November 27, 2017
Thusly an old time guest, a journeyman with curly hair, discourse and bigheartedness arrived. No need for the standard operating procedures. “you will be flying at an altitude of 5000 feet. The bathrooms are located on the first and second floors, robes are provided for your comfort, so you do not have to walk naked in the halls.”
I have watched him arrive on my doorstep, every half year or so. For many years now, climbing from being a student, to flourishing into role of a teacher. He is here again. It is like welcoming an old friend, which after all this time he is. I was of the opinion that I had an interesting life, but the youngsters now are global. He is a fighter for the environment, originally from Germany, migrating to Montreal, and then marrying a lawyer in Chicago. He takes the train everywhere.
A young kinsman, is the same ilk. Internationally building wells in Africa to going from pillar to post provincially. He leaps onto airplanes, trains and automobiles, just to visit his 93 year grandmother. She frets until he gets there, cognizant of his activeness, after he announces the great trek in on again. She continues to fuss and worry, then until he gets to where he was going before he drove, flew and walked to her door for lunch. In sympathy she has an allergy to zucchini to impress upon him the seriousness of her affection.
We, in the bed and breakfast have our rituals with guests and now very familiar with the young man of the first paragraph. He tells me his schedule as he is not a good getter upper. Ten minutes past the time he said he would be at breakfast, I wake him up, and he pretends to be awake. He leaps up and arrives almost half an hour late, eyes open, but waiting for caffeine in copious magnitudes. He has been here so much I know that I do not have to put sugar on the table, but has a sweet tooth, and loves the banana bread made for his every visit.
He has rarely, if ever visited in the summertime. He is a guest of the hub seasons, arriving with the cold winds. the start of snow or thru out the winter months, to disappear in the spring. He has spent his last months he tells me writing a book, I don’t know if it is French, English, or German. He grew up partly in Scotland.
We broke with tradition and put in a room that in all this time is the first time for him. Pink and very frilly, he is comfortable there he claims. Today, he is on a conference call, and since he does not have access to the university computer calling. It will be incomprehensible as to assemblage, language and content. But these young people these days. To think, I was one too. The meeting will be in the living room, while repair people, tap and bang and scrutinize. “Youth is the gift of nature, but age is a work of art.” – Stanislaw Jerzy Lec Moi and Miss Lp