Occasionally I clock some beyond Nova Scotia travel with my job. Most recently, it was off to Ottawa for a professional development opportunity. A quick trip – two days on the road. Day one is a series of serendipitous encounters.
In the seats in front of me on the plane are a mom and three cute kids – steps and stairs from infant to just school age. They are travelling to a family wedding in Ontario. Our conversation and their antics make the time pass quickly. Family is the focal point of the adult discussion giving me the chance to share stories about my children and bask in the warm glow of the recounting and remembering.
The mother grew up in Halifax the first generation of her Asian family to be born in Canada. As an adult she worked in Japan for several years. This is where she met her husband, a European running a business in Osaka. She’s back in Halifax now to coincide with her oldest child starting school. The next step is to get her husband into Canada. Their current challenge is around recognition of professional qualifications. The kids are sweet and make me think of my little ones.
On my way to supper I drop into the Rideau Centre to see if I can pick up some small gifts for Mélanie and the kids. As I’m rounding a corner, there is Jacques Demers right beside me. I can’t remember his name initially so I blurt out, “Les Canadiens?” When he responds in the affirmative, I rattle off how I have a young guy at home who absolutely adores les canadiens. He says the season will be starting on Thursday night. By that time I have recovered his name from that infrequently used hockey compartment of my memory and say, “Mr. Demers, right?” He confirms I have the name but need a little work on the honorific, “yes, it’s Senator now.” What a career and you can still see him on RDS’ L’avant match.
I’m running a little early for supper so I pop into the former Double Decker in the market – new owners and name since it was an an old hangout for me. Up top on the second storey, where I usually went back in the day, I almost walk into a full blown political meeting. There is speechifying, collecting of money at the door and an atmosphere bordering on gravitas. This isn’t the kind of entertainment I was looking for so I retreat down the stairs.
It’s my good fortune to do so. At the bar I am seated next to a couple of retired schoolteachers from Manitoulin Island. They are down on a little holiday and are just waiting to get seated for supper. They both volunteer one morning per week at their local tourist bureau. They are lit up as they talk about these mornings. They love meeting the people and helping them get acquainted with their home. Retirement is not slowing either of them down. In addition to the volunteering, Maurice is also a councillor with the local government.
Twice I ask them the crazy question, “Do you know…..?”. I strike gold both times. I’m thirty years out from conversations with both individuals I ask about. Jose Garcia was my next door neighbour at Queen St. West and Bathurst. He was a rootsy potter from Dominican Republic I think. He had already made his connection with Manitoulin back in those days. Now he’s running a gallery and a B&B in South Baymouth referenced in this Globe and Mail article. Looks like Jose continues to roots along as he is the co-organizer of the annual Meeting of the Two Drums Festival.
Just before Maurice and his wife are called to their table, I ask if they know David Campbell. HIs wife looks at me first speaking his name and then singing a verse, “David Campbell, Pretty Brown you’re a song that I just can’t keep from singing.” There we are strangers sharing a song that years ago had brought us both great happiness. David is an Arawak singer/songwriter and artist now living in the Vancouver area. When I met him nearly 30 years ago he had five or six albums to his credit. Pretty Brown is the one I fell in love with.
David, Theo Ben-Gurirab and members of Quilapayun were amongst the first people I interviewed as a volunteer writer at The Toronto Clarion. I still remember David telling me that the problem with people on ‘the left’ is that they have no sense of humour. Since then I’ve always thought that a receding humour line was a dangerous thing.
Supper is with good friends I don’t get to see frequently enough and for Gary it’s his bday. Our celebrations are low key as we enjoy each other’s company over a couple of glasses of wine and some mid-scale Italian cuisine.
The next day is chock-full at a conference on social media. It’s a roomful of believers, passionate about creating new pathways, about firing up creativity, riding the tip of the wave. Lots to think about, to digest, put into practice.
One more friend stop on the way to the airport. I luck a London cab. The East European driver tells me there are only five in the city. He’s had his for a few months. At the $90K price tag, he’s got a few more fares before he can call it his own.
On the plane I sit next to a retired RCMP officer from Lethbridge. When he was five-years-old he lived in Eureka, Nova Scotia. He keeps in touch with his Nova Scotia relatives and is always glad for the chance to visit. This time he’ll be checking to make sure his grandfather’s headstone has had the work done to it that he contracted. It’s something his father had always wanted to do.
I’m happy to get home at 2:30 in the morning. Chance encounters – listening, learning, and a little laughing.
[…] also met a family of three kids at the racing emporium who I had last seen on a Halifax – Ottawa flight in October. The biggest was a couple of years older than our lad. He was a sweetheart with Noah […]