When a bunch of us were at the family lake house in Nova Scotia this summer, my nephew, Conor, decided to bring home all of my mum's CD-ROMs of old pictures to put on a Google drive for everyone to access. And of all the old photographs (mostly of dogs and family scenes from the lake) that Conor digitised, this one of me and my brothers left me gobsmacked: I had never seen this before in my life (I assume one of my aunts must have taken it and thought to send it to Mum at some point over the years), and as there are really very few pictures of us as kids, this felt like a real treasure.
Our parents were so young when they had us — three kids by the time they were 22 — and we were so poor and everything just felt so strained all of the time, that as very young children, my brothers were about all the stability that I felt I had. Dad was always angry and storming, Mum was flailing and checked out, but I always had my brothers with me in our sad little boat. I don't even know for sure where this picture was taken — I assume it was one of our houses in Saint John — and when Dave (who has plenty of pictures of himself and his family from when he was young) saw this and tried to say that he grew up in a similarly run-down neighbourhood, I pointed to this porch and said, "Yeah, but I bet your parents had some pride in their home and would have slapped a coat of paint on this mess." And he had to agree with that. Messy is how I remember everything about my childhood.
We moved from New Brunswick to Ontario when I was in the middle of grade three, and from Ontario to Alberta at the beginning of grade ten, and both moves were incredibly hard on me. As an approval-seeking introvert, I have never had a knack for making friends and have spent long, lonely stretches in which my only friends were my brothers. This changed when we were teenagers — as they ran wild and I was tightly controlled, we spent very little time together — but ours was still a house of sadness, with a still loud and angry father and a quietly seething, self-involved mother. I couldn't get away soon enough and left at twenty as our parents, and little brother Kyler, moved back to Ontario.
I moved north to Edmonton, and within a couple of years, big brother Ken moved to within visiting distance. And then Ken's heart got broken and he moved back east near Mum and Dad. And then Dave and I had a baby and moved back east near Mum and Dad (and his Mum and Dad). And we were all learning how to interact as a family of adults with our own young families when Mum and Dad enacted their retirement plan and moved away to Nova Scotia. Leaving just me and my brothers and our families to navigate the next stages of our lives.
And while time since then has passed in drips and spurts and has mostly seemed like no time at all, it now feels like we're entering a different stage. Big brother Ken's cancer is starting to spread more aggressively, little brother Kyler has chronic Lyme with autoimmune disorder and related coinfections, and we just went down to visit Mum, who had a large part of her colon removed and who will need to live with a colostomy bag for the rest of her life. Dad's not so angry anymore, it's surprising how tenderly he now cares for Mum, but neither of them seem to regret moving away from us; they didn't seem to want us when we were little, and they don't seem to want much from us now.
I'm not ready to be without my brothers, even if I don't spend the time with them right now that I guess I should. I have travelled a lot with Ken this year (four trips to Nova Scotia, with other trips to Alberta, Newfoundland, and an Italian cruise), but even though he lives across the street from me — and has a progressing cancer diagnosis — I don't see him every day. And Kyler tends to be too busy to spend much time with us, but he did have some kind of nasty words for me when we were in Nova Scotia together this summer, and as he seems to be becoming ever more of a loud and proud far right hardliner, I feel a weariness when I think of him that makes me question if our relationship will extend in the same way beyond Ken's passing. I know I'm not looking forward to ever being with him in Nova Scotia again.
Yet I can still look at that picture up there and remember when I felt like it was just me and my brothers in our little boat, holding steady against uncertain storms — and maybe they don't even think of those days in the same way; each of them was so much better at making friends and just existing in the world — and nothing that has happened since can touch the steadiness and stability I see that those three kids (poor, wanting, wary) sought and found in one another.
What a real treasure — to be reminded of those early days — as we now enter the third act.
Maybe I'm amazed at the way you love me all the time
Maybe I'm afraid of the way I love you
Maybe I'm amazed at the way you pulled me out of time
Hung me on a line
Maybe I'm amazed at the way I really need you
Maybe I'm a man
Maybe I'm a lonely man who's in the middle of something
That he doesn't really understand
Maybe I'm a man
Maybe you're the only woman who could ever help me
Baby, won't you help me to understand?
Maybe I'm a man
Maybe I'm a lonely man who's in the middle of something
That he doesn't really understand
Maybe I'm a man
Maybe you're the only woman who could ever help me
Darling, won't you help me to understand?
