Sweet Moments With Avery

2009 - 2015

Do you remember the closing line of the The Sopranos' first season when Tony says to his kids during a spontaneous family dinner; "someday you're gonna have children of your own and if you're lucky you'll remember the little moments like these that were good".

I have four adorable little moment memories of my grandson, Avery. He is a warm, affectionate kid. I especially like his luxurious bear hugs.

The family was at the Deerhurst Resort in the summer of 2009 when Avery was about one and a half years old. Seven of us; me and Margie, my wife, my daughter Amy and her husband Aaron, Avery’s parents, Avery and my son Stephen. Avery was the center of attention, the only grandchild at the time. He had been walking for about three months, still teetering somewhat, but able to move around zealously with his new skill. 

One evening in our suite when we were sitting around talking and eating appetizers Avery gave us a thrill. I was at one end of the circle and Stephen was opposite me about 15 feet away. Stephen asked me to pass him a slice of something. At that moment Avery was with me so I jokingly asked him to take the slice over to Stephen. And he did. Well that was the first time we saw Avery understand and do such a complicated request. I noticed and got excited and then like rolling thunder my delight moved around the table until it got to Avery who launched the cutest smile you ever saw. Adorable.

Back in the city around the same time I was about to walk into a library when I felt a slight tugging at my pant leg. I looked down and it was Avery. He had approached from another direction in the care of his nanny Ena. They had seen me  before I saw them and Ena encouraged him to overcome his shyness and come to me. 

Avery barely came up to my knee at the time,   so picture Avery reaching up and looking up to get my attention. He wasn't talking yet so the tug was his voice. Adorable.

About two years later Amy, was on mat leave spending January with us in Florida with Avery, then almost four, and three month old Brooke in tow. 

Our rented condo was about a half mile from the Atlantic Ocean beach with a spacious park in between. Avery and I played in the park regularly. He was high energy and I liked to chase around with him. There was always a ball of some sort involved in our play.

One day as we walked towards the beach we spied a baseball game in progress at our park's little league baseball diamond. When we got close we discovered eight kids aged four to ten playing under the guidance of one experienced adult, maybe a coach. We sat in the bleachers at first. I wanted Avery to witness an actual game in progress. That didn't last long. Avery was invited to join in; to bat as best he could and to play in the field when he wasn't at bat. He had little idea of what to do but he participated as best he could. Like the others he  responded to yelled directions and encouragement every step of the way. 

When the game ended and we started to walk home Avery yelled out, to no one in particular something like, "If you ever need another player I live in an apartment over there". Adorable.

When Avery was seven Lego was his go to hobby. Occasionally Avery and I worked as a team on his projects. I helped as he struggled his way through. My jobs were to read the instruction book and find the correct pieces which Avery had sorted into bowls in some orderly fashion. Avery's jobs were to interpret the instructions based on his lengthy experience, interlock the pieces into whatever spaceship or monstrosity he was building and to lightly brush his elbow against mine as we sat close together. Electrifying. 

Avery is about to cross over into his teenage years. He'll be awful busy. I'm lucky.  There are three granddaughters following in his footsteps for me to adore. 

March 2020

Traveling Without Reservations

1971 - 1984

Since I started travelling as an adult, in control of my destiny, I often have not known where

I would sleep when I woke up. This included hitchhiking in university days and driving

holidays afterwards.

There are many fringe benefits to traveling without reservations.

Here's some examples of what I'm getting at.

I woke up to a sunny landscape near Athens in July 1971. After breakfast I stuck out my

thumb. At that moment I would not have imagined I'd be detained in a murder investigation

15 hours later in Lamia, northern Greece. I was innocent but no amount of planning and no

travel agent could have produced that story which I've told at least one too many times. It

was the result of a random combination of hitchhiked rides I took that day. So one possible

benefit of no plans, the willingness to go with the flow, is the possibility of experiences that

are way outside the box.

