"Sweet!" Jaz says. A plane zooms over our heads onto the runway parallel to the road. Three of us in the back of the bus. A sea of dark and red swimming tail lights surround us. It's Friday night rush hour, we're on our way to Niagara-on-the-Lake. "How would you describe that?" I ask them, as the hulking steel vehicle lands on the tarmac, flashing red & white lights."Dark, shiny, really big." Jaz says. "Loud!" Suddenly they laugh with one guffaw. "Okay if I just use some comic book words here?" Another double laugh. "Zzzzzzzoooooo! Zwwoosh! Zoom!"




Yesterday, our Core Crew arrived an hour late at Toronto's Pearson International, and dragged our stuffed-to-the-gills hockey bags onto the pushcart. Erik found us almost instantly once we got outside the door. What a relief! He looked wilted as he'd been hanging in there, for four hours after his plane arrived from Calgary, thinking we were coming in on West Jet. Even he, veteran traveller, seemed discouraged and added, almost giddily, next to our mountain of luggage, "I'm glad we're not in Berlin." When I asked him 'How'd you figure out we were coming in on Air Canada?'he said, "The Don." And so now Gord's new name is "The Don."(Note. Good use of Gord's new cell phone.)


In Vancouver, Jaz had once again unwittingly packed a weapon in his carry-on!"What's she looking for?"I asked him, as the lady dug into the bottom corner of his back pack, determined to find something. He shrugged, totally serene.She produced his Torino souvenir pocket knife, so we took the option of running back to check his bag, as he wasn't willing to give THAT up(JC had given it to him in Torino), and we had two (extra?) minutes. (Last year, at the airport on the way to Italy, remember, it was his skates?) So not enough time even for a coffee.



But! on the plane we sat next to a really nice Ruth Ross (our travel superhero) who surprised us by treating us to snacks and sandwiches, when she saw us digging for coins. Jaz kept saying, 'I can't believe they're not going to serve us anything.' We chatted about the thrills and pitfalls of working for yourself and the fact that her dog is named Jazz. At the airport, we found stacks of Winter City cards in promo racks, featuring -- Paintings Below Zero! In colour! So for a moment we felt important, excited, happening, and then, upon closer examination, a small let-down, as someone had mis-spelled Gord's name.

Niagara-on-the-Lake (NOTL) is a strangely magical town; last night it was eerily quiet in the streets. We felt like players in a Christmas Twilight Zone until we hit Angel Pub, the happening local spot. Gord and JC were, I'd have to say, buoyant at our arrival. "Everybody knows how to spell Gordon," he said, "at least they got my last name right."



Met Bosco, we all leaned into our pub food at a pine table while a live trio belted celtic tunes at blasting decibels and a few Canadian classics in harmonies. After a couple beers we shouted! we sang with The Don! we got Hoarse!

At breakfast, he drew his new design on a napkin.Form follows function here as his tinkering with the new copper tubing will help keep the cold from escaping. Here's Erik and JC at the skeleton site.



Gord says there's pick up hockey everyday at a rink in Virgil and Debi is trying to get us into the local squash and workout club. Jaz works away as the Design Student in the apartment above the storefront. We are guests at a film at The Shaw, and Debi will introduce the project to the audience. I met Stacey! We're definitely drinking Inniskillin wine. Today, the townsfolk came out of hiding, I'm guessing, since the sun was out. There were actually people in the shops. Here's Bosco and The Don.

In Roberts Creek, Eliya and I stand beneath the sky, awed. The wind is so strong it makes swirling waves of towering evergreens. We watch branches flying through the air, hold ourselves up.

Later, a sudden darkness. In the squash courts. I’d given up any pretense of working. Any copy or arrangements for the invitation was stalled. Grind-your-teeth no-news. Those with any bearing on the decision of Where to exhibit images from Torino paintings? were three hours ahead of us in Toronto and Niagara-on-the-Lake, and they had gone home already, so I took my necessary exercise! break. I’d been writing emails at my computer when power, lights, and smoke alarm flashed off and back on just long enough to disconnect everything. Throughout the afternoon.