Maybe I'm amazed at the way you're with me all the time
Maybe I'm afraid of the way I leave you
Maybe I'm amazed at the way you help me sing my song
You right me when I'm wrong
Maybe I'm amazed at the way I really need you
Maybe I'm a man
Maybe I'm a lonely man who's in the middle of something
That he doesn't really understand
Baby, I'm a man
Maybe you're the only woman who could ever help me
So baby, won't you help me to understand?
Yeah, baby, I'm a man
Baby, I'm a lonely man who's in the middle of something
That he doesn't really understand
Oh, baby, I'm a man
Maybe you're the only woman who could ever help me
So baby, won't you help me to understand?
Yeah, baby I'm amazed
Yeah, baby I'm amazed
Yeah, baby I'm amazed
I'm amazed
With you
Not long after I got the tickets for me and Mal to see David Byrne together, I discovered that Paul McCartney would be touring locally, and although Dave would have loved to come to this show, he knew that he would be in Shanghai at the time, so I invited Mal, saying, "For sure, this is your Christmas present." And of course, Mal had no complaints about that.
I posted that picture of us on facebook (yes, I'm wearing the Paul McCartney Sgt Pepper jacket that I once made as a Halloween costume for Mal) with the caption, "Twelve year old me and twelve year old Mal would have never imagined we'd be here tonight", and that's so true: I was an out-of-time preteen Beatlemaniac in the late 70's, and Mal was an out-of-time preteen Beatlemaniac in the early 2010's, and neither of us really thought we'd ever see Paul live (even though I have seen Ringo more than once, this just seemed somehow less likely). Ultimately: this was a very surreal concert experience, and Sir Paul still commands a crowd.
It seemed strange that of only two Canadian dates, one of them would be in Hamilton (instead of nearby Toronto), but Mal explained that not only was this the venue where M Night Shyamalan's latest movie Trap (about a big concert) was filmed, but McCartney had been booked as the first performer after a 300 million dollar upgrade to the stadium. By the time I decided to get tickets, I had to pay reseller prices (not quite as high as the group behind us who mentioned that they thought $800/seat was reasonable for the view) and high up overlooking the side of the stage was the best that I could find (which was actually a pretty good and interesting perspective, with many large screens showing us the head on view).
It was simpy incredible to me that, at eighty-three-years-old, McCartney performed for three hours straight and sang everything from Love Me Do to Helter Skelter; from Band on the Run to Maybe I'm Amazed; my favourite Paul song of all time. Over dinner (incredible food, service, and atmosphere at Mystic Ramen) I was telling Mal that I had a sentimental spot for Mull of Kintyre (Cora and I had worked up the harmonies on it [when we were preteen Beatlemaniacs] to sing for her family's get-togethers), and although we agreed it wasn't likely to be on the setlist, McCartney did end up doing this song, too; the crowd absolutely blowing the roof off when a local pipe and drum band came marching out in their kilts to add the bagpipe line. And the crowd was one of the best parts of the whole concert: from our high vantage point, I could see the superfans on the floor and in the stands — Beatlemaniacs of every age — and we all knew all the words, and we all na-na-na-naed along with Hey Jude, and it was personal and it was communal and I got to share it all with my own erstwhile Beatlemaniac.
In keeping with this year of getting out more and seeing old bands while we still can, when I mentioned to Dave months ago that Kansas would be coming to town, he said, "Get the tickets!" And since Dan and Rudy have been enjoying some of these concerts lately, too, they decided to come with us. But, in the end, Dave had to go away on a business trip, and Kennedy got to take her Dad's ticket.
It's funny that I came into this concert knowing exactly two Kansas songs, and after hearing their greatest hits live, I would swear that those were the only two Kansas songs I have ever heard. Perhaps even funnier: none of the original band members were on stage, so we essentially saw a cover band playing a couple hours of music that had mostly never made an impression on us in a combined two hundred years of living. They did rock the house, though, and no regrets getting out with this gang.
Of note: as an introduction to Dust in the Wind, the singer explained that Kansas guitarist Kerry Livegren had been sitting in the living room of his house doing some rolling chord fingering exercises when his wife popped her head in and said, "That sounds great, I can't wait to hear the words you put to it." Livegren tried to explain that this was just an exercise, not a song, but as he thought about his wife's reaction, he did decide to put words to it and accidentally wrote Kansas' biggest hit. Funny that nothing else they played this night sounded anything like this (I thought most of the songs were like the overwrought vibe Jack Black was going for with the kids in School of Rock, Rudy asked if they reminded me of Spinal Tap; they did), but it still felt like something to have seen this performed live.
