Continued

and then there was...

Merrick has taken up yoga. He found that the quiet of a darkened studio and all the new shapes he was trying to master had helped in his creative process. He had prepared well for the busy season. His designs had started to bend, they looked more appealing and less rigid. Seeing his remaining works scattered through the store when he took in the next consignment lot, gave him the satisfaction of a year of hard learning. Rewards come in different packages.

Ollie helped him carry in the merchandise some days. The pieces that needed 2 people to make it through the door. One holding the door, one squeezing through. Some months ago, there had almost been a disaster, which would have cost Ollie more than his pride. The toupée was put away forever.

He had been fortunate in having a long term career and now appreciated the benefits of a guaranteed pension. He looked forward to helping his son occasionally, it was nice sometimes to have a break from retirement.

At his farewell event, which he had requested be kept simple, he was applauded for his contribution to decades of students. Ollie had never coveted the limelight, he appreciated the kind words but was relieved when the night was over. His rewards for his long service came at the unexpected meeting with old students. The ones he had “pulled from the brink”, the undesirables, the unlikely and the just plain odd.

For the most part, he was happy. He had a number of books, that he had shelved for this future.

The curly haired girl spent some dramatic months with a man with a white truck and a temper. Big vehicles and short fuses are rarely a good combination. She had been caught up for a while in how wonderful they looked together, sort of like beauty and the beast.

You would think that she had learned something by now, but her barriers were solid and thick, she was not going to give them up easily.

Several times she had picked up her phone to contact Merrick, but each time she knew that he wouldn’t have changed.

The Story - today

I too, have wondered what has happened to these people:

 Grace hadn’t reached for the Teddy Bear in a long time. He had been a gift, along with a “easy” wine bottle opener. The colleague had recognized what she would need as she faced the divorce.

The Teddy had instantly been given the name Dexter, his horn-rimmed glasses and bow tie and vest, left room for no other consideration. Then that horrible TV show came out, Dexter the Murderer; blood, slashing, knives, weird, weird, weird. She had gently placed the Bear on a shelf in her cupboard. He was at this time, Nameless.

She and Grace became friends.Through the spring and summer and now at the tail end of the year, they coffee-d and attended continuing education classes, dropped in to free events at the local library and talked.

In spite of the seventeen years between them (years that conceivably create a whole grown up person), they enjoyed eachother’s company. Their lives started to mesh, the painful void that each had been feeling, started to ebb. (It was a consistent but not overwhelming friendship. Days and sometimes weeks went by, when neither made contact. But when a plan was made, it stuck, it was sacred.)

Her sadness was replaced with optimism and the light became so much brighter at the end of the tunnel.

She made dinner once in awhile for Ollie. She tried out new recipes and bought a new slow cooker. Last time it was, Cranberry Chickpea Curry . Ollie appreciated her attempts and ate it all. He always brought flowers and dark chocolate with nuts for dessert. He had now permanently removed the bad-fitting toupée.

The Story - repeated

If you didn't have a chance to see this Story unfold, here are the posts all in one spot.

The characters in our lives are our companions on a journey that we are in together.
We act together in unison without having conscious knowledge.

The Ripple of our Life - Grassi Lakes, Canmore

Our stories have no beginning and no end. It’s mysterious, and downright spooky sometimes how people come into and then leave your life. Sometimes they travel great distances with you, and sometimes you are connected and don’t even know it. The joy of connection cannot be forced, it is magical, it is unexpected, it is to be celebrated.

That is how the curly haired girl, Merrick, Grace, Ollie and She that we all know came to be. But even make believe characters take a break.

We all need to redefine, and reemerge into something new. At times we are forced into it, whether it be the end of a work term, a health crisis or a pending divorce. But we are always given the gift to choose our reaction, and the ability (however difficult) to step back and consciously set our next path.



Choosing our Reaction - Grassi Lakes, Canmore

Act

No Longer an Act
Grace
Blown in Glass
Transparent Houses
Ollie
Her
Reflected in Coffee
Clouded Poetry
Turning Back the Pages of Time
Crumpled dreams
Some kind of progress

Crumpled dreams - 11

and her page said:

Slow Dance in a No Name Town

A small dark motel with a curving bar
branded by fallen cigarette butts
carved with misshaped hearts
and crazy initials.

