I was behind schedule more than usual this year. The only thing ready for my family’s arrival on Christmas day was the ragout (the traditional Quebecois dish for the season), and the tortières (meat pies), both prepared and put in the freezer last Sunday. And the tree, which my friend had been gracious enough to install and decorate, because I was seriously wondering where I would find the time to do it. Now, on early morning of December 24th, my normal enthusiasm for the season was at an all-time low. One day left, no shopping done, and the cold/flu I’d been battling for the past few days was winning. I could think of nothing better than huddling in my warm bed.
“Let’s get a move on.” My friend was standing at the door which joins our homes, holding out a cup of coffee. Seeing my expression, he grinned. Not very sympathetic. “A little effort,” he said, “You’ll feel better once you get dressed and out.”
He was right, of course. Together we combed the stores, found everything on our lists, and even managed to pick up groceries – all in record time. There were many, many shoppers mulling around, but everyone was smiling, including the service people, and it was infectious. By 4:30 PM the last of our packages were in my truck, and it was finally ‘beginning to feel a lot like Christmas’. My friend was driving, and I had no complaint when he stopped at a favourite restaurant. We found ourselves alone in the dining area, with an exceptionally cheerful waitress, delicious food, and it was exactly what I needed to complete the transformation. The Spirit was back.
So, everything was ready when my family showed up on Christmas day. The youngest grandchildren (5 and 2 ½ years old), eyed the colourful array Santa had left under the tree, but managed to wait without too much fuss until all the Uncles and Aunties showed up, adding more presents, which the jolly old fella had left at their houses the night before. The excitement built up until, finally, Uncle B., Santa’s designated helper, gathered us around for the distribution. Paper went flying through the air, under the table, into the couches. Due to over-zealous unwrapping of ANYTHIING by our two youngest participants, some of the gifts were held up for inquiry as to who they were for, and the giver laughed and called out the name. It was pure bedlam – and I loved every minute of it!
We surrounded the table and feasted, camera flashes still catching many of us unaware. Then a precious highlight of the evening – the little guys were put into the jacuzzi for their bath. I think the whole family crowded into the bathroom at one point, laughing at their antics as they swam in the bubbles, their happy, little faces radiating surprise, a bit of apprehension, then sheer joy when the water jets were turned on by Dad. Another memory for M’mère (me) to hold in her heart, and one that will put a smile on her face for years to come.
By 10 PM the house was quiet – it was already way past bedtime for the little ones. My friend, who had spent the day with his own family, knocked on the door, then entered to share a nightcap. We sat by the fire, the dogs at our feet, the Yuletide music (taped and received from my brother as a gift) playing softly in the background.
“All that for one day, huh?”, he remarked.
“Uh-huh…one day,” I agreed, my thoughts still basking in the warmth my family had left behind them.
“But that’s what life is, isn’t it?” I mused. “A whole bunch of “one day”’s?” And from each of those days come the memories which sustain us to the end, until it is time for us to move on.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Saturday, December 19, 2009
FORGET THE CIRQUE DU SOLEIL??
My memory has become a fickle thing. It could be the result of overwork, daily doses of stress, this cold medication I’ve been taking, or just the natural age factor. Whatever, it played a nasty trick on me this month, and very nearly got away with it!
My business associates were not able to attend the birthday bash held for me in July. They more than made amends by coming to the office later that week and giving me two tickets (very GOOD ones!) for the famous “Circle du Soleil”, which was being presented in Montreal…last night! I was overjoyed, and put them away carefully in my top drawer so that I wouldn’t lose them. Reading my first paragraph may lead you to think, “She couldn’t remember where she put them”. Wrong. I just forgot about them altogether!!