Year after year I'm amazed that strange stories come to me that I can share on Halloween, and this year the stories came to me early; while I was on a trip to Nova Scotia with my big brother, Ken, in February. Buckle in for a long one this year. To begin with some context: Ken has advanced lung cancer and we went down to spend some quiet time together at the lakeside family compound and to visit our aging parents. On the flight down, I asked Ken if he had a secret "Houdini-style" signal that he intends to send to people from the beyond, and as that wasn't something he had heard of before, I reminded him of how after my husband's parents died, Dave and his sister kept finding dimes everywhere — and as they felt there was significance in it, it still makes them feel good every time they find a random dime. As a matter of fact, I told Ken, just the week before, Dave's sister, Ruthann, and I had been out for a dog walk in the snow, talking about this and that, and just before we crossed a street, I looked down and saw two shiny dimes on the sidewalk. I pointed them out to Ruthann and she smiled and bent down to pick them up, saying, "One for you and one for me. It's funny: I was having trouble falling asleep last night and I just kind of put it out into the universe that with my birthday coming up, I would really like it if someone wanted to send me a sign." Again, if you see significance in finding a dime (or a feather or a cardinal or whatever), then it can feel really nice to chance upon one; even if it just gives you a reason to think of someone you've lost and smile. And Ken really liked that story.
So we got to Nova Scotia, and the day after we arrived, two uncles and an aunt came to join us — not knowing if it would be the last time they saw Ken — and as the house had been empty for months, I decided to clean up the basement rooms where they would be staying. I dusted everything from the high corners to the baseboards, and then I vacuumed everywhere, and on my third time through the rooms with a dry mop and spray bottle, my internal monologue went, "There's Dad's old treadmill. Christine (my sister-in-law, and current co-owner of the house with my younger brother, Kyler) used to like running, I wonder if she ever runs on the treadmill. I know she likes to walk the loop. She didn't want to walk with me and Lolo and the dogs last summer when I'd invite her, but I totally understand what it's like to be overrun with inlaws and want to carve out some quiet time for yourself." And at that moment, while spraying and mopping and thinking of my departed inlaws, on my third pass over these same surfaces, I spied a dime on the floor beside the treadmill — in an area of floor I had barely finished vacuuming. It honestly felt like a poke from my mother-in-law — as in a good-natured, "I didn't know how overwhelming we probably were in life, but I get it now" — and it made me smile. And when I showed it to Ken, he really liked the story.
When the uncles and aunt showed up, Ken asked me to tell them about the dimes, and my Uncle Billy — who can't listen to a story without trying to one-up it — told of a time forty-five years ago when he and his wife were visiting one of his sisters and her husband in a purportedly haunted house. There was apparently a ouija board out, and everyone gathered around it in the living room, with the overhead light turned low, while Carole and Eric described the strange sights and sounds that they experienced in this house (mostly involving hearing a knocking at the front door [even seeing the screen door jolt with the knocking] and there being no one there when it was opened). It was all spooky fun until, as soon as the storytelling was over, the chandelier above suddenly turned up to a full and blazing brightness that none of them could dim nor extinguish. Billy finished by saying that he and Dianne hightailed it out of there and never went back to that house again.
On the Saturday, Dave and my other brother Kyler also flew down — happily showing up for Ken — and once again, Ken wanted me to share the story of the dime. Dave eagerly added his stories of all the weird places he has found dimes (and not infrequently seen cardinals) since his parents' passing; and while Kyler initially got hung up on the idea that I thought of his wife as somehow resentful when "overrun" with family (which was not the point; the only point was finding a dime at the exact moment I was thinking "inlaws"), he told the following story: One time in Lethbridge, he was driving around with some friends, and when they passed a guy on a bicycle, Kyler yelled out the window, "Get a horse!" At the next red light, this guy caught up with them, and that's when Kyler realised that it was someone he knew from school who he hadn't seen in years. The guy told them that he was training for a road race, and he found it hilarious that someone yelled that at him because it seemed like the universe didn't want him on a bike. He had blown a tire the week before on a training ride, and within minutes of fixing it and getting back on the road, he blew the other one. After a bit more talking they went their separate ways, and a couple of weeks later, this friend was killed by a drunk driver while out on his motorcycle (which was, coincidentally, sold to this guy by one of Kyler's closest friends). Which intriguingly illustrates that while some people find significance in ordinary objects, others, like Kyler, are moved more by strange coincidences (which, as a science-minded engineer, Kyler says he calls "quantum entanglement" while also stressing that he knows that's not what the term is meant to refer to).
Which leads to the last, and strangest, story that was shared over the course of that trip.
