"I'm getting the camera"

Natalie and my mom said they remember being at the Country house when this happened. Heck, I might have been there too but was off playing in the sandbox with my G.I. Joes or racing down the incline on the blue Tonka tractor with Mandy.

I imagine everyone sitting quietly in the little yard in front of the house, taking in the sun, reading books or magazines, knitting. I imagine Natalie, with her hair in a pony tail, bangs teased, and Elaine leafing through magazines. I imagine Colleen, behind her glasses, working on a crossword puzzle. I see my mom reading a book. I imagine Pappy, with a trucker hat high on his head, reading the paper and Nanny knitting away. I imagine the sound of chicka-dee-dee-dees calling each other to Pappy's yellow feeders, diligently filled with seeds. The occasional jeer-jeer of a blue jay flitting from tree to tree across the road from our canary yellow country house. When suddenly a different set of noises joins the chorus...

Pop - popopopop - riiipp!

Everyone looks over to where the sounds came from to see Nanny quickly sinking into and through her chair! Legs and feet up, arms reaching upwards with knitting still in her hands - Nanny's butt going through her knitted seat and settling onto the grass. "Awww - Frig!!!"

Mom whoops into a laughing fit, tears immediately appear in her eyes, and takes off for the washroom, even though Mandy is already in there. Colleen has her hand over her mouth and through her glasses you can see her eyes smiling. Pat's laughing loudly, slapping his knee, and so are Natalie and Elaine. Pappy is laughing too, he's also getting up. To help Nanny? She thinks so, dropping her knitting and reaching with her hands, she expects that he's gonna hoist her out of her chair hole but no! He's walking towards the house - "I'm getting the camera!"

"What!? Fucker! Help me out!"

"Nope - camera!" Pappy calls over his shoulder.

The more Nanny's struggles, the more everyone laughs. I imagine that I run over to see what the commotion's about. I'm probably standing there, a blonde hair and cheeks laughing along with our family's silliness. Pappy comes our of the chalet with a camera and snaps a couple pictures from the covered balcony.

I think I see the picture in my mind. I hope it exists. If it doesn't, though, it doesn't matter. I like the version I remember.

Pappy, the Sponsor

Not that there's ever a good time for someone to pass, but I wish I was older when Pappy passed away. I was a teenager. Finishing high school, dating a girl for the first time, pimples; there was so much going on in my little universe that I didn't think that one day I'd want to know what Pappy thought about ... everything. Well, although Pappy passed away he also (and pardon the cheap pun) passed on so much to his kids and grand kids. I like to think that when his words or actions manifest in our heads, words, or actions, whether it's stirring tea loudly to wake someone up or feeding "chippers" and chickadees during the summer, he knows that we remember him.

Pappy, the Sponsor

I don't exactly remember the day he passed but I do remember a moment during the funeral, one that maybe people want to hear about.

I was sitting in the funeral parlor where Pappy was laid out. I was sitting on one of those chairs that you often see in reception halls: chrome legs, semi-circle chrome back, with tightly packed cushion. I was looking down, between my knees, at the dark green and maroon paisley designs on my seat cushion, trying to draw some of the deep, aching sadness in my gut, out through tears when I saw two black, polished but weathered, dress shoes stop in front of me.

"Excuse me."

"Yes." I looked up and saw a middle-aged looking down at me. I don't remember much about what he looked like but I remember that he had the look of someone who was duty-bound.

"Do you ever look like your grandfather. You're one of Barney's grand kids, right?" He smiled.

"Yeah, I'm one of his daughters' kids."

"I'm really sorry for your loss. I just wanted to let you know that Barney saved my life. He was my sponsor in AA. I wouldn't be here right now if he wasn't there for me. He helped a lot of people out by just being someone to call or to take a walk with." He then shook my hand. "I just wanted to say thanks."

I smiled, not knowing what to say. Later, my mom told me that when she, Colleen, and Pat were going through Pappy's things, they found a stack of business cards with Pappy's phone number on it. He'd printed them out, dozens of them, and handed them out to people struggling with alcoholism so that they could call him if they needed someone to talk with.

I don't know how he managed to support all these people when I knew that he was already one of the handful of people running the breakfast club at Riverview and was having my mom, my sister, and I over every few days. Uncle Pat said that he was a solid guy. A guy who did what he could "with the tool box he had."

Pappy did pass but maybe he didn't leave us without some ways of remembering him in that tool box of his.