We’re pathetic without our lights, and the dark is dense in Roberts Creek. The cats just curl up and go to sleep as the huge cedars and Douglas Fir stand together towards the stars, whipping in the gusts and sideways rain. My candles flickered bravely in sharp relief against the black. I sat alone and small wondering why I had decided to fly to Ontario five days after Gord? Suddenly the house seemed big, the woods around me even more mysterious and powerful, and me and Spaffy such insignificant shadows.

I called Donna, and the next thing was, two of us leaning in towards each other over our frothy drinks listening to Eric’s mother, Christina Welscher in a Gibson’s Starbucks. Although Grantham’s was also pitch dark, in the middle we had lights at the mall. Christina’s son, it turns out, is going from the North Pole to the equator on his own power as part of a leadership team. He’s representing Canada, too. Donna seems to be the link, she knows everybody who’s anybody around here.

And later, under glowing lights at the dining room table, holiday red and gold detrius kept us company with the cat whom she calls “Sparky”. Donna and I wrapped and gifts for our families.

Eliya’s going to house sit. Gord and JC got things going ‘on the ground’ at Niagara on the Lake (NOTL) today, and here, Nancy heard from me directly, that she’s our valued treasure. Then, in slumber, I had this dream about my youngest brother, Thomas. We have big issues between us, but we smile towards each other, unsure. We are from the same mother and father, after all, and though there are fourteen of us, neither of us knows whose face will be looking down and whose eyes will be closed first, before this life is up.



Here I am writing him a note:

Dear Tom,

I just realized right this minute
it's your birthday
today right now

And last night
I dreamed about you
the you of my adolescence
the six or seven year old you

Somehow in my dream
this little you and Andrew
had spent the night alone
together
(I blamed myself for neglecting you)
you emerged from your slumber
dressed bravely in a collared shirt and pants
you were both such little guys
and this morning of my dream
you said you were frightened

I took you on my lap
to comfort you
to ask you
what are you afraid of?

And then I woke up
in Donna’s guest room
under her granny’s quilt
embraced by the new day

A bride came through the lobby of the hotel last night, among travellers sharing nightcaps next to high ceilinged windows in the lounge. A cranberry and green wreath lit up the hearth with white lights over a fire roaring maniacally on slate rocks. A hockey game on the flat screen over the bar.



She led her husband by the hand and the two of them sat in the middle of the room in two overstuffed chairs, eating french fries. It was almost midnight. All heads turned, she smiled for her audience, and then they sank into their own private newlywed world. We all in the room, shared that moment in her life, wondering about their appetite for each other, if they had the honeymoon suite, and where were her guests?

Gord checked his yellow hockey stick and we sat for a hasty breakfast. JC, our Project Manager told us the intrigue about the apartments where we’ll be staying in Niagara-on-the-Lake. These are actor’s lodging -- those who work summer stock for The Shaw Festival. JC has worked in theatre for years, he knows all the gossip, and he says one of the apartments is haunted! The omelette was rectangular and the day outside was wet and dreary. We remembered our last departure for Italy, it was almost to the day, a year ago. Today, Christmas seemed to permeate; I liked the sight of red and silver ornaments, even the familiar pa-rum-pa-pum-pum. I watched them both, JC and Gord, as they unloaded their carry ons and jackets at security, as they took off their shoes and walked through the beeper gate. There were others waiting for a last glimpse of their loved ones before the trip, but this time, Gord didn’t look back.



A tense and frustrating week on hold until the Saturday morning board meeting in Niagara-on-the-lake, and then: All Systems Go! Back on track, and rev it up to speed. It was more than I could take, gracefully, as I didn’t get my exercise. We had to pack Gord up for the trip, and do those many prepatory things in a hurry-up way. I snapped at Nancy and lay awake thinking about how I could be better, how undeserving of my impatience she was, and how could I just Let it Go . . . .(in a future life I’ll be a diplomat) In the end, we forgot the camera.



I come up short under this kind of stress, because I just hold on. So now I’m thinking: process. I’ve got to find a process to help me walk through the emotional soup I end up swimming around in when the heat is turned up. Breathe. Take a walk. Let it go. The question is still: where can we put the prints collection to the best advantage? How can I tell Nancy she is just short of extraordinary?