My dad came out one afternoon for a visit, and it's testament to what a straightforward, no-nonsense, even humourless, kind of man he is that Ken did not ask me to share the story of the dime for our father. Even so, out of seemingly nowhere — and despite none of us bringing up the kind of stories that had been recently shared — Dad said, "There's this local guy who collects stories and writes books about people's strange experiences and I've been thinking about contacting him to tell him about that supernatural encounter I had in Alberta." My head slingshotting towards him, I said, "You had a supernatural experience in Alberta? I've never heard about that." (For context: my parents left Alberta in 1988 and moved into a decidedly haunted house in Ontario [recounted in my first ever Halloween post here], and I must stress once again, my father — straightforward, no-nonsense, even humourless — is probably the most reliable and non-attention-seeking source I know; if he says something happened, it happened; and while I had heard him add details to Mum and Kyler's stories about the house in Ontario, this was the first I had heard about a "supernatural encounter in Alberta" forty-some years ago. ) And he proceeded to tell us the following:
Every quarter I'd have to travel to Toronto for a meeting with Home Office, and I'd drive the two hours up to Calgary for the flight east and leave my car at the airport there for the drive back home to Lethbridge. This one time I returned on a late night flight from Toronto, and when I got to my car, it was freezing— probably twenty-five below — and I was glad to get in, get the heater blowing, and get to the highway; heading home. So, I'm on the road, probably an hour south of Calgary, middle of the night, middle of nowhere, and my gas tank — which had been full when I parked it — had its low fuel warning light suddenly come on. You also need to realise that at this time, the price of gas was skyrocketing, mortgage rates were in double digits, people were really feeling the pinch of inflation, and everyone was at risk of finding their gas tanks siphoned off. I suppose my tank had been drained while parked at the Calgary airport, and I didn't like being ripped off, but my bigger concern was making it to a gas station before I ran dry.
I knew there was that twenty-four hour Shell near Claresholm (my uncle Mike, from Calgary, murmurred his confirmation of this fact as he sat across from Dad) and I rolled into it on absolute fumes, only to discover it was closed. And as I sat there wondering what to do — with the engine off, and it was getting cold— this old F100 Ford with the wooden rails and a box full of hay, a wooden headboard hung with bridles and bits, this truck comes rolling up and an old farmer got out, walked up to my car and said, "You in trouble?" I said I was, that I was out of gas, and he said that the service station would be closed until seven the next morning. He added, however, that he had gas back at his farm if I wanted to follow him, and with no other choice that I could see, I told him that I'd be very grateful for the help. "There's one thing, though," the farmer said, "this is farm gas with the purple dye in it." (Dad paused here to explain what that was and how the Mounties would sometimes randomly examine drivers' engines to look for evidence of the dye in non-farm vehicles — as it could result in a hefty fine for tax fraud — but again, seeing no other choice, Dad decided to follow the man back to his farm.)
After a few twists and turns along the concessions running parallel to the highway, we arrived at the farm and drove up to the barn where there were two tanks up on struts; one filled with diesel and one with gas. I took what I thought would be just enough fuel to get me home, and when I tried to give the farmer some cash, he refused it, saying, "If you want to repay me, come on up to the house for a cup of coffee before you go. It can get lonesome out here." And even though that was the last thing I wanted to do, how could I say no?
So, we drove up to the house, and after the farmer parked, he went around to his passenger side, opened the door, and lifted out this boy — who I hadn't noticed before — whose arms and legs just hung dead from his body. Feeling weirdly uncomfortable now, I followed the man into his house. We sat and had that cup of coffee, and once again, I tried to give him some money. Again the farmer refused it and explained that some years before, he had been driving along the highway with his wife and son when his engine just gave out. And while he was gone to look for help, a transport truck ran into his family; killing the wife and crushing the son and inspiring the farmer to keep an eye out for stranded motorists in need of his assistance. The whole thing gave me the willies so I got out of there as soon as I could, made it home with gas to spare, but all that's not the strange part of the story.
Back at the plant the next week, I held my regular Friday meeting with the buyers and ended it with the strange story about the farmer and his crippled son who had helped me outside Claresholme. I thought people might get a chuckle out of it, but I was met with stares and silence. And then the lead buyer — this man named Don; excitable, probably had undiagnosed ADD at fifty, always talking loud and waving his arms — he gets up like this (Dad waving his arms around), saying, "That's bullshit. You're bullshitting us right now." And I thought that was odd and I let it go and I dismissed the meeting and everyone just kind of melted away without making further eye contact with me. But Don stayed behind and he said, "Everyone knows who that is you're talking about, it's an awful thing that happened to that family, but it happened in 1935. There's no way you met that farmer last week."
