v12: A lonely traveller's musings

It has been difficult over the years for me to speak about the experience of being in North Bay on this blog, as I've been numerous times under differing circumstances. The tradition is that we come for Easter and Thanksgiving, spending most of a day in the car, a full day here, and then most of another day driving home.

On two recent occasions since beginning this blog, have the specifics been different. The first was January 2005 when Grandma died. The second was Grandad's subsequent 80th birthday, which we visited for, and during which I reached a breaking point with an issue I've been battling for some time.

It's as plain a place as I've ever been, particularly when the weather is grey. Here, I feel so far-removed from civilization as to become unrecognizable to myself. That is, between the physical separation from my usual surroundings, the whole day spent in the car (4 hour drive at best,) and the change of routine, I scarcely feel like myself here in North Bay. It does something to you. You have to learn to live with it, I suppose. Maybe it has to do with being near family; that side of the family, who don't see me often enough to get a true sense of my personality. I'm just finding it difficult to act like the Scott you probably recognize.

I'm also yawning a whole lot, which is weird. I keep getting this half-yawn caught in my throat, trying to hit some sweet-spot in my lungs that will finally satisfy my need to exhale deeply. It's utterly absurd. And I'm tired as hell.

Of course, that's really all there is to do here, is sit around and be tired, waiting for the family dinner. In years past the place was abrim with excitement, don't get me wrong. In the days when I was very young and my brothers and cousins Evan and Laura were not much older, there was much fun, absolutely. Times changed. They grew up, and then I did. The cousins, from whom I drifted to the point where it was impossible to maintain conversation, moved away to Vancouver for Evan after University (where I believe he works in video games,) and Laura to London where she is still in school.

In a twist of irony that I find particularly painful, Laura is visiting her boyfriend's family in Oakville, whereas I am here in her childhood home.

It's also interesting how markedly different my dad is from his brother Alan. Dad remains his regular, somewhat boistrous self, paragon of jokes and chatter, whereas Alan is softspoken and more passive. He's a nice guy, friendly, but subdued. He has a gigantic HDTV, dad doesn't watch any at home. He praises Michael Buble and other crooners, dad prefers to keep the station on Q107 in his car/home (and the name Buble means nothing to him - which is the way it should.) They have the type of warm yet distanced relationship you might expect a pair of brothers to have after decades of only seeing one another a few times a year. I don't expect I should ever be so fortunate with mine.

Grandad remains saturnine when thinking of the past, or when shown the warm embrace of his family. It's just that every time his voice hits that sad tone and his eyes get a tad foggy, I am reminded of a quote I read in Neil Gaiman's brilliant "American Gods," which was along the lines that older men who lost their wives scarcely live long without them. I'm not sure how true this is, mind you: Great-Grandpa Wood lived nearly 5 full years without his wife (and she died when he was 96!) However, he wasn't so dependant on her as Grandad was on Grandma Williams. She was a raconteur, to use Writer's Craft lingo: grandiloquent even in illness, she would spin stories and talk for hours. In years past, she and Grandad would visit for hours into the night and she would share her memories, rarely calling on Grandad for more than the confirmation of a fact (as in, "in 1979-- was it 1979, Joe?" "Oh yes, 1979..." and she would continue.) Now, he speaks more, but without the heart. And he leaves much sooner because he hasn't got the material. It's a sad reminder of what we've lost.

Eric and I went out today, despite a chill in the weather. We just sat by the "beach" in a park as there was truthfully nothing for us to do.

I never feel good in North Bay. It just stifles the lifeforce out of me, but I come out of my own sense of honour. It's only two weekends out of the year, I can stomach it even if its means missing all of my friends who happen to be in town over the long weekend. Most of them will be home permanently or on whatever semblance of permanancy they can muster. Then we'll have four whole months.

As far as I can tell, Kyle Sanderson has finally burned Half-Past Eight PM to DVD. If true, this is incredible. I'm speechless. I have no idea what I'll do once the entire ordeal is done with and I no longer have to worry about giving updates. Aside from vomit with relief, I mean.

That's my take on today. In the car I thought of some topics which may be used in future blog entries, or on Interneta for rants.

Hope this entry didn't depress. It's just the only honest way to characterize my current situation. Happier things tomorrow or at any rate in the near future.

Keep on Rockin'
Scott//