Of Course

...I immediately found a mistake as soon as I sent the manuscript.  Apparently we took powered milk to the cottage.  No wonder we had so much energy!

Manuscript is on its way...

The manuscript for All Those Long Years Ago has finally gone to the publisher.  I was beginning to think that it might have to go in my pine box with me.  Revising can become addictive.

Kit Gets His Answer

Copyright © 2013, Robyn Gerland

So, the passengers are all deeply involved in ignoring my precocious son and his incredibly uncomfortable mother...

     The bus’ buzzer sounded and we pulled over to the curb.  I had a moment of relief as I saw us escaping but then imagined the embarrassment of disembarking amid Kit’s protests and questions and the others passenger’s sighs of relief.  A woman four rows up the bus was leaving her seat.  We could move.  I would be facing forward and I could answer Kit’s questions calmly and quietly; but just then the young man sitting next to me sprang forward into the vacant seat – escaping.

     Almost immediately, however, the man from across the aisle moved next to us.  Kit looked surprised and pleased.  I felt only shocked.

     “Well Kit,” he said, “I think that’s your name.  Am I right?” As he spoke to my son he glanced at me - a request for permission.  I nodded.

     “Well mostly,” said Kit.  “I have a real name but it’s too long.  I can’t say it properly, yet.”

     “Oh,” said the man.  “Would that be Christopher?”

     Kit’s eyes blinked and danced. “How did you know?”

     “I guessed,” said the man.  “And I think I was right.  I also think that you would like to know about my hat.”

     “See,” said Kit, turning back to me.  “I was right.  It is a hat.”

     “Well, sort of,” said the man. “I have very long hair and I use it to tuck the hair up under but it’s also a religious symbol – just like your mom said.”

     “A simple?”

     “No, symbol,” the man said slowly and carefully. “Did you wear a poppy on Armistice Day?  On Poppy Day?” he continued.

     Kit nodded.

     “Well that poppy was a symbol.  I t showed that you remembered the soldiers who died.  And you cared about them.  Do you know the word respect? 

     Kit nodded again.

     The readers, pickers and sleepers were now alert.

     “Well, that poppy showed that you respected those soldiers.”

     “But your hat…it’s not a poppy...not a red one.

     No my hat is called a dastaar but most people call it a turban.  It’s a symbol because it shows respect for the god that I believe in and for myself.  Does that make sense, Mr. Christopher?” he asked as he stood and pressed the buzzer.

     “Yes. You wear your hat so that I can know that you’re respectful,” said my son.

     The bus trip had indeed been an educational experience.  The tutelage of Christopher Moody had definitely, but from a totally unexpected source, been enhanced - his growing awareness of the world truly expanded.  And I?  I was suddenly aware that I had not suffered one moment of the sideseat queasies. 

                  

  

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MICAH!

                  

 

CONTINUED...What happened Next

 So, we are on a bus in the big city.....

Copyright © 2013, Robyn Gerland

Of course, buses existed on Vancouver Island and, of course Kit had seen them time and again.  But he had never ridden in one.  Due to the expansive distances between destinations, the long waits and circuitous routes of the buses between Chemainus and other island towns and villages, almost everyone drove a car.  Small vehicles and hybrids were very popular.

     So, here we were in the big city and I was about to expand my son’s education – one more experience upon which to build his growing awareness of the world.

     I was holding Kit’s hand. “Oh dear,” I said, “I don’t see any seats.”

     The bus was full and the lady with the many parcels seemed to have taken the last available place to sit.

     “There’s one,” Kit tugged my arm. “On the long seat.”

     There was another reason that I sometimes avoided buses. This was because the stopping and starting and generally lurching quality of the ride often made me feel nauseous.  This feeling was compounded if I had to ride on the side facing seats - watching the scenery slide by, tugging at my eyes and stomach  to follow its swish.  Closing my eyes was even worse as then the unexpected stops and starts and curbward swoops played extra havoc with my queasiness.  Consequently, if I was forced to ride in one of the unfortunate side facing benches, I tried to keep my eyes open and look toward the front of the bus.  It was absolutely the safest position. I sat and pulled Kit onto my knee.

     “Good,” I thought.  His head is blocking my vision.  I’ll just focus on his neck.”  I really hoped that the education of Christopher Moody would be worth my discomfort and personal anxiety. 

     On my lap, Kit wriggled to get comfortable and then sat rigidly still. “Does that man have a headache?” 

No Title Yet...still thinking

Copyright © 2013, Robyn Gerland

 

      “Now, when the bus comes, you get on first and wait for me.  I have to pay the driver and then we’ll get a seat.”

     “Can I?”

     “Pay the driver?  I better do it this time.  It’s been a long while since I’ve been on a bus and I’m not sure how it works, anymore.  You can pay on the way back if it’s not too busy. Okay?”

     People from all over the world vacationed on Vancouver Island – ocean and tall timber, rivers and lakes, villages and cities, and a famously friendly population.  However, the one thing that our wonderful island did not have was diversity of culture. 

Living in Chemainus, one of the picturesque villages on the east side of the island, we knew many first nations people.  The recently renamed island of Penelakut with its sad, sad residential school history was directly across the Stuart Strait from our back yard.  Other than the friends and acquaintances from the Halalt band, who regularly crossed the short distance from their home to ours, via the British Columbia Ferry service, we saw very little difference in culture or complexion.

     “Here it comes.  We’ll let this other lady go first.  She’s got a lot of parcels.”

     Where so much of the rest of the world came to visit us, we had decided to take a short vacation in the city.  We had arrived in Vancouver the day before and today I had decided to take my four year old son for an adventure.  We were going to ride on a bus!

Of course, buses existed on Vancouver Island and, of course Kit had seen them time and again.  But he had never ridden in one.  Due to the expansive distances between destinations, the long waits and circuitous routes of the buses between Chemainus and other island towns and villages, almost everyone drove a car.  Small vehicles and hybrids were very popular.

     So, here we were in the big city and I was about to expand my son’s education – one more experience upon which to build his growing awareness of the world.

                                                                                            stay tuned...

All of the proofs came back today so I am doing a marathon read. 
I changed the title It Was All Too Much to Bambi Ablaze...seems to fit better with the rest of the titles.
A friend, Jean, has explained how to set up for people to respond - next mountain to climb.