Well, to wrap it up, I went home and told your mother what Don said but never told that story to another soul. The next time I had to go up to Calgary, I drove around the concessions but couldn't find the farm anywhere. Another time, your mother and I drove up and down and all around there, but we couldn't find it that time either. And another thing: when I sold that car, I had to explain to the guy who bought it why the carburator was all stained purple; I told him he would need to take care of it before the Mounties caught him. And that is the story of my supernatural encounter in Alberta.
Of course, at this point, Uncle Billy couldn't help sharing his story of the haunted house and the flaming chandelier, and when it didn't get the big "wow" he was hoping for from Dad, Billy pivoted appropriately, "I can understand how someone could have an encounter with the paranormal — ghosts and all that there — but what I don't understand is the physical part. How you got the gas to get yourself home. And how the dye stained your engine."
"I don't claim to understand it either," said Dad, "but all's I can say is that it happened."
And if you knew my father, you'd believe him.
And another thing: When I got home and told my dad's story to my family, when I got to the "but it happened in 1935" part, Kennedy burst out with, "It's Large Marge!" Which is kind of hilarious because just the week before this trip to Nova Scotia, Kennedy was telling me how scared she was to go to bed after seeing Pee-Wee's Big Adventure as a kid — in particular, how she was too scared to reach across from her bed to turn off her light on the side table — because she was terrified Large Marge would reach out from under her bed and grab her. Another strange coincidence, harkening back to Kyler's notion of quantum entanglement, to add another yet layer of mystery to this most unusual story.
And whether it's the spotting of random dimes and cardinals, eerie synchronicities, or impossible encounters, with a brother approaching his date with the great unknown, it does give me a degree of hopefulness that something must survive the passing of the body; I've had thirteen years now of recording stories that seem to prove the point.
*****
My usual caveat: These stories are recorded, to the best of my recollection, as told to me; make of them what you will.
Back in the summer Mal mentioned that David Byrne was coming to Toronto but the tickets were too expensive to even contemplate going. So as we sat there, I opened up the Massey Hall website, noted that the tickets weren't that expensive, and asked Mal if that would be a good Christmas present — and of course, Mal was over the moon, insisting that we should go together.
Now, obviously, at my advanced age, I was in high school when The Talking Heads were at their height of fame, and while I was much more into New Wave than Top Forty Rock, the big-suit-and-synth-art-show was a bit too weird even for me at the time. But, it turns out, David Byrne has been a musical hero of Mal's for a very long time (even inspiring one of Mal's favourite tattoos), so I had some catching up to do. Many beach nights up at Sauble, when it was just me and Dave, we would listen to a Talking Heads/David Byrne playlist by the campfire, and it was all good stuff, with this song in particular really speaking to me.
So, the concert rolled around last week and we took the train into Toronto (which sounds easier than driving and parking in the city, but it took a loooong time and the direct train had stopped running by the time we were heading home again, so the train to bus to car to getting home after one in the morning was not worth the novelty; lesson learned) and had an amazing vegan sushi dinner at Planta (seriously, so good).
And the concert itself: simply incredible. Byrne and his singers/musicians were all completely mobile, marching and dancing and fluid across the stage throughout. He performed so many Talking Heads songs (most of them for the first time in decades), all of his solo hits, and several cuts from his new album; all of which we could sing along with. I was personally excited when he even performed Like Humans Do; absolutely nothing was lacking from this show. And best of all: I saw Mal's post on Instagram later — a pic of David Byrne on stage with the caption, "Best concert ever. Best day of my life." And that's what it was all about.
We'll be fallin' in love in the middle of the night
Just movin' slow
Stayin' the whole night through
It feels so good to be with you
Spring is almost over and the summer's come
And the days are gettin' long
Waited all winter for the time to be right
Just to take you along, baby get ready
And it don't matter if we sit forever
And the fish don't bite
Jump in the river and cool ourselves
From the heat of the night, baby get ready
You and me go fishin' in the dark
Lyin' on our backs and countin' the stars
Where the cool grass grows
Down by the river in the full moonlight
We'll be fallin' in love in the middle of the night
Just movin' slow
Stayin' the whole night through
It feels so good to be with you
You and me go fishin'
(You and me go fishin in the dark)
In the dark lyin' on our backs and countin' the stars
Where the cool grass grows, down by the river
(Down by the light)
In the full moonlight we'll be fallin' in love in the middle of the night
(We'll be fallin in love)
Just movin' slow
You and me go fishin'
(You and me go fishin' in the dark)
In the dark lyin' on our backs and countin' the stars
Where the cool grass grows
Down by the river in the full moonlight
(Down by the light)
We'll be fallin' in love in the middle of the night
Dave and I went to see Nitty Gritty Dirt Band the other night - mostly because it wasn't sold out when I saw an ad and looked into it (we were able to get second row centre a week before the concert; must have been returned tickets because it ended up being pretty full) and because this is the year of why not. I wouldn't say either of us is a fan of country music, but Fishin' in the Dark was definitely iconic to me. Released in 1987, while I was still living in Alberta, that song was a big hit on top forty radio, and as I put in my facebook post on the concert, it was one of my top picks for a wedding song if Dave would have learned to Two Step (but since he ended up breaking his foot the week before our wedding, that's all moot).
