Grace, grace, grace (Part II)
It was hot as hell yesterday too, and walking west along College into the sun was just killing all of us, draining us of all our energy; still, we had to walk, had to walk and walk and walk. As long as I could grab on without floating away, I was content to walk the miles. I was amongst friends, which is always the safest place to be.
We changed direction and headed north through the Annex. All things considered, we weren’t being too rambunctious. What a sight though. There we were, us three; me, towering in my tarty, little (little), yellow summer dress and kickass chunky heeled sandals and the boys, towering over me, sweating buckets, bumbling along. We turned a corner, and when I looked ahead of me and I saw Jackie Burroughs. I don’t get star-struck living in Tronno; there’s too many people to see, usually in the most obscure places, and I see most of them. But, Jackie Burroughs. She’s an icon. Truly one of the most gracious and vital Canadian actors of this time. She is as synonymous with growing up Canadian as is working a summer at the Canadian National Exhibition.
The one thing I’ve always loved about chemicals is the absolute clarity; the purity of each experience, as it all relates. Seeing her in person threw me for a moment. She couldn't have stood much more than five feet tall, her hair was loose, down around her shoulders and held back by a thin, black headband. She wore simple shoes with jean shorts and a peasant style summer shirt, but what struck me was her casualness, her simplicity. I always saw her maintained and composed. I never saw her just living. I’m sure that we, in our animated state, startled her. Coming up suddenly, happening upon her meekness.
Then she transformed herself, right in front of me – a live morphing. She held a book in front of her like a piece of armour, most likely as protection against this motley crew that broke her stride. She held her chin high, stately. She quickly glanced up at us, as we all do when passing strangers on the street, until she noticed that I held her gaze. I was dumbstruck. Through my black framed, yellow tinted geek glasses, all I could, or wanted to do, was hold that gaze as she started to pass us. As she did, she smiled ever so gently and subtly at me and simultaneously, we simply and quietly nodded to one another.
I sometimes think that I was born an era late (or alternatively, I've lived before, whichever takes your fancy) and this frozen moment reminded me of a time in society, possibly Victorian (in a sense), when the actors of a city or of a country were revered and held in highest esteem as true artists -- part of the "upper echelon". The then colloquial social graces called for a dignified and respectful acknowledgement of one another; the simple smile and nod, or tip of the hat, had I been wearing one. She so touched me with her serene sense of regality and style and dare I use the word, class. There is an air of kinship that is immediately recognized in some gestures. Her grace, our grace, brought me to tears as we cleared the corner continuing on our way.
I was refreshed and excited. I felt so alive! I took the lead and guided my company through a pint at Pauper's and various tunnels of vision, (note to self: enclosed places and acid do not mix) and although my home was no longer Sam’s home, he just wanted to go home. Three hours hence, our trio had become a duo again and Sam and I were happy to rest in the sheltered familiarity of one another. Having gone through the worst of it and being closer to our comfort zones, I felt like a latté (I know, how gauche), so we walked a few blocks down the street to our old coffee shop.
Just as we arrived, the storm of the summer erupted all around us. Huge dollops of raindrops, just belting down, obscured mostly everything but the headlights of the cars driving from across the street. We sat inside and drank not a quarter of our coffees before we decided to experience Mother Nature at her best, full throttle. As the rain began to drop even harder, we transferred our drinks to paper cups and headed out en route home.
The smokes we lit in the doorway (‘cause gawd knows you can’t smoke anywhere anymore) lasted about two drags each before they turned into drenched, soggy mounds of tobacco flesh. The walk is only about 15 minutes; long enough to enjoy the downfall sans umbrellas, without committing yourself to a sick bed. Well! Mother was heavy yesterday and She let out her fury all around us!! We walked the streets until we hit the Belt Line Trail (a little piece of heaven if you don’t pay attention to the sound of traffic) and then we were able to stop and dance and play in all of Her glory. The rainfall stung at times as the wind picked it up and whipped it against our bodies. The thunder crashes above were enough to intermittently force my hands to cover my ears...and the lightning!!!…gawd how I love storms!!…the lightning sprayed out all above us, close enough to feel the electricity as it stirred to hit. We walked, played, stood and peed and laughed in the rain. I was well beyond my trip, truly in a state of centredness, with mascara running all down my face.
As the cloudburst started to subside, we walked until we stood on the bridge overlooking the Allen Expressway and watched the wind whip the tails of baby twisters together from separate clouds, until She came down upon us all over again!…GLORY, GLORY, GLORY...which is when I ran home, splashing through all the puddles all the way, picked up my girl and then took her for a walk in the rain.
...I didn't shower yesterday afterwards...the rain was all over me...warmer, cleaner and more refreshing than any place I've been in years...better than sex...I am still glowing…
copyright Karen Schulman, 1999
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