Oh dear…

I woke up at 6:17 am.  Couldn’t go back to sleep.  My own fault though.  I should have kept my mind peaceful, but instead, I rolled over saw the clock and thought, Oh no!  What if I’ve scared my sleep wave and can’t get back to sleep?  That would be horrible to have such a busy day and only four hours of sleep.

Boy, is the mind an amazing thing. 

Anyway, I lay in bed, trying not to panic, doing sleep breath, clearing my mind, but my mind was too excited.  It was like a dog that’s been cooped up inside and has seen it’s owner putting on their shoes and picking up the leash.  There is no way my mind is going to go back to snoozing by the fire.

Hence here I am.  Blogging to you.

A quick one though, because I’m going to have to head off to the shower soon.

St. Michael Catholic School

I was picked up for the motel by Judy Mullen’s husband, a very pleasant man with an impeccably clean car.  I felt pampered and spoiled just sitting in it on the way over to the school.

I was greeted warmly in the office, I was led into the Staff room where I hung up my coat and visited the bathroom.  Unfortunately, when the request to please stand for our national anthem came over the loud speaker I was otherwise engaged, but enjoyed the chorus of music that played over the loudspeaker.  I arrived back in the office, O’Canada was just finishing and then a girl read the morning prayer into mic and at the end everyone did the sign of the cross. 

I didn’t, because I’m not Catholic, but I have to say, the residual Agnes in me was delighted.  I found that seeing everybody standing quiet, listening to the prayer, then the two fingers making the signs of the cross, filled me with that Agnes happiness and joy and I was so glad that I got to be there, for morning prayer and to say hello to Sister Agnes doing a happy cozy dance inside me.

My talk was in the gym, and they had decided instead of doing two presentations to two separate groups, that they’d rather I did one long one to everyone.  That was fine with me.  My talks are sort of a free-form-lets-see-where-we-go-today kind of thing. 

Thank you, Judy for inviting me.  We had so much fun.  The students were great and I probably would still be standing there yaking if didn’t have someone picking me up at 11.

Kortright Hills Public School

Kathy Gossling-Spears struck me as one of those women who get things done.  The kind you’d want to have at your back when the chips were down. 

She managed somehow to get three copies of Porcupine and three copies of First Time when all the bookstores in the area were sold out. 

We had a lovely lunch together with her friend and a fellow writer and her cousin (whose name also eludes me, but who I meet this year outside of the Granville Island Hotel at the Vancouver International Writers Festival with Hal Wake.  I knew this writer was someone important and incredibly talented by the loving way his name rolled off of Hal’s tongue.  Nobody loves literature more than Hal. 

Anyway, this fabulously brilliant writer-dude guy apparently just won the Giller prize and not only that… he’s Kathy’s cousin!  Small word huh?  I’m glad he did, because he seemed nice when we met.  Not all full of pompous airs.  Real.

After lunch, we returned to the school, and how lucky these kids are.  This is a truly lovely school, with ivy painted on the pillars and artwork on the walls.  Very cozy and comforting, so much beauty and thought taken with the interior design.  Like the person who planned it, really loved children.

The kids were great!  Both talks, totally different, but wonderful in their own way.  Hands flying up, stories shared, questions asked.  Everyone loving and wanting to read the book, trying to talk me into writing more.  Very sweet.  I’m smiling at my computer as the memories of their faces dance around me. 

I left feeling knowing the tiredness would set in eventually, but for the time being, flying high.  What love came out of those shining faces.

And heres a photo of me, on the Greyhound bus at the end of the day. 

Snow was falling and it was really beautiful and peaceful.  The air pistons in the bus, inhaling and exhaling at regular intervals. 

On the freeway, the gentle whir of the tires, the lull of the road and distances to be travelled, and a dark car, maybe a Pontiac, started to skid and my heart caught in my throat.  He did two full loop-de-loops across four lanes of traffic, the last one easing, sort of in a sped-up-slow-mo only a few yards away from the front grill of our bus and landed slid to a landing half off and half on the sloping shoulder of the road.  I caught a glimpse of a pale faced dark haired young man, eyes dark as we flashed by, and then he was gone and there was only the road and the tires and the wheeze of the pistons.  The quiet drift of the falling snow.

Posted by Meg Tilly on Thursday, November 20, 2008 in Chewing the Fat