The concert was actually a whole lot of fun: the original members were charming and the lead singer (Jeff Hanna) told great stories. The old guys were joined by Hanna's son Jaime (formerly of the Mavericks) and on mandolin and fiddle, Ross Holmes (formerly a touring musician with Mumford & Sons), and the entire band was tight and polished. Every time I say to Dave,"Are you sure they won't be too old and sad?" whenever I see another ad for some old rockers making their way to a venue near us, he always insists that they're going to be great. And so far, they have been.
In the end, I'll take any chance to go out somewhere fun with Dave (but maybe not actually fishin' in the dark?)
Softly I will leave you softly For my heart would break if you should wake and see me go So I leave you softly long before you miss me Long before your arms can beg me to stay For one more hour or one more day After all the years I can't bear the tears to fall so Softly, as I leave you there Softly I will leave you softly For my heart would break if you should wake and see me go So I leave you softly long before you miss me Long before your arms can beg me to stay For one more hour or one more day After all the years I can't bear the tears to fall so Softly, as I leave you there
Dave and I went to see "An Evening with Priscilla Presley" last week (more for Elvis-crazy Dave than for myself), and despite not really knowing how the evening would go, even I had quite a good time.
When we first arrived at the Sanderson Centre, I noticed that a woman in the lobby was carrying a bouquet of flowers and I said to Dave, "You've really dropped the ball by not having a bouquet of your own for Priscilla." He asked if I was serious, and I kind of shrugged and said, "We're in the first row, it would be a really easy way to get her attention." So Dave ran out to find flowers (which he did at a grocery store a few blocks away) and was back in plenty of time for the show.
As for the format: A woman came out and introduced herself as a journalist of thirty years and explained that she would be interviewing Priscilla on the stage, as well as sharing video clips and posing a few (screened) audience questions if time allowed. She then introduced Priscilla Presley (the crowd went wild), and the two of them sat on wingback chairs as the journalist went through a script of questions (from their multi-country tour to promote Priscilla's new book), and Priscilla smiled and laughed at the questions (as though she hadn't been answering each of them over and over for the past couple of weeks). To be fair: although it was obviously staged and scripted, Priscilla did a good job of answering questions about her life with Elvis with warmth and wistfulness.
Having never really read up on her, I wasn't familiar with much of Priscilla's post-Elvis story (I was surprised to learn that she had dated Robert Kardashian - what a small world Hollywood can be, what with Elvis dating Linda Thompson [mother of the Jenner boys] and Kardashian defending OJ, who had been in the Naked Gun movies), but Dave said he had heard the stories and seen all the video clips before. Still, he was enthralled throughout.
We had written out a couple of questions on the provided cards in the lobby beforehand (I was cheeky enough to ask, "Can my husband [Dave in the front row] get a kiss?", because that once worked with Carol Burnett), but although that apparently didn't pass the screening process, the journalist did ask our second question (wondering if Priscilla has an opinion on the Naked Gun remake; she does not, has not seen it despite having a cameo in the film), and that did feel like having made the slightest connection.
And when the show was over and Priscilla stood and bowed, I nudged Dave to present his bouquet, which she came forward and accepted before offering her hand for Dave to shake (during which he was able to tell her that this was a great honour), and ultimately, he was the only one there who was able to touch the person who had touched his childhood idol.
So in the end: this wasn't really for me, but seeing Dave happy like that, is everything. Excellent evening overall.
(As for the song choice, Softly, As I Leave You: Life After Elvis is the name of Priscilla's new memoir: what a missed opportunity that there wasn't a stack of signed copies at the venue for the fans to buy.)