December is always a busy time. We have three companies who need to have financial statements completed and sent out by the end of the month, gifts to choose and wrap for our clients, the holiday schedule to work out, an office party to prepare, etc., etc. – plus our own personal shopping and seasonal activities to take care of. Added to that this year was my grandson’s fifth birthday party last week, and celebrating my daughter’s 40th, happening tonight. As the list of ‘Things to do’ became longer, my tired brain seemed to get smaller, this nagging head cold aside. I am running behind in everything, and find myself losing precious time by having to just sit and force my memory out of its neutral state. It tends to go blank. Traitor!
To prove how distracted I was (am), there was total non-reaction on my part when one of my co-workers mentioned the ‘Circle du Soleil’ event while in the lunch room this week. She had seen it last year, and was enthusiastically recommending it to all of us. I still find it hard to believe that her words did not turn on the light. I don’t even have the excuse of not hearing her, because I did, but…no bells and whistles. Then Yoshiko, my daughter-in-law who is part of my team, turned and said, “Mom is going to see it this time.” I stared at her. I am?? Then...bang! I remembered! Those tickets!!
What followed was a scramble to hunt through the desk drawer to check out the date, hoping it wasn’t tonight, the same time as my daughter’s party. Then a sigh of relief, and a bit of re-organizing when I discovered it was not. I was able to attend, and it was a spectacular show! I don’t even want to imagine what I’d have felt to have missed it. Yoshiko merits a huge, thankful hug!
There is something to learn from everything, and this time, of course, it’s that I need to slow down and, as Kilroy put it, smell the roses. Usually I can ignore the warning when my body tries to tell me. Pop more vitamins, an extra hour of snooze…and keep going. However, one has to pay attention when your mind and/or memory come into play. Whether you want to or not, you come to a complete stop if you DON'T pay attention. And it’s scary. Now I need to figure out a way to do it. If I remember……
As long as I don’t forget to SMILE – which I haven’t – am sending out a huge one for you all!!
Luv from the Bush in Quebec.
My business associates were not able to attend the birthday bash held for me in July. They more than made amends by coming to the office later that week and giving me two tickets (very GOOD ones!) for the famous “Circle du Soleil”, which was being presented in Montreal…last night! I was overjoyed, and put them away carefully in my top drawer so that I wouldn’t lose them. Reading my first paragraph may lead you to think, “She couldn’t remember where she put them”. Wrong. I just forgot about them altogether!!
December is always a busy time. We have three companies who need to have financial statements completed and sent out by the end of the month, gifts to choose and wrap for our clients, the holiday schedule to work out, an office party to prepare, etc., etc. – plus our own personal shopping and seasonal activities to take care of. Added to that this year was my grandson’s fifth birthday party last week, and celebrating my daughter’s 40th, happening tonight. As the list of ‘Things to do’ became longer, my tired brain seemed to get smaller, this nagging head cold aside. I am running behind in everything, and find myself losing precious time by having to just sit and force my memory out of its neutral state. It tends to go blank. Traitor!
To prove how distracted I was (am), there was total non-reaction on my part when one of my co-workers mentioned the ‘Circle du Soleil’ event while in the lunch room this week. She had seen it last year, and was enthusiastically recommending it to all of us. I still find it hard to believe that her words did not turn on the light. I don’t even have the excuse of not hearing her, because I did, but…no bells and whistles. Then Yoshiko, my daughter-in-law who is part of my team, turned and said, “Mom is going to see it this time.” I stared at her. I am?? Then...bang! I remembered! Those tickets!!
What followed was a scramble to hunt through the desk drawer to check out the date, hoping it wasn’t tonight, the same time as my daughter’s party. Then a sigh of relief, and a bit of re-organizing when I discovered it was not. I was able to attend, and it was a spectacular show! I don’t even want to imagine what I’d have felt to have missed it. Yoshiko merits a huge, thankful hug!
There is something to learn from everything, and this time, of course, it’s that I need to slow down and, as Kilroy put it, smell the roses. Usually I can ignore the warning when my body tries to tell me. Pop more vitamins, an extra hour of snooze…and keep going. However, one has to pay attention when your mind and/or memory come into play. Whether you want to or not, you come to a complete stop if you DON'T pay attention. And it’s scary. Now I need to figure out a way to do it. If I remember……
As long as I don’t forget to SMILE – which I haven’t – am sending out a huge one for you all!!
