Dear Jessica Brennan,
Last week when I was sitting at the Waltzing Weasel with our friend Dave he was expounding new truths and letting his “Idiot at Home” flag fly freely, and I asked him why he was so verbose. I mean, to be honest it wasn’t really new, but still he seemed more animated than usual, which is saying a lot. In this particular case he was musing about how you can order flowers from a florist in London and the flowers are still fresh when they get delivered in Vancouver. It’s magic.
“I’m retired now, “ he told me, “I don’t have to do anything, so I’m thinking new things.”
Good for you Dave, and that gave me an idea. But first, let me tell you a short story.
When I was a little girl, we used to go to the lake most Saturdays during the spring, summer and fall. We are situated beautifully between Lake Erie, Lake Huron and Lake Ontario, so finding a beach is never a problem. Our beach of choice in those days was on Lake Huron, at Ipperwash for swimming, and Port Franks for fishing.
On our way home from the beach we always stopped at a restaurant in Thedford, Ontario because on one end of the restaurant there was a spot to buy ice cream, and we loved ice cream. My mum always chose maple walnut and my dad had pistachio. In those days I liked orange pineapple. Thedford now has 349 residential dwellings, which is approximately 20 times what it had then, but little Thedford still plays a big role in this tale.
Thedford is the first part of the story.
The second part occurs when I am about 29 and your dad (headphones and all) and I are looking for our first house. We don’t have any money (none) and so the houses we can look at must be small. One day we go to look at a house on McClary Avenue in London. The house is about 700 square feet if you count the ceilings, but we really like it. You may remember that I made dad drive by it about 700 times because I really wanted to consider it. It got so bad, that the neighbours across the street waved to us every time we drove by. In the end we decided that it was just too small so we opted instead for a massive 900 square foot mansion on Maitland Street that later was given the beautiful title of the Love House.
It’s in the Love House that part three of the story unfolds. Are you following me? Next door to the Love House in a home which was the mirror image of ours, lived John and Sally Egan, and their daughter Nicola who was about ten years older than you, maybe a little more. They were from Manchester, UK and we got along very well with them, apart from the fact that dad always sneezed too loud which sometimes when the windows were open on summer nights, disrupted their sleep. The Egans represent this third part of the story solidly.
Part four occurred at the now defunct, Orchestra London where for years Dad performed and I worked an administration job. There we met John Kennedy, who was the chair of the Board of Directors at the time, and we became friends. John had just started dating Susan, and we all spent quite a bit of time together. One day Susan told her brother that he should meet our family because he would like us. He wasn’t so sure he wanted his sister picking out his friends for him, but reluctantly agreed to tag along to an event, bringing with him his lovely wife Judy.
Here’s where it gets interesting. Susan’s brother showed up that day, and this was the first time we got to meet Dave, our favourite Waltzing Weasel philosopher. As we began to delve into each other’s family history, some coincidences began to appear. A coincidence of course is not an accident, it is when two things coincide. So here we go.
Again, Dave’s wife is Judy. She was a country girl always longing for the big city. She dressed like a flower child and dreamed about not having to work in her family owned restaurant in Thedford. Yes that Thedford where her arms ached from serving heaps of ice cream to demanding families who drove through after being at the lake. Judy would have served us ice cream every week all those years ago and like now, Dave would have been hanging around thinking new things because he would have had nothing to do but hope that Judy would keep going out with him.
Dave’s parents came from Manchester in the 60s. I always marvel at the courage it would take to pick up three young children and a few belongings and move to a strange land, in a strange city to a house on McClary Avenue. A house directly across the street from the house we almost bought and drove by 700 times. They were a friendly family, waving from the porch at the young couple, and golden haired little girl, who clearly couldn’t make up their minds where to live. Dave’s dad was a professional painter and wall-paperer and knew a lot of trades people, like John Egan. In fact Dave and Judy’s daughter Sheri was best friends with Nicola Egan, our neighbour at the Love House.
What are the chances? If this feels random to you, then I’m not sure you’re really paying attention.
I believe love brought us all together – Dave and his family, and all the other friendships we’ve made as a result of this one – and I adore this story, not just because it tells of how all of these people came into our lives, and not only because I get to go to the Waltzing Weasel with Dave, but because it tells me that we never know the big picture of what’s going on. We never know why we are in the company of people and when you start to see things more clearly (always in hindsight) you can see the gifts that come out the other end, even when maybe you feel like you’ve been groping around in the dark in a room full of cacti for a while, sometimes for a very long while.
So back to the idea I had when I was sitting in the pub with Dave learning about those pesky illusionists over at Teleflora. In the new year, Dave and I are going to be bringing some of his unique wisdom to the masses in a video series. The universe brought us together, so it’s time to share these rare truths. You’ll be there too of course my lovely Jessica Brennan. Stay tuned dear readers.
Love Mum, xo
