Dry Air
I was in Toronto yesterday morning, Calgary this morning, and Lloydminster tonight. I'm feeling a bit stunned.
I was sitting in the sitting room yesterday fixing my grandparents' computer. This is nothing new - after all I've been fixing everyone in my family's computers since I was fourteen - when I had a thought, "I'm in Calgary." I was so shocked by it, I had to say it out loud.
"Yes," said Grandpa. "I drink my coffee and read the paper, then I turn around and realize I'm not in Lloydminster. Everything here's the same, but not." He seemed so sad.
See, my grandparents have lived in the small city of Lloydminster since my grandpa became Postmaster here well over forty years ago. Then last year my mom was laid off in her job as a band teacher and I laid on the pressure for her to get out of dodge. I don't think much of Lloydminster. It's full of semi-transient oil workers, a rough frontier town, a good place to turn over a quick buck in the oil business. People inclined to listen to music here have more appreciation for alcohol, cocaine, and one-night stands than jazz bands.
In spite of this being a crappy town, my family has made a good life here. When I said I wanted her to move, I didn't expect her to do anything about it, since she'd been talking about moving for years and had never done anything.
So her first reaction when I told her to move was to yell at me, which she never does. I had definitely hit a nerve. She even called back to yell again.
Six months later, her house flooded. She called me and announced that grandma and grandpa were selling their condo and she was going to sell the house, and then they were going to move in together in Calgary.
Now they have a beautiful new house with a view of the mountains, sixteen foot ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows. This is one posh little bungalow.
Grandma's overjoyed. Mom seems happy. But Grandpa is not impressed. He has always been the rock in this family, the steady earner, the man who can fix anything, a guy who at the age of 78 still could slip on the stairs, do a commando roll and land feet-first on the ground. I knew though, as soon as I saw him at the airport, that something was wrong.
I think it's about Jack. Grandpa's best friend Jack lives here in Lloydminster. They were neighbours for 30 years, and when I was a kid, staying at my grandparents place while Mom taught music lessons, I could see Jack stick his nose over the fence to chat with Grandpa, then return to gardening. They chatted on both sides of the fence. They mowed their lawns together, clipped the hedges together, they golfed together every weekend, and they wintered in Arizona - in adjoining trailers.
Three years ago, Jack and his wife promptly sold their house and bought a condo downtown. Grandpa and Grandma promptly sold their house and bought a condo a block away. Then Jack's wife died suddenly.
Jack's health got worse after she died. But Grandpa and his friendship survived. They went for coffee every day, walked together, played cards. Grandpa and Jack's friendship, I think, became something even more important to Jack after his wife died.
Now Grandpa's left him for Calgary.
The first thing Grandpa said to me when he picked me up from the airport was, "I never should have let these darn girls talk me into this."
"Why, what's wrong?" I asked.
All he could do was grumble, "ah, nothing, really."
Today, after fixing their computer, I looked up the instructions for wiring a thermostat on the internet for Grandpa, and as they printed he smiled, his old self, happy to have something around the house to fix.
He'll be OK, but what about Jack?
I was sitting in the sitting room yesterday fixing my grandparents' computer. This is nothing new - after all I've been fixing everyone in my family's computers since I was fourteen - when I had a thought, "I'm in Calgary." I was so shocked by it, I had to say it out loud.
"Yes," said Grandpa. "I drink my coffee and read the paper, then I turn around and realize I'm not in Lloydminster. Everything here's the same, but not." He seemed so sad.
See, my grandparents have lived in the small city of Lloydminster since my grandpa became Postmaster here well over forty years ago. Then last year my mom was laid off in her job as a band teacher and I laid on the pressure for her to get out of dodge. I don't think much of Lloydminster. It's full of semi-transient oil workers, a rough frontier town, a good place to turn over a quick buck in the oil business. People inclined to listen to music here have more appreciation for alcohol, cocaine, and one-night stands than jazz bands.
In spite of this being a crappy town, my family has made a good life here. When I said I wanted her to move, I didn't expect her to do anything about it, since she'd been talking about moving for years and had never done anything.
So her first reaction when I told her to move was to yell at me, which she never does. I had definitely hit a nerve. She even called back to yell again.
Six months later, her house flooded. She called me and announced that grandma and grandpa were selling their condo and she was going to sell the house, and then they were going to move in together in Calgary.
Now they have a beautiful new house with a view of the mountains, sixteen foot ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows. This is one posh little bungalow.
Grandma's overjoyed. Mom seems happy. But Grandpa is not impressed. He has always been the rock in this family, the steady earner, the man who can fix anything, a guy who at the age of 78 still could slip on the stairs, do a commando roll and land feet-first on the ground. I knew though, as soon as I saw him at the airport, that something was wrong.
I think it's about Jack. Grandpa's best friend Jack lives here in Lloydminster. They were neighbours for 30 years, and when I was a kid, staying at my grandparents place while Mom taught music lessons, I could see Jack stick his nose over the fence to chat with Grandpa, then return to gardening. They chatted on both sides of the fence. They mowed their lawns together, clipped the hedges together, they golfed together every weekend, and they wintered in Arizona - in adjoining trailers.
Three years ago, Jack and his wife promptly sold their house and bought a condo downtown. Grandpa and Grandma promptly sold their house and bought a condo a block away. Then Jack's wife died suddenly.
Jack's health got worse after she died. But Grandpa and his friendship survived. They went for coffee every day, walked together, played cards. Grandpa and Jack's friendship, I think, became something even more important to Jack after his wife died.
Now Grandpa's left him for Calgary.
The first thing Grandpa said to me when he picked me up from the airport was, "I never should have let these darn girls talk me into this."
"Why, what's wrong?" I asked.
All he could do was grumble, "ah, nothing, really."
Today, after fixing their computer, I looked up the instructions for wiring a thermostat on the internet for Grandpa, and as they printed he smiled, his old self, happy to have something around the house to fix.
He'll be OK, but what about Jack?
posted by Jared at 1:18 AM
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