Luv from the Bush in Quebec.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
MY SON'S CHRISTMAS PRESENT - PART 2
My daughter’s tears sent my stomach spiralling down to my feet. Emotions raged inside – acute disappointment, a frenzied anger, a sense of hopeless defeat and, certainly not least, relief for having mentioned nothing to my son. It all showed on my face. Before I could start ranting and raving aloud, my daughter hastened to set things straight.
“They won’t tell me anything!” she exclaimed. “It’s so damned frustrating!”
I should have remembered crying came easy to this tender-hearted child of mine. In spite of her strength, anything remotely distressing could set it off. Catching my breath, I allowed a tiny glimmer of hope to reassert itself. My friend, knowing both of us so well, put a comforting arm around my shoulders.
“It will be okay – she’s probably just stuck in there waiting on baggage,” he soothed. “Don’t get upset before you know what’s happening.”
Then there she was.
I was looking at my friend that exact moment when she exited the gate, and it was his sudden, huge smile that turned me in the direction of his gaze. Yoshiko was walking toward us, her face sporting an immense grin of triumph, and I’m sure I sent up a thousand prayers of gratitude while covering the short distance to reach her. I’m suspect even the people at the security gate (who couldn’t help but be aware of the situation because of our numerous inquiries) felt like applauding while watching our reunion.
But the highlight of the event was yet to come.
My daughter drove away some minutes ahead of us. She was to park her car as close as possible to my son’s apartment, lower her hatchback seat, and then hide behind a nearby hedge with her video camera. I telephoned my son and calmly (don’t ask me how I managed that!) asked to speak to my mom. I warned her we were on our way so that she would keep my son indoors.
We arrived and, with excited giggling and anticipation, hurried to set things up outside. Yoshiko was installed, a fur-trimmed, red Santa’s hat on her head, lying on her stomach in my daughter’s car. She was facing the trunk door, which she held down so that I could open it without the key at the appropriate moment. My daughter crouched behind the hedge, camera ready, and my friend and I went to my son’s door.
My son greeted us warmly, expressing his surprise and appreciation for the housework his grandmother had done. My mom was standing behind him, trying to hide her glee, signalling frantically that he still knew nothing. We talked for a moment, then, when my son asked us to come and sit down for a coffee, I embarked on the last part of the planned scene.
“Put your boots on and come out to my truck, B.,” I told him. “You need to help my friend carry in your Christmas gift. It’s too heavy for one person.”
“What? What did you buy now?” my son remonstrated. “I thought you said we’re all getting small gifts this year to save money?”
I made “Well, you know me…you could use a dishwasher…” noises, so he moved to do as I asked, dressing for the Quebec winter, still scolding good-naturedly as we went outside. When the three of us reached my daughter’s car, I stopped. “Hey, look! This one is just like your sister’s!” I said to him.
“Yeh, well she’s not the only one who has a grey Mazda,” he answered, and continued walking with my friend (who didn’t know exactly what to do now so just played along), heading for my truck parked on the other side of the street.
I took a deep breathe to keep my voice steady. “Hey, wait, B.,” I called to him. “There’s something about this car….”
My son stopped and came back towards me. “Look, Mom, “he said, with his ‘it’s-my-mom-and-I-love-her-so-will-be-patient’ tone. “You’re in the city here, not a village. Mazda sold more than one of those cars….”
He broke off, aghast, when I leaned over and lifted the trunk door, not quite sure what I was doing; probably picturing a car alarm sounding off, police involvement, and heaven knows what else. Then, because I still stood there, he leaned over to peer into the trunk, totally not noticing his sister who had snuck out from behind the hedge, video camera whirring.
