andave's place

This is smack dab in the middle of our trip. There's still all the stuff before Canada to talk about, but I really wanted to share this with you and see what you think . And there's stuff after, too, like BOSTON! I can't wait to write that one up. We're in New Jersey tonight, and am hoping to get to see Virgil tomorrow or the day after. Also, as you may remember from Rich's last blog, we met in PERSON!

6/16

Off to Massachusetts after a rather draining time in Canada, in Quebec. We stayed at the house of my Mom’s neighbour in Lebanon’s daughter. We had met them (Leah and I) when we went to Lebanon last year; in fact, they had delayed their moving to Canada by a week to see us. We had fallen in love with them, down from the matron (a fierce woman with a heart of gold) to the little boy, charismatic and adorable.

The first day they took us to Mont-Tremblant, a ski resort up in the hills. It took us 2 hours to get there. There were lots of restaurants and little shops and things to see, although I freely admit I was bored stiff.
We ate at this dreadfully expensive place and although the food was okay it was mostly a horrible waste of time. People were in a bad mood, and the French language - oh heavens, the French!

There, now I can finish. We crossed the border and are now back in my US, in Vermont, and all’s right with the world! (although the GPS hasn’t reverted back to miles yet.) Look! There’s the first travel sign and it is in English, homely, solid, and comfortable. Throughout our two days in Canada what I missed the most is the sound of the English language (Yankee dialect, thanks muchly!)

I love this language, I love the way it is new but old, the way it’s stolen words from other languages, the way it sounds as it stumbles off some foreign tongue. It is mine own language. That’s not to say foreign languages are not very cool (I’m back in my homeland now, I can afford to be expansive.) Except for French. People flutter at each other in French. French sounds like butterflies trying to hold a UN meeting. And French music sounds like the aforementioned butterflies trying to sing “O Fortuna.”

It’s kind of odd, because I liked being surrounded by Arabic when we were in Lebanon last year, although that’s probably because I understand it.

So, I like Arabic. I love English. Latin, Italian, Greek, Gaelic, and Elvish also rank high on my list of languages.

Two days immersed in the -- well, as Jo says, “frivolous” French language made me feel like I was standing on the beach as the waves carried away the sand from under me. I freely admit I am very much biased towards English. Perhaps if I had grown up amongst French-speaking people I could flutter with the best of them. But I didn’t - I grew up in America, amongst the nuts and bolts in California.

…It’s amazing, this sense of overwhelming relief that’s poured over me that we’re back in the US. For all my desires of being a cosmopolitan, I really think I am tied to this land. “This is my own, my native land.” I am proud to be an American (there is no other way to say it), proud that my country was forged by the greatest Smith, and set on a bedrock of God-given principles and godly leaders. The men that led this country through its birthing pangs were Men As They Should Be.

As to what else we did in Canada, we visited relatives. After we got back from Mont-Tremblant Mom called some family and told them that we were in Canada for one more day and would like to see them if possible. We hadn’t told them earlier because otherwise we’d never get out of Canada. Well, they cursed us roundly then proceeded to fill up the next day with visiting. Although it was nice to meet family, I think some relatives are people who call on their claim to your time and then spend it telling you all about people you have never met but are somehow related to. And it turns out I do have relatives in Virginia, although I don’t want to meet them. Else I’ll be ordered to spend every scrap of spare time at their place for a meal, and, well, I’m really not in need of more mothering.

Our first visit was to a nursing home to see my mom’s Aunt Georgette. Her two daughters (both older than my mom) welcomed us and brought us to the room where Taunt Georgette was sitting in her wheelchair. Mom burst into tears when she saw her. This woman had come to California when I was born, to help my mom. She gave me my first bath, ,but now she is only just able to mutter indistinctly and claps things in her hands. She’s still coherent - you can tell from her eyes - but can’t do anything. Her daughters were very nice; showed us pics of their kids and grandkids, but through it all there was the stooped old figure in the wheelchair, staring. Really it’s awful when your body gives out like that. And to be put in a nursing home - the atmosphere is horrible, the misery tangible. Pain and loneliness reverberate through the halls, and silent screams assail the ears of the discerning. As I left I felt like I had to say something to the empty room, to give some type of reassurance to the whispering ghosts cloistered there. So I half-whispered, half-sang those last lingering words of Galadriel’s Song of Eldamar.

Namarie!
Nai hiruvalye Valimar.
Nai elye hiruva.
Namarie!

(Farewell!
Maybe thou shalt find Valimar.
Maybe even thou shalt find it.
Farewell!)

Afterwards we went to another aunt, most emphatically not nursing home material. She’s the one who pushed for my parents to get married, so my dad really wanted to see her again. She’s this tiny woman, shorter than I am, and though she’s 89 she looks like she’s in her 70s. She cooks and everything!

Her house became a sort of gathering place. For the next three hours different relatives kept dropping in. For three bleeding hours Leah and I sat politely and pasted smiles on our faces as we listened to twenty years of accumulated news. Voices rang - the nicest lady there was the most talkative, and the loudest. Headaches grew and stomachs growled, and when we got out of there one couple wangled us into going to their place after dinner. So we went home, swallowed some food, and soon after made our way over. They were very friendly and even had a small cake for Leah’s birthday and tons of fruit. They also had a man there, an unbelievably handsome but unadulteratedly snobby son-of-a-relative-or-another. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, but he didn’t so much as say a word to me. Snob.

That brings us to this morning, when we left Canada. This is the part of the trip I’ve been waiting for.