Old smoke condensed on window panes
sadly in need of a washing or two
bits of peanut shells ground into
the gaps of the floorboards.

What an unlikely place to fall in love.

The drive had been long

down winding dusty roads

bordered by swaying field on unknown crops

ending at this leaning porch motel which

blared melodies that we knew.

What an unlikely place to fall in love.

Time went on, song after song

the heat descended and the crowd grew dense

thunder rolled in, the doors both front and side were flung open

the songs disappeared amongst the chatter and only now and then

did we catch a familiar word.

What an unlikely place to fall in love.

Sitting alone, getting deep in my chair 

rain splattering on gravel outside

couples seeking refuge 

racing from the peeling picnic tables outside.

Silence.

A voice I recognize starts falteringly

gaining confidence with the encouragement of the crowd.

I turn in my comfortable chair

that's when I found my unlikely love. 

For the rest of The Little Story, read here.

 

Turning Back the Pages of Time - 10

If you’ve ever been in a situation where someone so distantly from your past emerges into your present, you will understand the shock that she felt as she approached Oliver.

Quick as her brain could go, her mind picked up the buried scent of wet, as she reached him. It had been a day of pouring rain when they had sat down over a hot chocolate in the Student Centre all those years ago. He had been wearing a heavy (wet) knit sweater, similar to a style that she had seen recently again on some young people. Everything old is new again.

As he stood, they embraced with the familiarity of a time when your friends were your family as you grew into adulthood. Ironically, they had lived in oblivion of personal pain and family struggles. Only many years later had she heard through the grapevine called Internet that Oliver’s father had died, estranged from his family and a

Reflected in Coffee - 8

She had to stop looking over at them. They would think that she was stalking! But that smile kept drawing her back. Where had she seen it?

Ollie and Merrick adjusted themselves in their seats and started a new conversation. Their hands busy with shelling the peanuts which were forming an abundant mountain between them. Merrick got up and ordered a second coffee for each of them and made his way back between the tables, gripping the cups in each of his large hands.

She doodled in the large notebook that she always carried with her and did her best to be discreet. Her page had a lot of ??? on it.

Then she heard the laugh and her head sprang up. She knew someone who had had that laugh, but that was 35 years ago, on the other side of the country. She hadn’t heard that sound since then. She looked up and mentally erased the lines of time, and added hair (what’s with the toupé, she giggled to herself).

Yes, it must be Oliver.

She looked up and mentally erased the lines of time. (Click to Tweet)

For the rest of The Little Story, read here. 

Her - 7

We all know her. She just has different names.

She walked into the coffee shop on a whim. She usually worked night shift and had the advantage of being anonymous. With the promotion she would have to step into the daylight and her face would become known. She needed to process how this change was going to disrupt her life.

Too many changes, coming too quickly did not work well for her. They scared her. She had survived the death of her child, you would think that nothing further could have the potential to shake her.

She drifted to a corner table (her back not exposed to the room) and settled in. Two tables over, Ollie and Merrick were in the midst of an animated discussion. Father and son, both speaking and waving their arms in grandiose movements. They formed boxes with their hands and drew a curving shape on the top. They laughed, the older man slapped the younger on the back and they both slid in unison down their respective chairs.

She found something vaguely familiar about him. Where had she seen him? Why did that smile ring bells in her head?

She drummed her finger on the tabletop.

She usually worked night shift and had the advantage of being anonymous. (Click to Tweet)

For the rest of The Little Story, read here.  

Ollie (Oliver) - 6

He had a small tick that was exacerbated by fatigue and stress (which ever came first). His badly made toupé askew on the top of his head and though it had the potential of making him look like a crazy person, it did nothing of the sort. No one could look at him without finding him endearing.

Ollie ran down the stairs and dropped his message under Grace's door. He hadn't seen her in days and that threw him off course. He looked forward to Thursday nights, when they often met for coffee, decaffeinated for her, and the usual for him because he'd never been one prone to sleepless nights.

Tonight however, he was going to see his son's new showing at the gallery downtown. He hadn't seen his son since January 1st, and it was time to see what Merrick was up to these days.

No one could look at him without finding him endearing. (Click to Tweet)

For the rest of The Little Story, read here.  

Transparent Houses - 5

Grace was disappointed that the film presentation she had been looking forward to all week had been postponed. Had the film not arrived? Had the gallery's technology broken down? Was there a copyright law that had not been adhered to? What would she do with this "extra" time until her next appointment?