The world stopped moving for a second. Completely stunned, he stared down at Yoshiko. Chin in hand, Santa’s hat askew on her long, black hair, she smiled up at him, her dark eyes twinkling in the streetlights. “Merry Chlistmas, B.!” she said softly, her Japanese accent replacing the ‘r’ with the ‘l’.
It’s a challenge to put into words what happened next. My son uttered something unprintable, then turned and strode away from the car, holding his head in both hands. “This isn’t true - you’re kidding – it can’t be true - *”$% - is this real?....” was part of his reaction. Yoshiko stayed put, waiting, the smile still in place. She knew her man. Within nano-seconds he was back, hauling her out of the trunk, and hugging her so tightly to him that her feet left the ground. His face was hidden, buried in her hair, and there they stood, clinging together, completely immobile except for the heaving of his shoulders.
The rest of us waited there on that city street watching them, laughing and weeping with joy ourselves, hugging each other in turn. My son finally lifted his head and, still hanging onto her, tears streaming down his face, looked into my eyes. His expression spoke volumes to a mother’s heart, and my mind still pictures bright, shining stars flying up into the sky, each one swollen with love, each one proclaiming “Now it’s Christmas.”
It took a few minutes before we came back to normal. The video turned out shaky –but we don’t need it to remember the intense caring of that night.
My son’s boss had also played his part well. Not only had he kept the secret, he led the co-workers in a standing ovation when the couple arrived together at the office party the next evening.
Yoshiko and my son have since married, and she is a permanent Canadian resident now. They will both be joining the rest of us at my home this Christmas day (Dec. 25th) before flying back to Japan to celebrate with her family.
As I said, on other holidays I am very flexible – but NEVER December 25th. Christmas supper is held at my home and my children certainly know now, from experience, that absence is not an option.
Luv from The Bush in Quebec
“They won’t tell me anything!” she exclaimed. “It’s so damned frustrating!”
I should have remembered crying came easy to this tender-hearted child of mine. In spite of her strength, anything remotely distressing could set it off. Catching my breath, I allowed a tiny glimmer of hope to reassert itself. My friend, knowing both of us so well, put a comforting arm around my shoulders.
“It will be okay – she’s probably just stuck in there waiting on baggage,” he soothed. “Don’t get upset before you know what’s happening.”
Then there she was.
I was looking at my friend that exact moment when she exited the gate, and it was his sudden, huge smile that turned me in the direction of his gaze. Yoshiko was walking toward us, her face sporting an immense grin of triumph, and I’m sure I sent up a thousand prayers of gratitude while covering the short distance to reach her. I’m suspect even the people at the security gate (who couldn’t help but be aware of the situation because of our numerous inquiries) felt like applauding while watching our reunion.
But the highlight of the event was yet to come.
My daughter drove away some minutes ahead of us. She was to park her car as close as possible to my son’s apartment, lower her hatchback seat, and then hide behind a nearby hedge with her video camera. I telephoned my son and calmly (don’t ask me how I managed that!) asked to speak to my mom. I warned her we were on our way so that she would keep my son indoors.
We arrived and, with excited giggling and anticipation, hurried to set things up outside. Yoshiko was installed, a fur-trimmed, red Santa’s hat on her head, lying on her stomach in my daughter’s car. She was facing the trunk door, which she held down so that I could open it without the key at the appropriate moment. My daughter crouched behind the hedge, camera ready, and my friend and I went to my son’s door.
My son greeted us warmly, expressing his surprise and appreciation for the housework his grandmother had done. My mom was standing behind him, trying to hide her glee, signalling frantically that he still knew nothing. We talked for a moment, then, when my son asked us to come and sit down for a coffee, I embarked on the last part of the planned scene.
“Put your boots on and come out to my truck, B.,” I told him. “You need to help my friend carry in your Christmas gift. It’s too heavy for one person.”
“What? What did you buy now?” my son remonstrated. “I thought you said we’re all getting small gifts this year to save money?”