When my brother, Ken, returned from a Mediterranean cruise back in March, he immediately investigated going on another one. And when he discovered that Costa Cruises (the line he had chosen because it's the only one that allows smoking on private balconies) had an interesting looking itinerary planned for September, Ken asked if Dave and I would want to come along with him and Laura. Now, since Ken has terminal lung cancer, despite Dave having said that he'd rather never go on a cruise again, when I told him about Ken's idea, Dave answered, "Of course we'll go." So we booked the cruise, with fingers crossed that Ken would still be up for it when the time came around. And sidenote: when Ken and I were in Alberta in the summer, he was talking about the upcoming cruise with our aunt and uncle ("Of course you guys could come, too," Ken said) so they ended up booking it too. And when Kennedy turned thirty in August, Dave told her that if she could get the time off work, we'd pay for her to come too (and why not, with Mike and Carole now coming?) Kennedy didn't think it was likely, until suddenly she said that she and Zach could come along (well, he turned thirty this year, too), and now we were a real party.
Dave had never been to Italy before, so we decided to arrive a couple days early and spend some time in Rome. I found a Vrbo that is literally across a narrow street from the Pantheon, so despite the apartment itself being a bit small (especially the bathroom and handheld shower), it was in an enchantingly old building with massive marble statues on each stone landing, a huge, brass-studded medieval-looking door, and so ideally located for a walkabout (that top picture was taken at our first patio lunch just off the Pantheon's piazza). I also had booked a full day walking tour of Rome, and Dave's favourite sights were the Sistine Chapel (he had no idea that the ceiling was more than just the one painting of the Creation of Adam) and the Colosseum (he had no idea just how big it is and that you can see the underground rooms and tunnels that would have once been covered by a wooden floor). Of course we saw the Trevi Fountain as shown here, it was enchanting that it just started to gently rain through the opening in the dome when we went inside the Pantheon, and I loved bringing Dave to the Piazza Navona (where my friend Kevinand I stayed when we were eighteen) and that we got to enjoy its carnivalesque nighttime atmosphere before experiencing it again the next day in sober sunlight. Meanwhile, Kennedy and Zach decided to spend the first few days of their trip in Venice (Kennedy's favourite city from when I took her to Italy as a graduation present) and we all met in Palermo for the cruise.
Sidenote: My uncle Mike was hospitalised in August and was unable to make the cruise, but Carole decided to come anyway (which made perfect sense after the scare she had just been through and before he would be released into her care; no one resented this decision) and she brought her friend, Lynn; both lovely people.
As for the cruiseship: The Fascinosa is a clean and lovely ship, with many bars, restaurants, decks, and pools. We had a balcony (booked next to Ken and Laura's; we often talked around the barrier) and the room itself was fine in every regard. However, as this is an Italian cruiseline, and the passengers were nearly all Italians, it took some time to get used to the pushing and elbowing at the bars and buffet lines; watching people smoke out on deck as they ate, even with small children at the table; it was crazy to me that everyone we saw at the elevators would push both the up and down buttons and get on whichever one came first (and as a result, the elevators always took forever and stopped at just about every floor, often with no one waiting there). On a positive note, the staff (mostly Phillipino) were very friendly and efficient, and it was funny to have more than one of them confide in our group that we would need to get more pushy ourselves if we wanted to compete with the Italians.
Our first port of call was Naples and we had all booked the excursion to Pompeii. That's me and Kennedy doing the obligatory book pose in front of Mount Vesuvius and I want to make a note on that: When Ken and I were in Alberta this summer, many different conversations went around about travel, and when Carole asked me if I had ever been to the Louvre, I snapped into showoff mode and pulled out the picture of me "reading" The Da Vinci Code in front of the Mona Lisa and then I turned to Mike and said, "You were talking about Jordan and Petra?" and I scrolled to the picture of me "reading" the novelisation of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade in front of the stone-carved building that was used in the filming of that movie and then I turned to my aunt Dianne and said, "You asked if I had ever read Chariots of the Gods," and I showed her the picture of me "reading" that book at Machu Picchu. Mike chortled a bit, as he does, and said, "The big question is what book are you going to bring on the cruise?" And that's when I realised that I had set myself a trap - taking the thing I do for personal fun and making it a public thing. So I thought and thought and I Googled books about Pompeii but nothing seemed right. And it's when I wasn't thinking about it that the above book came to me (When You Are Engulfed in Flames by David Sedaris, I book I already owned), and as I was amused by both the title and the skeleton on its cover as appropriate to Pompeii, I thought I had the project nailed. But Kennedy and Mal both said it would be funnier to hold the Magic Treehouse book about Pompeii, and that's when I realised I should never try to crowdsource this little bit of fun; this is about what amuses me. (I even resorted to AI, and it recommended the same titles that Google had come up with, and when I prompted it to come up with something more ironic, it sort of understood, but no recommendation was better to my own mind than the book that had arisen in my own mind, so I compromised and posed with Kennedy, each with our own best choice.) And after all that, honestly, no one but me cared about this picture in the least, lol.