Post-War Pioneer of Plastic Surgery

My mom told me that James served in an infantry division during World War II. Pappy was also going to serve - he even made it to boot camp in Petawawa but, thank god, the war ended before he was shipped off. He was still offered a subsidized mortgage on a house in Crawford Park but, Pappy being Pappy, he turned it down. Anyways, when James left to fight, he had a wide flat boxer's nose and big, perhaps cauliflower ears. Uncle Pat told me that he was or was close to being Golden Glove in the Point. Can you believe that? Golden Glove in tough as nails Point-Saint-Charles!? He taught Pappy some moves, I know, and Pappy taught Pat, who then showed me a couple of moves back in the day. Don't think of landing just one punch at a time, always plan in threes, Pat told me when I was younger.

So James goes off to Europe with his big ears and big noes and he is deployed as an infantryman. I imagine him crouched in a mucky trench, thick with the smell of mud and gunpowder. I imagine mortar shells concussing nearby and the crack crack cracking of guns going off with the occasional zipping of a bullet passing overhead. At the wave of his team leader's hand, I imagine James climbing out of the trench and sprinting as best he can towards the next trench or raised cover when he hears a gun crack which sends him diving for cover but he doesn't safely find cover; instead -

BOOM!

He sees nothing, hears nothing, only the dull loud throb of his heart beating rapidly in his head. He realizes that he's being dragged by the arms, his boots skipping and scrapping through rough grass and over rocks. "We've got you O'Donnell! Can you hear me?!"

Suddenly, James feels icy cold water on his face and head. It rouses him from the shock of the grenade that went off only feet away from where he dove for cover. He opens his eyes through the muck and blood and sees that his buddies have dragged him to the shore to wash out his wounds. The sharp relief that the ocean water brings, however, doesn't last, instead he feels his ears and nose begin to sting.

***

Weeks later, Great Grand-Nanny Veronica anxiously waits for James on the train platform for James. She hasn't seen him in weeks and she's concerned because she received word that he had survived a grenade blast which, had it been any closer, would have been fatal.

The train appears and, in what feels like hours, it rolls into the station and stops. Men start climbing out of the cars with green canvas bags over their shoulders. Some of them have yellowed bandages on their heads and hands. All of them look like they haven't slept and showered in weeks. Impatiently, Veronica starts wading through the disembarking men and the huddles of tearful families, scanning the faces for James. She catches a glimpse of a smiling face that she passes without slowing - "Veronica!" She turns.

"Oh my god!" It's James ... but it isn't. Although a bit red and bleary, it's his eyes and, definitely, his smile but his nose and ears are ... small, or, normal! "Christ, look at you!"

"I know, eh?" James raises his right hand, the other still holding his canvas bag, and lightly touches his nose and ears.

Veronica pauses, still looking over her husband's new features. With a nod and a mischievous grin she says, "Yup, this is definitely an improvement!"    

"Why don't you send it to them, then?" or, Margaret takes one for the fam

Pappy looked thin. I was young but I knew what cancer was. I knew that it was making Pappy, who was an oak tree in my mind, look frail. The dark, navy blue, long-sleeved shirt he was wearing made him look even thinner. I remember a heavy silence in the room as mom and Auntie Colleen served Thanksgiving dinner. Mandy and I exchanged worried glances, looking from Pappy, to our mom. Sitting next to Margaret, who looked like she was holding back behind tight lips a swell of tears, Pappy watched us. Dinner started and the stilted conversation trucked along

Just about everybody was eating except for Mandy who sat moving her portion of turkey around on her plate. Margaret, who hadn't said much during the evening, looked at Mandy's plate. "You should finish your dinner, Mandy." She said.

Mandy looked up at her, total defiance on her face.

"There are kids in Africa who would love something like that to eat, you know," Margaret continued in her Scottish accent.

Mandy ignored her and moved onto flattening her mashed potatoes with her fork.

Pappy was, like all of us, watching this showdown between a trembling Margaret and an immovable Mandy, when he broke the silence when he said, in his growly voice, "Why don't you send it to them then?"

Margaret turned to him in shock. We all did. Just then someone, I don't remember who, snorted out a laugh which, of course, got us all laughing the way you do when you know that you shouldn't. Pappy looked around at all of us and his stern look slowly turned into a smile. I looked at Margaret. She looked a little hurt but, as everyone was laughing, I think she decided to take one for the family.

Got it!

Just me, Nanny, and Pappy were up north together. Pappy was already in bed but Nanny and I were still up, sitting on the vinyl chairs at the chrome-rimmed oval dinning table. The thick white curtain was pulled all the way down on the large window but we could still hear the tapping of moths on the other side trying to get closer to the light coming from inside. I was reading Teen Beat and Nanny was knitting a new white and red cover for the lawn chair that she fell through.

