prairie summer

I went out to Balzac for just three nights before I left Canada. Em got me on a standby flight. It was interesting visiting without Ji; suddenly felt like I was 16 years old again. Hanging out with my Grampa, watching late night news, eating oatmeal. I bugged Grampa about going to get his false teeth re-fitted so that maybe he'd wear them to places other than church. And maybe he'd put in the bottoms and not just the tops. (Although I do have to admit that since I'd always known Grampa to have short and worn out bottom teeth, that when he does put in the lower set he suddenly looks like a different, horsier, kind of fellow). I even tried to trick him into calling the dentist by writing "call dentist!" on his to-do list, but when he asked me what time the dentist had called, I chickened out, couldn't lie, and told him that it was just a ruse to get him to see to his dental needs.

We also had a nice time just going about little errands. We went to the Co-op for groceries and Grampa paid for my crazy-looking artichokes and avocados. He drove me all the way into town so I could pick up books at the Value Village while he went to get dog bones for my Uncle's hounds of hell. After VV we headed over to the Husky truck stop for lunch. I can't help it; I love Calgary truck stop diners. I am a huge fan of the Blackfoot truck stop down in east Calgary near the railroad tracks. When I was a kid, Grampa took me out to the local cafes (greasy spoons, you might call them, but he calls them cafes, with the emphasis placed like so: kuhFAY) whenever we went to town together. Usually after we picked up chicken parts at the Ramsay chicken-plucking plant. He was a regular at the Inglewood cafe at both their locations, both the restaurant and the drive-thru, and he'd treat me to a cheeseburger and chocolate milk while he had his salisbury steak and coffee. After lunch we'd head over to the old auction house and check out the goats and chickens and buy some beans or new potatoes from the Hutterite farmers. I have positively crystal-clear memories of us hanging out together, and for that reason - and also because I'm cheap-assed, money-scrimping bastard - I love to eat at cafes where the waitresses wear what look like nurses' suits, and where you can always get a slice of banana cream pie.

Grampa and I also went in to see Gramma at the nursing home. The people who work there are pretty incredible - the place almost always smells good. On the second day I was in Balzac, they even had a wood fire crackling in the entrance-way fireplace. It was 7 degrees and drizzling ice-rain outside, so the fire was much appreciated. Gramma was in and out of lucidity. She was pretty clear for about fifteen minutes and gave Grampa a hard time for not having shaved off his beard yet - a continuing theme from the past two years. Then she got a little mixed-up, but came back around to say goodbye and to tell me she loved me, which made the whole trip worthwhile.

On my last day, the sun came out and shone briliantly from dawn to dusk. I wandered around the farm, checking out the shrubberies and the owl pellets full of mice jaw bones underneath the fir trees. I made Grampa some custard from an old recipe from his sister Bess and remembered to use Roger's Golden Syrup and not any old corn syrup. In the evening we watched the sun setting until 10 pm. After our late-night snack, we said our goodnights.

Here are some photos from the visit: outside around the farm; inside around the house. [Balzac-16-September-2005]