Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Happiness is my two-year old nephew running through leaves of chokecherry and ash on an unseasonably warm, October evening. Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, Canada. (2006). My dad, who's still a better photographer now than I'll ever be, is responsible for taking this gorgeous photo.
I turned around only to be transported to some kind of distant, alternate bizarro-world, where everything was exactly the same except on one account: in this new world, they measured time in metric. In every minute, there were 100 seconds. In every hour, there were 100 minutes. In every day, there were 10 hours. In every week, there were 10 days. In every month, there were 10 weeks. And in every year, there were 10 months. And so it was ... and, I was, too, and life continued on just like it would have, had I remained in the world from which I just came.
As luck would have it, it just happened to be the tenth month of the year and, therefore, October. And, as fate would have it, I was among old friends again, a veritable metric decade after the fact. To be precise, there were three of them - and, clockwise from my right, the initials of their first names spelled "ask," though their significance to me had never really been in question.
And so it was.
Over dinner at a trendy, downtown restaurant, we caught up on jokes and stories, wives and girlfriends, work and school, past and future. I was secretly proud of my boys but I never did tell them as much ... because, after all, it was never my way to say aloud what I felt should have already been known.
After dinner, it was on to the high school reunion at a sports bar bordering the edge of the warehouse district. I'd like to say that I'm able to give you a full ten-spot of tales amazing, scandalous, and hilarious but, in honesty, I can't. Everything was just so damn pleasant ... even if it was so in a dreamy, surrealistic sense. It seemed that mostly everyone who came was doing well, and genuinely appreciative of the others who made the effort to show. Maybe, this was a story in itself. Maybe, ten years from now, the story will be different.
And so it was.
In a blink of an eye, I was back in the world in which I was familiar, the one where the measurement of time wasn't dictated by the orderly, efficient ethic of metric, but rather in a disorganized, unstructured tapestry.
Tonight, as I reflect on the past unstructured time period of vivid colours, pretty faces, bittersweet glimpses, and faraway places, I come to the realization that, after all the years, I'm still chasing after October ... and I no longer know how to feel about it.
Meanwhile, outside, October waits.
Posted by dingobear at 22:59