I made “Well, you know me…you could use a dishwasher…” noises, so he moved to do as I asked, dressing for the Quebec winter, still scolding good-naturedly as we went outside. When the three of us reached my daughter’s car, I stopped. “Hey, look! This one is just like your sister’s!” I said to him.
“Yeh, well she’s not the only one who has a grey Mazda,” he answered, and continued walking with my friend (who didn’t know exactly what to do now so just played along), heading for my truck parked on the other side of the street.
I took a deep breathe to keep my voice steady. “Hey, wait, B.,” I called to him. “There’s something about this car….”
My son stopped and came back towards me. “Look, Mom, “he said, with his ‘it’s-my-mom-and-I-love-her-so-will-be-patient’ tone. “You’re in the city here, not a village. Mazda sold more than one of those cars….”
He broke off, aghast, when I leaned over and lifted the trunk door, not quite sure what I was doing; probably picturing a car alarm sounding off, police involvement, and heaven knows what else. Then, because I still stood there, he leaned over to peer into the trunk, totally not noticing his sister who had snuck out from behind the hedge, video camera whirring.
The world stopped moving for a second. Completely stunned, he stared down at Yoshiko. Chin in hand, Santa’s hat askew on her long, black hair, she smiled up at him, her dark eyes twinkling in the streetlights. “Merry Chlistmas, B.!” she said softly, her Japanese accent replacing the ‘r’ with the ‘l’.
It’s a challenge to put into words what happened next. My son uttered something unprintable, then turned and strode away from the car, holding his head in both hands. “This isn’t true - you’re kidding – it can’t be true - *”$% - is this real?....” was part of his reaction. Yoshiko stayed put, waiting, the smile still in place. She knew her man. Within nano-seconds he was back, hauling her out of the trunk, and hugging her so tightly to him that her feet left the ground. His face was hidden, buried in her hair, and there they stood, clinging together, completely immobile except for the heaving of his shoulders.
The rest of us waited there on that city street watching them, laughing and weeping with joy ourselves, hugging each other in turn. My son finally lifted his head and, still hanging onto her, tears streaming down his face, looked into my eyes. His expression spoke volumes to a mother’s heart, and my mind still pictures bright, shining stars flying up into the sky, each one swollen with love, each one proclaiming “Now it’s Christmas.”
It took a few minutes before we came back to normal. The video turned out shaky –but we don’t need it to remember the intense caring of that night.
My son’s boss had also played his part well. Not only had he kept the secret, he led the co-workers in a standing ovation when the couple arrived together at the office party the next evening.
Yoshiko and my son have since married, and she is a permanent Canadian resident now. They will both be joining the rest of us at my home this Christmas day (Dec. 25th) before flying back to Japan to celebrate with her family.
As I said, on other holidays I am very flexible – but NEVER December 25th. Christmas supper is held at my home and my children certainly know now, from experience, that absence is not an option.
Luv from The Bush in Quebec
Sunday, December 13, 2009
MY SON'S CHRISTMAS PRESENT
It was that time again. For other holidays I am very flexible – but NEVER December 25th. Christmas supper was held at my home and my children knew, from experience, that absence was not an option, except, maybe, if that option was death. Don’t even dare plan on doing anything else, anywhere else. Still, I figured that a reminder wouldn’t hurt. It must have been intuition.
“Ah no, Mom,” answered my oldest son. “What Christmas? I’m just staying in the city and renting a movie or something. I don’t even want to think about Christmas. Forget me this year.” Whoa!! This was my son talking – the one who revelled in family get-togethers even more than I did. The tone of voice echoed his words. He was seriously depressed.
“What?!! No, no, no.” I replied. “What in hell is this about? What’s going on?”
He told me what I should have known. Yoshiko would not be here, and they had both so looked forward to spending their first Christmas together. As much as he loved his family, it would not be Christmas without her. He would only dampen the spirit for the rest of us.
