I had a perfect wonderful time in Calgary. Seeing friends, warm and embracing, doing good work, meeting creative people who were enthusiastic about what work was all about. In the morning, I met a long time friend I don't see often - a Buddhist who listened and talked about her life since we last were together. It was a rich, profound and light-on-the-soul experience. Then, I had to catch my flight back to Ottawa.
I spent part of a flight home talking to a woman named Waterfall, from Salt Spring Island, sharing bits and pieces of life between us. We began over our books. I was learning all about language quirks with The Meaning of Tingo and she was reading The Marriage Plan or something like that. We compared notes on ages etc. She was 51, me being 52, we chuckled, and set our books aside as the plane took off and began the stories about lives lived with people disappointing us and relationships not fulfilled.
For a long time, from Calgary until we were nearly arrived in Winnipeg, we did not introduce ourselves. So when we did share our names, she invited me to laugh at her chosen name. I told her I was acquainted with women named Mountain, Tamarack and Aphrodite so her name was not a surprise. Since beginning our exchange, I knew she was a massage therapist, had been a civil engineer who had worked in Lesotho in the early 80s, had her first child in Ottawa and was a bit of a gypsy spirit. She was going home to participate in a family reunion; her first time home for a while. I sensed her apprehension – both in a good way and in the tense way people have when family dynamics come into play after years of independence.
As usual, though, hungering for conversation, I poured out too much of myself and she needed to get away for awhile before landing. Like a dolt I did not take the first hint she dropped (my neck is stiff, I need to sit straight), nor even the second (I need to close my eyes for a bit). So she kindly took herself off to the washroom and I quieted myself at long last, giving her a half hour of peace before landing. She must have sighed deeply upon returning to her seat beside me, as I faced the prairie unfolding below in the afternoon sun. I had my earplugs in to signal my own need for time and my recognition of surrounding noise.
For a long time, from Calgary until we were nearly arrived in Winnipeg, we did not introduce ourselves. So when we did share our names, she invited me to laugh at her chosen name. I told her I was acquainted with women named Mountain, Tamarack and Aphrodite so her name was not a surprise. Since beginning our exchange, I knew she was a massage therapist, had been a civil engineer who had worked in Lesotho in the early 80s, had her first child in Ottawa and was a bit of a gypsy spirit. She was going home to participate in a family reunion; her first time home for a while. I sensed her apprehension – both in a good way and in the tense way people have when family dynamics come into play after years of independence.
As usual, though, hungering for conversation, I poured out too much of myself and she needed to get away for awhile before landing. Like a dolt I did not take the first hint she dropped (my neck is stiff, I need to sit straight), nor even the second (I need to close my eyes for a bit). So she kindly took herself off to the washroom and I quieted myself at long last, giving her a half hour of peace before landing. She must have sighed deeply upon returning to her seat beside me, as I faced the prairie unfolding below in the afternoon sun. I had my earplugs in to signal my own need for time and my recognition of surrounding noise.
I know Ottawa holds no conversation for me. Just work and correspondence. Friends? Not here.
That plane trip - the story of just another day in the life of the hungry hermit.
That plane trip - the story of just another day in the life of the hungry hermit.
Conversation... Anyone?
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