Ken came along for this excursion, and he lasted for a while, but eventually left the tour group to go wait at the cafe by the entrance. The rest of us were amazed by just how many buildings had been excavated, and how well preserved they had been under the ash and centuries of dirt, it was awe-inspiring to learn just how enormous pre-eruption Vesuvius had been, and it was sobering to see the casts that had been made of the voids caused by people's bodies in the ash. Of course, the brothel (and its mosaic-tiled "menu" of services) was a popular attraction, and beyond the salaciousness, there was something kind of humanising about standing in the place where such needs were once met (but a little weird to have all the penises on road pavers and buildings pointed out as the road map to the whorehouse). Ken missed out on all the best parts, but he was glad to have a bigger group along this time so that Laura wouldn't miss out, too.
We stopped for real Neopolitan pizza when we got back to Naples (delicious!) and we all agreed that we could have spent more time in the city (but had no regrets experiencing Pompeii instead.) Back on the ship, the following day was a relaxing one at sea, and the only thing that was really notable was the fun we had that evening in a lounge, dancing to live music (especially nice to watch Ken and Laura dancing together as this cruise did take place over the week of their 30th wedding anniversary).
The following day, we woke up in Malta. Ken had been so wiped out by his time in Pompeii that he declined to join us on our private tour by VW microbus:
When I was arranging this tour with our guide Dan, I told him that we (I) were primarily interested in the temples, but that we would be open to seeing whatever he thought we should. First of all: it was pretty cool to drive around in the VW; literally (because it was nicely air conditioned) but also because everywhere we went, people were taking pictures of our sweet ride. Dan first brought us to the Blue Grotto, apologising that it was too rough on the water to rent a boat tour, but it was beautiful when the sun broke through.
We then drove to the Ħaġar Qim and Mnajdra Archeological Parkand everything about this megalithic site was absolutely mind-blowing to me. Dating to 3600 BC (said to be older than the Egyptian pyramids and Stonehenge), this was thought to have been the oldest free-standing structure on earth until Göbekli Tepe was discovered in Turkey in 1994. It was a hot day and about a kilometer walk between the two clifftop temple sites - which was a tough go for some of our group - but I was absolutely mesmerised by the size of the stones, their precision placement, and the "oracle hole" that allows light to hit a niche on an inner wall on the summer solstice. Megaliths are my absolute favourite thing to experience, and it was amazingly good luck that the cruise Ken (more or less randomly) chose was so suited to what I love to see and touch and breathe in. We spent the majority of our time here, exploring the temples, the gift shop, and the interpretive centre.
Dan showed us an offshore island used as target practise by the RAF during WWII, the Chapel of St Mary Magdalene on the Dingli Cliffs (where a street vendor sold us deliciously refrigerated prickly pears), and dropped us off to explore the ancient fortified city of Mdina. The tour ended back at the capital city of Valletta, a beautiful and ancient walled city filled with interesting shops and restaurants, and despite the forecast threatening rain throughout the day, not a drop fell before everyone was safely back on board ship (and then it was torrential as we were preparing to leave port, which our group watched and delighted in from a covered portion of the deck; and as everyone else had fled at the first few drops, we actually had the nearby bar to ourselves; it was hard not to feel blessed). As a matter of fact: as we were sailing along on the final day, everyone was Googling other cruises (me fantasising once again about a round the world trip after Dave retires; it's all about the excursions as this trip proved), and Ken took that as a good sign that everyone had had fun on the trip he chose.
The final day at sea, and then back to Palermo. Kennedy and Zach immediately flew to Rome for a couple days there, and the rest of us stayed on Sicily for another day and a half; Dave and I staying in the Vrbo Ken had rented for the four of us. I had been Googling excursions from Palermo, but as the only thing I could find that interested me was a 12 hour day by bus to Mt Etna (hiking around the largest active volcano in Europe does sound fascinating, but it seems like way more sitting on a bus than exploring), in the end, we decided to spend our last full day on the hop-on hop-off bus. And while that was sort of interesting, Palermo just isn't big enough to spend a whole day seeing it by bus. At any rate, we were all nicely worn out and travel sated. One more excellent dinner that evening for the six that remained of our party, and everyone left for home the next day.
There were a couple of hiccups, but not worth writing about. From the beginning, this trip was about spending time with Ken, doing what he chose to do (even if he wasn't always feeling up to being with us in body), and I'm sure we all left feeling like we had had quality time with him. And that was the real point of it all. That's what families do. That's amore!
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