{"id":7715,"date":"2022-05-26T13:40:21","date_gmt":"2022-05-26T17:40:21","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/briwebapp.net\/cibufm\/?p=7715"},"modified":"2022-05-26T19:08:42","modified_gmt":"2022-05-26T23:08:42","slug":"a-special-kind-of-melancholy","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/briwebapp.net\/cibufm\/blogs\/2022\/05\/a-special-kind-of-melancholy\/","title":{"rendered":"A Special Kind Of Melancholy"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"

One of the few pictures I have of my Grandparents\u00a0 Osborne “Ozzie” & Dorothea Main<\/p><\/div>\n

I barely had time to get to know him. This year marked 50 years since my Grandpa Main passed away.<\/span><\/p>\n

I\u2019m not sure anymore what I once knew but I know the memories are fewer or at least foggier as I get older. I do recall that anytime I was sitting with my feet up, he would always reach out and twist my toe as he walked by. And,\u00a0<\/span>I have a vague recollection of an old, toothless vagabond with a scratchy voice coming to our door when I was maybe 7 years old, only to have that vagabond collapse in laughter when I didn\u2019t recognize his disguise.<\/span><\/p>\n

50 years. It was forever ago. It was yesterday. And for all the hazy notions that linger just beyond my full grasp, I remember well that he loved me.<\/span><\/p>\n

When I was 9 years old, my Grandparents and Aunt took me on a week long camping trip to Algonquin Park. I don’t recall many specifics of that adventure but my Aunt Karla has recounted a few times over the years, one of the highlights of the trip.<\/span><\/p>\n

One night, sometime after midnight, she woke to the sound of the zipper on the tent portion of our pop up camper scratching in the darkness. There weren\u2019t a lot of lights in the park back then and she recalls Grandpa\u2019s voice calling out, \u201cWho\u2019s there?\u201d as he fumbled in the inky gloom for his flashlight. There had been reports of bears and their cubs roaming the park and I\u2019m guessing he feared for the worst.<\/span><\/p>\n

As the zipper made it’s distorted ascent, my Grandfather yelled “Get out!” and my Grandma screamed just as a tiny beam of dim light fell on a sleepy nine year old boy, still wrapped in his sleeping bag. “It’s just me Grandpa … I think I fell outta bed.” I had somehow managed to push past the elastic cords that held the tent portion to the base of the camper.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

My Aunt tells me Grandpa loved to tell the story of the time a wild bear “almost” attacked us.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

There is one other thing I remember about that vacation. I remember the blue walled bathroom of our Goderich home on Elgin Ave \u2026 standing there as the tub filled shortly after they’d dropped me off and headed back to Welland. I remember tears rolling down my nine year old cheeks. It was my first real experience with a very special kind of melancholy, a feeling I still experience anytime something truly wonderful ends.<\/span><\/p>\n

***<\/span><\/p>\n

A little more than a year ago, I jokingly told my partner that I was going to throw her a surprise party for her birthday. She was not impressed and told me in no uncertain terms that she HATES surprises. I promised her I would never do that. Her birthday was last weekend, and so of course, I threw her a surprise party.<\/span><\/p>\n

It was a few months of planning and scheming for a small but intimate party with some of our closest family members, some meeting for the first time … lots of laughs, good food, birthday cake and an enormous amount of love.<\/span><\/p>\n

The day after the party, holiday Monday, we decided to visit Greyhaven Gardens to shop for a few plants for our deck. As we wandered up and down the aisles of plants, flowers and gardening paraphernalia, I thought of my Grandfather. The smell and feel of that colourful oasis in Londesboro, carried me back to a greenhouse Grandpa had in their back yard when I was a boy. I\u2019ve never been his type of gardener, but I suppose I\u2019ll forever be genetically predisposed to getting the feels anytime I find myself in such a peaceful sanctuary.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m a little sad\u201d, I told her.<\/span><\/p>\n

Is it “end of the camping trip sad?” she asked.<\/p>\n

It was.<\/span><\/p>\n

The planning, the party, the family, the love \u2026 the flowers. A perfect storm of feels.<\/p>\n

\"\"

The view at Greyhaven gardens on holiday Monday.<\/p><\/div>\n

What a privileged existence I\u2019ve had that things like these have occurred in my life. These people who fill my heart. These events that end with me feeling that special kind of melancholy, but never without the promise that I will feel the joy again.\u00a0 As one of my favourite songwriters Harry Chapin once wrote, \u201cAll my life\u2019s a circle\u201d<\/p>\n

God, I\u2019m grateful.<\/span><\/p>\n

***<\/span><\/p>\n

After the party on Sunday evening we headed for what’s becoming a traditional end of birthday occurrence, a visit to the lake for the sunset. We didn’t think we would see much this year because it had been such a grey day but at the last minute, the clouds parted just enough to gift us a spectacular show.<\/span><\/p>\n

[gallery ids=”7720,7723,7724″]<\/p>\n

Stay well friends, tell the people you love how much they mean to you. Make good memories.<\/span><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

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