A Room Of My Own

Running along the waterfront during my lunch hour today, I was drawn to the people there, in particular, their eyes. On this sunny hot afternoon, the trail was peppered with kids out of school blading, biking, and many were escaping the heat in the river. There were walkers, a few runners and those using the memorial benches that are intermittently placed along the way. There are times during my run when I come in rather close quarters with others enjoying the use of the trail. At these moments, when my eyes connect with someone else, there is always a friendly hello, may it be by way of a smile, a simple nod, or the word uttered outright. (I wonder many times how loud I am since I listen to rather fast loud music during the run). I commonly enjoy this familiar connection with the strangers I share my day with. I was reminded that everywhere I have lived or visited I have had this relationship with the locals. I scanned my memories for all of the different places I have been in Canada ...

I am driving back to work after spending my lunch hour in a hurry picking up supplies. I am picking up the last minute supplies for summer camp, vegetarian options for a BBQ at the neighbors’ tonight, and the gift ideas as the BBQ includes a birthday. My mind is busy; I am ‘Busy Backson’, as my daughter has pointed out from The Tao of Pooh. My window is down, it is lovely out and I am listening to Rufus Wainwright; okay, I admit I am singing along with him as if I know him personally. “ He will fall from the stars, Studio 54 ” Stop. I see the familiar lights of a police cruiser up ahead, followed by what looks like traffic mayhem. The police escort a long line of cars in a funeral procession as it slowly makes its way through the busy lunch hour traffic on this main street. Traffic slows to a standstill. Lights are blinking, mourners dressed respectably in appropriate funeral attire with matching stoic expressions have their eyes straight ahead, driving, following. Life seems to slow a...