Two months before, his Japanese fiancé had been refused entry to Canada when her flight had landed in Montreal. There was no valid reason given by airport customs. More than likely she had been greeted by an official who was having a bad day. The girl was well educated, had a healthy bank account and no police record, and, although not fluent, could speak the two official languages of this country. My son and I had stood in the arrival area waiting for hours, and hours…. and agonizing hours. I watched my son’s face as his worry turned to panic, and realized to what extent he loved this girl. Her arrival was at 18:30, and at 1:30 AM, the surly custom official finally allowed her to call us on my cellular. She was to depart, the same night, on the first flight out of Canada. She had been coming here too often, he told her. Before returning, she needed Canadian authorisation, and this she must apply for from her own country. It meant, at best, a year of paperwork before she could come back.
I hung up the phone with an ache in my heart. My child was hurting. My ache soon became a mother’s anger. This was NOT acceptable! Anger turned into determination. Damn it! This was Canada!! The land lauded as glorious and free! There had to be something that could be done? I mean – Japanese citizens were not typically singled out as terrorists, were they?
A co-worker of mine had experienced immigration problems with his relatives relocating from Ireland, and gave me the name of a good (but expensive!!!) immigration lawyer. I contacted my future daughter-in-law in Japan by e-mail, asking her to be specific about what she had been told, and that she keep our conversations secret. The last thing I wanted was for my son to have his hopes dashed again! Within the next week, the lawyer had advised both myself and Yoshiko what needed to be written, said, mailed, and faxed to further our cause. Together we set it up. My other two children were sworn to secrecy as well. That left my son’s boss.
Yoshiko, that beautiful, eternally optimistic girl had booked her flight for December 18th, and I knew my son’s office party was the night following her arrival. Hearing what I had to say, and being the epitome of an ‘Italian’ romantic, the boss not only told me he would obtain the second party admittance ticket, but also agreed to be silent. He knew, as well as anyone, how sad my son was, what it would do to him to be disappointed a second time. My son had refused to go to the office party until his co-workers, hearing that he had decided not to attend, got together and purchased the ticket for him, practically forcing his hand. His boss kept repeating to me into the phone “This is so cool! This is so nice! It HAS to work!” His voice was full of emotion.
The day arrived. That morning, wanting to cover all the bases, worried about another entry refusal by customs, I placed a call to the lawyer’s cell phone, waking him up in Copenhagen, where it was 4:30 AM (to be fair, I didn’t know he was there – but probably would have called anyway). He was quite gracious, in spite of the hour – assuring me that all should go well, but that he would talk to an agent if need be – he would leave his cell open -to just contact him at any time. I was beginning to think that the man was worth his high retainer fee.
My son is not the best of housekeepers at any time, and his depression had only made matters worse. Not wanting Yoshiko to arrive in such a mess, my friend and my mom (who was still alive at the time) volunteered to help me clean his apartment before going to the airport. I had warned my son that his grandmother be at his place when he arrived from work, the excuse being that she had come into the city with me for a doctor’s appointment, but I had to meet an important client late the same afternoon, so would drop her off at his home instead of having her wait in the car. So far, so good.
My daughter and my friend joined me at the arrival gate. I can’t begin to explain what I felt as we waited there. Not able to sit when I’m agitated, I must have walked a couple of miles in that one circle. When people around us began to look at me apprehensively, my daughter explained to them what was happening. Later, many of them, already having collected their expected party, came over to wish us luck as they went on their way. Two hours had passed since the flight had put down, but there was still no sign of Yoshiko. Despair filled my heart. Not this again! My daughter had gone to see if she could get any information, and I turned quickly to look at her when she called my name. Her eyes were full of tears.
To be continued.....
Luv From the Bush in Quebec
“Ah no, Mom,” answered my oldest son. “What Christmas? I’m just staying in the city and renting a movie or something. I don’t even want to think about Christmas. Forget me this year.” Whoa!! This was my son talking – the one who revelled in family get-togethers even more than I did. The tone of voice echoed his words. He was seriously depressed.
“What?!! No, no, no.” I replied. “What in hell is this about? What’s going on?”
