There’s a few subtle reminders that Jack Frost is right around the corner - even in this fair part of North Carolina.

• If I leave my car outside for the night, there’s the audible sound of cold windshield wipers scraping over a very thin layer of frost on the glass.
• When I take Sydney for a walk in the morning, the first breath of “outside” air has that crisp, invigorating feeling like no other.  It’s a feeling I knew all too well in Calgary, starting in early September and persisting until May.
• The days are getting shorter.  Daylight savings time really put a cramp on that; the sun is well into its descent on my drive home.  Again, this was even more notable in Calgary, where sunset during this time of the year comes at around 4:45 PM, and the sun doesn’t peek back up until about 9:30 AM.  (for those of you not from Raleigh, sunset is currently 5:10 PM and sunrise is around 6:45 AM)

The funny thing is, I still *really* look forward to this time of the year.  Autumn is the most liminal season for me; much more than a simple metaphor for dying leaves and the first snowfalls.  Autumn marks the last full season in the calendar year, and the first semester in the traditional school year.  It’s a remarkable confabulation of holidays; Hallowe’en, Thanksgiving and Christmas at the tail-end, with Veterans Day (Remembrance Day for my fellow Canucks) and Hanukkah thrown in for good measure.  (OK, I know some of these are technically “winter” holidays, but they’re close enough - and we *are* talking about liminality, right?)

Good day, eh?

… a continuation of my earlier post.

We arrived in Calgary on the afternoon of August 14th - ironically, our wedding anniversary. One of our first stops was to our old apartment at Collingwood and Caribou in the northwest. It was an odd feeling to stand in a place we hadn’t seen in almost 6 years, but it also felt good to “come home”. The two apartments we had at this intersection were among the most comfortable we had ever lived in, and I still have fond memories of some cold Calgary nights, curled up in our little abode.

(more…)

It was the summer of 2001. We were living in Calgary, Alberta, and a friend who enjoys hiking was visiting us for a few days. She and my wife decided to go hiking around the Kananaskis mountains to the west.

After a long day of tromping through the bush, they decided to do one more trail. It was a muddy trail, and not all that well traveled, but they persisted and seemed to be enjoying themselves. My wife was startled when her friend called out “BEAR!”, and was even more startled to focus on a grizzly bear about six feet in front of her.

When my wife tells this story, she does a fantastic job of conveying the sense of panic that came over them both. All of the “training” in the world wouldn’t have done an ounce of good; they did what came instinctively, which was to run like hell.

At one point, my wife tripped and fell in the mud. The bear paused as she got up, before continuing to follow her out of the bush.

Of course, the outcome of this story is a happy one. My wife and her friend made it back to the car, and the bear waved from the edge of the bush as they drove off to warn the local ranger.

I teased my wife incessantly about this - peppering her with brochures that explain the proper protocol for bear encounters. She bought bear bells (even though she has yet to set foot on a mountain again), and we discussed how she would talk soothingly to the next bear she encountered, walking backwards with her eyes looking down.

The humor in this story, you ask? About a month after this incident, we were driving the Icefields Parkway, and I had to pee. I mean, I HAD to pee. I finally gave in and pulled off along the side of the road, where I could commune with nature for a minute. I walked down the sloped shoulder and into the woods a bit (so other cars passing us wouldn’t have to observe me mid-pee), and went about my business.

As I did, I happen to look up to notice a black bear approaching me. He was a good 50 feet away, but it didn’t matter; my dick was hanging out of my jeans, and I still had a good bit of pee to go. And this was not the kind of pee that was going to be interrupted.

As luck would have it, the bear wasn’t in a full gallop to meet me, and I mustered every ounce of energy to get the pee out as soon as possible. I learned the art of zipping and running at the same time, and made it back to the car with about twenty feet between the bear and I.

Needless to say, I don’t bring up the bear story with my wife anymore.

With the infernal pollen departing from our atmosphere and the hot weather descending, I’m finding myself enjoying more “lazy” days.

These are the days when I come home from work, put my feet up in a lawn chair, and simply enjoy the smell of life. The noise of kids running around, dogs barking, birds chirping and people grilling in their backyard is music to my ears, and the sight of the magnificent blue sky in its early summer splendor never fails to take my breath away.

This time of the year also has its expenses. We had the carpets steam-cleaned to the tune of $300. The dogs needed their physicals; that resulted in the dispersement of another $280. The bike needed a new chain, and I kissed $175 goodbye for the privilege. Last week’s junk-run to the local dump and the Salvation Army set us back about $100 (including the rental of a U-Haul van). New drywall for the garage: $150. It goes on and on.

We were visited by the tax fairy a few weeks ago, though, so it’s not all bad.

The raging debate now is where to go for vacation. At this point, it’s looking like Calgary in late August, but that won’t be “for sure” until we actually buy the tickets (oh good - more money spent).

And this is really the gist of this post. We haven’t been in Calgary since we left in December of 2001. That’s just over 5 years … the longest span of time I’ve ever spent away from a place I once lived. Not including places I lived as an infant, of course … they don’t count.

One of my most vivid memories of Calgary was the day we left. I think it was December 10th. The moving van was packed and on its way, and all we had was the bit we could jam into our green Volkswagen Golf. Despite my wife’s protestations, I insisted that we take the “long way” out of Calgary, and we went straight down 19th St NW to Memorial Drive. I wanted to go past the CBC building, where I had tried so desperately to get a job. (There’s no telling what would have happened if I had succeeded; we may well have stayed in Calgary).

Then we went across the 14th St. bridge and into the downtown core. I don’t remember exactly what meandering route we took, but I navigated the maze of one-way streets proudly, and ended up at MacLeod Trail. We went south - straight out of the city - towards Montana.

I remember watching Calgary in my rear view mirror as it got smaller and smaller … and I remember pulling over to the side of the road and getting out of the car for one more look back. I stared at the skyline for about a minute, thinking about all the good times there. The people I would miss, and the places that had become a part of my life. I actually waved to the city (my wife thought I had lost my mind), and got back in the car for what would become a hilarious debacle of movement across the country.

You see, this was three months after 9/11, and there was still a general feeling of hysteria at the border crossings. We took care of immigration at the Coots / Sweetgrass border crossing into Montana, but the customs officer would NOT allow our little Volkswagen in. Seems that in 1997, the Canadian Volkswagens were not fitted with the airbags that were required in the American market, and there was some feeling that allowing this heathen automobile to enter would represent a threat to national security.

So - we drove across the country to Toronto, sold the car to my parents, and then “borrowed” their car to drive to the States. Since it was their car, there was no way that we could sell it in the States and threaten the peace and liberty of the American people. Of course, selling it meant we had to get it certified, which meant we had to get the windshield replaced, which means we spent a few days on my parents’ farm that we weren’t planning on spending.

We made it to Raleigh safely, and I have been an “absent.canadian” ever since.