A creak from Nanny and Pappy's bed, followed by the sound of Pappy sliding his feet into his slippers, invited our attention. He says nothing as he slides the plastic according door over and makes his way across the room and down the short hall to the bathroom. We go back to our quiet business. The toilet flushes behind the door, the water runs, the door pops open, and we hear Pappy's slippers shup-shup-shupping down the hall. I watch him walk by, with his mosquito-bitten calves, and re-enter their bedroom. Nanny is still knitting.

Suddenly, we hear him yell, "Christ! What is that??" SLAP! We look over and see that he's brought his sandal down hard on the floor beside his bed. "I don't know what it was but I got it!"

"What was it?!" Nanny asked, already cringing at the thought of what it could've been.

Pappy lifts his sandal. It was a dust bunny.

Oh My God, Nanny and I cried!

Don't Waste it!

I just turned 18. I'm sitting in the basement with Pat and some of his peeps. Ken is cracking jokes while leaning back and slowly pedaling on the gold, chrome stationary bike. "Aww, c'mon Pat, she's 18!"

Pat smiles. "You sure, Nat?"

"I'm legal, Uncle Pat, yes I'm sure!"

"Cheers!" Ken and Pat's friend, Pat cry out, Molson Ex's in their hands. 

We're all joking around and being silly when suddenly the door at the top of the stairs pops open. Everyone goes quiet as Pappy comes stomping down the pink carpeted, stairs, like he always did, if we were being too "loud". My heart racing, I got up quick, grabbed the beer, and, in a panic, looked around for a place to hide it - I didn't want him to see me drinking cause lets face it ... he could be scary! Too late. He was already at the bottom of the stairs, leaning with his right hand up against the wall of the stairway, his back to his collection of encyclopedias.

Awkwardly, I stood in the middle of the room, with my beer carrying hand behind the square concrete pillar, painted with a thick white paint, in the middle of the room. Ken and other Pat looked down at the floor while Uncle Pat returned Pappy's gaze - I was caught red handed. 

Pappy turned his gaze away from Pat, looked at me, said, "Don't waste good alcohol. Just drink it", climbed back upstairs, and then pulled the door closed.

Still holding our breath, we all turned to Pat who was smiling at me.

"Oh godddddd!!!" was all I could say!

Nanny and the Polite Commuter

I don't remember who first told me this story. Might of been my mom but Nanny must have shared it first. I'm also not sure when it happened. Doesn't matter. It's a pretty timeless Nanny story.

Nanny's coming home from shopping downtown. Maybe she's coming home from Birks Jewelry Store, where she worked for some time. All that I know is that she has tons of groceries with her and is having a bit of trouble keeping track of everything. Let's say it's sometime in the 90s.

She gets on the bus, maybe the 108 Bannantyne or the 58 Wellington, and makes her way towards a seat. She plunks herself down and settles all her grocery bags around her. A kindly gentleman is sitting beside her and smiles politely as she arranges everything. The bus starts up and Nanny instinctively reaches out a hand to secure her bags. The bus rocks side-to-side, stops and starts so she keeps her hands stretched out on either side of her, keeping her bags nice a snug against her. 

A dozen stops go by, maybe about twenty minutes, or so and Nanny is lost in thought. Maybe she's thinking about her day, maybe thinking about a knitting project she's working on, maybe she's thinking that she'd love a smoke! Regardless, she's settled and in her own mind. She's enjoying a moment's rest until, closer to her stop at either 5ft avenue or Allard (depending on when this all happens), she knows that she'll somehow have to bundle her bags together, like some sort of mountaineer, pardon her way through and off the bus and then begin her walk up the street. 

"Excuse me but ..."

Suddenly the politely smiling man beside her is talking. Is he talking to me?, she wonders.

"Excuse me but I'm gonna need my leg to get off the bus". 

Nanny's confused. What the heck is this guy talking about? Is he from the Doug- "Oh my god!" Nanny, thinking that she's been keeping her bags held safely to her, has actually been firmly holding onto this man's pant leg!!! Nanny releases the man, whose polite smile has now become a chuckle. "Oh frig, sorry, sorry!" She says, flustered.

"Not a problem! Have a good'n!" He gets up and makes his way off the bus. 

Nanny casts a quick, furtive look around. Did anyone notice what just happened?, she wonders. No one's looking at her. The teenager across from her, in the baggy Vanilla Ice shirt, has his eyes closed, head bobbing to whatever music is coming through his Walkman. The two young girls with side ponytails, in over-sized sweaters and ripped jeans, are giggling together over a copy of Teen Beat and don't seem to notice either. She allows herself to giggle. Barney's gonna love this...