He told me what I should have known. Yoshiko would not be here, and they had both so looked forward to spending their first Christmas together. As much as he loved his family, it would not be Christmas without her. He would only dampen the spirit for the rest of us.
Two months before, his Japanese fiancé had been refused entry to Canada when her flight had landed in Montreal. There was no valid reason given by airport customs. More than likely she had been greeted by an official who was having a bad day. The girl was well educated, had a healthy bank account and no police record, and, although not fluent, could speak the two official languages of this country. My son and I had stood in the arrival area waiting for hours, and hours…. and agonizing hours. I watched my son’s face as his worry turned to panic, and realized to what extent he loved this girl. Her arrival was at 18:30, and at 1:30 AM, the surly custom official finally allowed her to call us on my cellular. She was to depart, the same night, on the first flight out of Canada. She had been coming here too often, he told her. Before returning, she needed Canadian authorisation, and this she must apply for from her own country. It meant, at best, a year of paperwork before she could come back.
I hung up the phone with an ache in my heart. My child was hurting. My ache soon became a mother’s anger. This was NOT acceptable! Anger turned into determination. Damn it! This was Canada!! The land lauded as glorious and free! There had to be something that could be done? I mean – Japanese citizens were not typically singled out as terrorists, were they?
A co-worker of mine had experienced immigration problems with his relatives relocating from Ireland, and gave me the name of a good (but expensive!!!) immigration lawyer. I contacted my future daughter-in-law in Japan by e-mail, asking her to be specific about what she had been told, and that she keep our conversations secret. The last thing I wanted was for my son to have his hopes dashed again! Within the next week, the lawyer had advised both myself and Yoshiko what needed to be written, said, mailed, and faxed to further our cause. Together we set it up. My other two children were sworn to secrecy as well. That left my son’s boss.
Yoshiko, that beautiful, eternally optimistic girl had booked her flight for December 18th, and I knew my son’s office party was the night following her arrival. Hearing what I had to say, and being the epitome of an ‘Italian’ romantic, the boss not only told me he would obtain the second party admittance ticket, but also agreed to be silent. He knew, as well as anyone, how sad my son was, what it would do to him to be disappointed a second time. My son had refused to go to the office party until his co-workers, hearing that he had decided not to attend, got together and purchased the ticket for him, practically forcing his hand. His boss kept repeating to me into the phone “This is so cool! This is so nice! It HAS to work!” His voice was full of emotion.
The day arrived. That morning, wanting to cover all the bases, worried about another entry refusal by customs, I placed a call to the lawyer’s cell phone, waking him up in Copenhagen, where it was 4:30 AM (to be fair, I didn’t know he was there – but probably would have called anyway). He was quite gracious, in spite of the hour – assuring me that all should go well, but that he would talk to an agent if need be – he would leave his cell open -to just contact him at any time. I was beginning to think that the man was worth his high retainer fee.
My son is not the best of housekeepers at any time, and his depression had only made matters worse. Not wanting Yoshiko to arrive in such a mess, my friend and my mom (who was still alive at the time) volunteered to help me clean his apartment before going to the airport. I had warned my son that his grandmother be at his place when he arrived from work, the excuse being that she had come into the city with me for a doctor’s appointment, but I had to meet an important client late the same afternoon, so would drop her off at his home instead of having her wait in the car. So far, so good.
My daughter and my friend joined me at the arrival gate. I can’t begin to explain what I felt as we waited there. Not able to sit when I’m agitated, I must have walked a couple of miles in that one circle. When people around us began to look at me apprehensively, my daughter explained to them what was happening. Later, many of them, already having collected their expected party, came over to wish us luck as they went on their way. Two hours had passed since the flight had put down, but there was still no sign of Yoshiko. Despair filled my heart. Not this again! My daughter had gone to see if she could get any information, and I turned quickly to look at her when she called my name. Her eyes were full of tears.
To be continued.....
Luv From the Bush in Quebec
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