of a tree. Shaken, but undamaged, she came back up the hill with us, my husband lending a helping hand to deliver her to the safety of the street above.
Because my husband wanted to make some really good deep frames for a few of our paintings he and our son went out to a nearby lumber yard for wide pine boards and our son set about using some of our 19th century moulding planes to design those deep frames and in the process giving his father some lessons on how to plane off those deep six-foot-long shavings to produce the depth and the curves he sought for those spectacular frames he wanted to create.
As I began to thin out my repertoire of vegetarian meals our son began to talk increasingly of "really great" recipes he had for meals, and he took over meal-making for several days. To my delight and delectation, and his father's despair; as a basic carnivore the constant vegetarian meals had begun to pall upon his long-suffering palate. But oh, those meals were grand. Still, our son was sufficiently enticed by the eggplant/cheese/tomato sauce casserole I had made to ask me for the recipe. And wasn't I glad to oblige!
And the days counted down, and we began to dread their fleet passage, but that's life, is it not. Some solace in his visit having been, as always "a good one", that he'd finally had the opportunity, thanks to a !!finally!! snowfall to creep out of the house the morning before departure pre sun-up with his skis and do a long loop back and forth through the ravine.
And then, it was over. Visit gone. Onto a plane to Calgary to attend yet another conference. With backpacks and skis, gone back out west where his life awaits him.
posted by Pieface @ Saturday, January 07, 2006
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