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Lake Fever
(Written and Performed by The Tragically Hip)
We can take a bit of a breather
We can skip to the practical part
We can skip to the time of neither
When we're together and even
When we're apart
I'll tell you a story about the Lake fever or
We can skip to the coital fury
You didn't say yes or no, neither
You whispered, hurry
Hurry
Hurry
Hurry
We can take it a little bit further
We can stick to the after effects part
'Not trying to make you a believer,
Don't want to a lil' piece of your heart
Just telling you a story about the Lake fever
Or we can skip to a neutral fury
You didn't say yes or no neither
You whispered, hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry
Want to be a nobody without peer
Want to be a thought that's never done
Want to shake your faith in human nature
Want to break the hearts of everyone
Want to be your wheezing screen door
Want to be your stars of Algonquin
Want to be your roaring floorboard
Want to break the hearts of everyone
'Cause discontent until they,
Cease in their investigation
Bring back the days events
Good citizens and time well spent
'Til we're talking in whispers again
Until we're talking in whispers again (you whispered, hurry)
Until we're talking in whispers again (you whispered, hurry)
Until we're talking in whispers again (you whispered, hurry)
Until we're talking in whispers again
After my brother Ken died and was cremated in April, his wife Laura said that she wanted to bury his ashes at the lakehouse in Nova Scotia. And after checking everyones' schedules, it was decided that it would happen this past Saturday, August 10th. As we did last summer, Conor and I drove down together with my dog, Cormac, and we arrived without incident. (I chose this song, despite the mildly spicy lyrics, because Conor said he brought his drumkit down to the lakeshore last summer to honour his Dad by playing this, one of Ken's favourite Hip songs.)
Now, to be fair, my other brother, Kyler, has a lot going on with his life, and as he is now the owner of the lakehouse, planning events at his property should go through him. I have to say, however, that he made this trip so uncomfortable for me that I don't know if I'll ever stay there again. From his douchebag conservative politics — I asked him if he's a fan of John Cleese and he said, "I used to think he was alright, but somewhere along the way I think he got based..." and I cut him off with, "I'm just asking if you think he's funny because Dave and are going to see him live in October and bought tickets for the meet and greet" — to actually complaining about what Laura was cooking every night when she was the one buying the food and planning the meals for the whole family before his wife arrived ("Please tell me we're not having that coleslaw again, I just can't handle it.")
It has been a tradition, starting with my dad, that we get a bucket of KFC one night and go out on the pontoon boat for dinner, throwing the bones overboard for the lake bass. Kyler decided that this would happen on the Thursday — before most of the family arrived — because he had to go into town that day and he could pick it up. He got back to the lakehouse around 3 pm, and when he saw that Conor and Henry weren't around (I had sent them to the local store for Red Bull because Dave was coming the next day), Kyler got pretty annoyed, talking about how he hadn't eaten all day and how long would he have to wait (even though none of knew when to expect him with dinner, he had been gone all day.) When the boys arrived, we had to pack up the food and utensils quickly, follow Kyler out to the boat, and he pulled it out, puttered around the first rocky point, and parked us in the full sun of a 35°C day. It was not pleasant. And when I saw that Cormac — who is never given human food — was chomping on something, Kyler said, "What? I gave him some chicken skin." Ella asked, "Isn't Cormac allergic to chicken?" And I said yes. And Kyler said, "Do you know how many people say their dogs are allergic to chicken? I call bullshit. And if Cormac had a reaction? Do you know how much sleep I'd lose over that?" So, I got up with my plate of chicken and my dog on his leash and went to the front of the boat, telling Conor that I wanted to swap places with him. What a miserable experience.
Dave, Kennedy, Zach, and Mal came the next evening, and of course it was better with my own family there. Laura had this craft for us to do: she had bought modelling clay with concrete in it for us to make little pseudo-rocks to build a cairn-type memorial over Ken's buried ashes, and while the rest of us had made our rocks a couple days earlier, my family got up in time to make theirs. My Uncle Billy and Aunt Dianne had come from PEI the previous day to be a part of the memorial, and their son — with his wife and two teenaged sons — informed us that they would be arriving on the Saturday, too (although there were no rooms to put them up in). Kyler looked pretty stressed about all these people in his house — he asked me who invited them all, and I said they invited themselves — and he was feeling pretty sick, not spending much time around everyone. When Mum and Dad showed up (with the lobster rolls Dad had planned for and the extra food he was told to bring because of the additional people, not all of whom like lobster), we got the show started.
Conor and Dave had dug a good sized hole in the center of three trees down by the lakeshore, and Laura had transferred Ken's remains into an organic, compostable cotton bag she had sewn up . Laura went first, making just a few remarks, lamenting the "Ken-sized hole" that was now in her life, and she placed the bag into the grave, and Conor gently filled it up again. Laura called for anyone else who had remarks to come forward, and my dad — a really fine speaker — came forward and said (something like), "It was November 9th of 2023 that our firstborn, Ken, came down for a visit by himself, which was unusual. We went out for a drive alone one day and he told me about his cancer diagnosis, saying that they gave him six months to live, and said he just didn't know how to tell his mother. I told him, 'Just tell her, she's strong'" (frail Mum piped up with a quivering, "Yes I am") "So Ken did tell her, and she took it hard, but she is strong, and she accepted it. And then he lived for another two and a half years. And from the first day, Ken told me that he had no bitterness. He had led a good life and he didn't want anyone feeling sorry for him. And he kept telling me that right up until the end, and I believed him, even if he said it to make us feel better about it." (Something like that, definitely longer, probably better.)
No one else really had remarks, but each of us who had made a stone came forward to lay it over Ken's remains, and when I had placed my stone and touched the ground and said, "Goodbye, brother" I then broke down in Dave's arms. In a stroke of inspiration, we had decided to get little plastic shot glasses and provide everyone present with a small vodka and diet coke — Ken's signature drink — and although I had prewarned my cousin that there was a bit of alcohol in the drinks his sons would be given, and although I had announced what they were and that people could use them to toast Ken or pour one out for him, I do believe from the grimaces that everyone took the shot (Dave taking an extra to pour over Ken's remains) and Ken would have loved it all. Dinner was a communal, festive touch — Kyler feeling too unwell to eat with us — and first Mum and Dad left for home, and then my cousin announced that they were driving straight back to PEI (and I believe they made it home at 2 am; I do hope it was worth it for them).
In the end, Darrel and Melanie ate on their way in from the airport, so Christine recommended we have our dinner around six, making it plenty late enough when Kyler's friends showed up that I could make my excuses for an early departure the next morning and take Cormac up to the bunkie and stew on, "And, by the way,..."
The drive home was fine and uneventful. I can't imagine making that drive again; I certainly won't be bringing Cormac down again.
We can take a bit of a breather
We can skip to the practical part
We can skip to the time of neither
When we're together and even
When we're apart