As an apology, the gallery had handed out small gift bags with (of course!) advertising material. However, hanging from the rope handle was a small ornament. Grace exclaimed at the ornament and was told that it came from the shop next door.

She side-stepped around a woman who was standing intently looking at the shop window and was almost run over by a man in jeans. He was wielding what appeared to be a cast iron obelisk through the doorway. How brave he was, taking such a weighty object into a space with such fragile things. Grace moved the gift bag to her other hand and held the door as he squeezed by. All she noticed was the size of his hands.

Once inside she was halted in awe by what she saw. How fortunate that she had stopped inside this shop that she had never ventured in before. What delight to see the array of colours, matte and shiny, in a variety of styles and shapes tucked into every available nook and cranny that could be found.  Looking upwards, Grace felt euphorically light-headed seeing the reflections of everything that dangled.

As Grace faced in each direction, she felt like she had as a small child in her Grandfather's house. How the mosaic floor, could make you giddy when you twirled yourself at high speed. A childhood prelude to having "one too many" in later youthful experiences with cheap red wine. As she faced the front window, she saw that the woman was still there. Like she herself, had stopped time in a bottle.

There was one instant when the sun shone through and lit on the same star hanging in the window that Grace had been given with her gift bag. The woman outside was transfixed, and a slow tear stopped on her cheek and her face broke into a dawning smile. She had received an answer.

Merrick left behind his newest creation for consignment with the staff and scooped the star ornament in his paw. His niece would like this. Now, he was done his shopping.

She was still there, like she herself had stopped time in a bottle. (Click to Tweet)

For the rest of The Little Story, read here. 

No longer an Act - 2

He was never one to shy away from finding love.

Many a girl had been twirled around the dance floor to his two-step. He fell in love nightly and with an open heart. He didn't cross boundaries but a girl felt that she had been flirted with, courted and wed all in one night. He knew the words to the songs and whispered them in tiny studded ears.

He knew when to speak softly and when to be center stage. A person couldn't help but fall for his ways, it would be pointless to resist. His back was slapped and a joke shared in countless encounters during an evening. He was a bit of candy wrapped in shiny foil.

You were surprised by the sheer size of his hands. They belonged on someone who was much taller and bigger. And though they had come in handy in many a misplaced playground scuffle, he had grown to be gentle with them.

And still he went home alone each night. It wasn't her fault, the woman with the curly hair and the flowered skirts, it was his time to go.

He is no one, he is every man, he is yet to have a name.

It seems that it was not the end.


He is no one, he is every man, he is yet to have a name. (Click to Tweet)

He was a bit of candy wrapped in shiny foil. (Click to Tweet)

For the rest of The Little Story, read here. 

Act - 1

He had ducked into a doorway to a bookstore in Inglewood in the pouring rain. He was just merely looking for a dry place to stop. She had a planned meeting with her sister, and was running late, why are we always the sister who is on time? A serendipitous meeting of two strangers that turned into more…

Her flowing curls and flowered skirt should have told him even then that her art was her life, he would always be a minor recurring character in her daily drama. Her writing came in waves fuelled by bad boyfriends, mostly beatnik in temperament, a professor thrown in for good measure on occasion, trips to sandy and tropical places..and he played his part by being a good stand-in. He was there to dry her tears, offer encouragement, do her research, buy a coffee (strong and black).

Even when they were lying in his bed, high on the hill and could see the twinkling lights below, he sensed that she scrolled through their dialogue for bits she could use in her next play.

He was by nature, warm-hearted. His sister still recalled how he would name the pigs on the family farm. He tended them and taught them (pigs are such intelligent creatures!). And then he'd cry unabashedly when "they were taken to town". So in many ways he was used to endings; he anticipated them but was able to treasure the time until they arrived.

It was not a surprise to his sister, who had witnessed the long story of her brother and the girl/woman that it would end abruptly.

He had maintained his patience, because distance was her most favourite word.

He looked at her one day and realized that he had no more to give, she had taken it all. That her charm and curls could not keep them together in his old age. He put down his unfinished coffee and walked out the door.

The End.

He was used to endings but still treasured the time until they arrived. (Click to Tweet)

For the rest of The Little Story, read here.