Sometimes there are rewards for letting fate take the helm; you know, let go, let God. On a

driving holiday around England in 1984 my wife and I woke up one bright morning in Canterbury and toured the cathedral as planned. After lunch I was anxious to get to London to see the sights and theater. Margie agreed but was concerned there'd be too much traffic into London and, by the way, where would we stay. With some trepidation we agreed to let go and let fate take charge. Well the traffic wasn't too bad and we found a room near a railway station, as I expected. On our way to dinner we passed the box office for Starlight Express which was new and hot at the time. We got in the rush ticket line behind about 10 students. When a pair of 16 pound seats near the front came up we were the only people in line who could afford them. We had karma to thank for that. 

A different kind of benefit is fulfilling an addiction to tension. I can tell you from personal experience that hitchhiking at the side of a busy Moroccan highway long after dusk because there is no play to stay nearby causes tension. Very unpleasant tension. But you know that's the sort of tension that can be addictive. If you survive. Skydiving anyone?

So what's the hole in my head or my heart that gets filled by travelling without reservations?

Well first off I've learned that nothing terminally bad will happen. I've had to sleep rough, outside that is, or in really pathetic hotels a few times, but hey I'm still here. So that's a comfort. 

Secondly, I fill a need to feel more heroic. I think that's a genetic thing since we're all descended from people who had to be heroic to survive when the world was much more dangerous. So I think I'm programmed to take risks which just aren't available they way they used to be. 

Thirdly, I think I'm addicted a bit to risky behaviour. Maybe I got some attention from my parents when I took risks as a kid. That's addictive.

And lastly, and this is a longshot, I'm not sure I've ever totally accepted my father's death. I was nine and at summer camp when he passed. No goodbyes. It is possible that subconsciously I think he is still alive. So if I arrive at places where I'm totally unexpected, he might be there, and my subliminal soul seems to think I'll be able to sneak up on him. That's something to discuss with my psychiatrist.

February 2020

My Vagabonding Sitcom

1971

When I left New York flying Pan Am to Lisbon in June 1971 my plan was to meet a woman

in the first class cabin who would escort me around the continent for the next three months. 

I didn't have much money. So I needed help. The first step of my plan worked as expected.

I got bumped up to first class as I checked in. I'm lucky that way. 

I only had three months to travel. Business school was starting in September. This trip

was my swan song transition from childhood as a child to childhood with an MBA. 

But my plan fell apart. I left the plane a solo traveler. So plan B, backpacking and

hitchhiking. I had a book that said I could do it on a dollar a day. 

Here are some memorable events which could become episodes if someone wanted

to do a sitcom about my trip.

Outside the Lisbon terminal I was befriended by an American sailor looking for someone

to share a cab downtown. They were on a two day shore leave and knew Lisbon a bit

so we went to the same cheap hotel in the hilly district overlooking the downtown. An

episode where nothing happened. Seinfeldian. 

In Seville in Spain I met three French guys who introduced me to the idea of going to

Kathmandu, Nepal, a place I had never heard of. I saw them in a few places on the

road. Supporting actors in my sit com. 

Across the border in Perpignan, France I picked up a ride with a family in a crowded van

going all the way to Genoa, Italy. So my new plan to meet a rich woman in Monaco was

thwarted since we drove right through. A road trip episode.

Florence and Rome were artistically interesting but nothing out of the ordinary happened.

The three coins I threw in the fountain fell on deaf ears. 

On the ferry from Brindisi, Italy to Corfu, Greece I made a nuisance of myself. It was an

overnight ferry and I was still asleep when we docked. On my first attempt to disembark I

forgot to pick up my passport. A brouhaha ensued. Very funny.

Several days later I hitchhiked into Athens with a ride to the front door of the Acropolis.

After a 90 minute tour I walked over to the American Express office and met a young

woman who agreed to hitchhike to Istanbul with me. Around midnight we were arrested

for murder just outside the city of Lamia. This would make a good episode. 

Four days later in Istanbul, alone again, I boarded a bus for a four day ride to Tehran.

On the bus I met a young Brit on her way to visit school friends. On the last nite of the

trip we were canoodling when she suddenly became ill and had to leave the bus in a

rush . . . to vomit. A blow to my manhood based on the hysterical reaction of the Iranian

men travelling with us. A humbling episode.

In Tehran I went to an ancient bathhouse to clean up. I expected to see a pile of warm

towels when I got out of the bath. The owner expected me to have my own. A brouhaha

ensued. Very funny. 

In Kabul I met a man so down on his luck, economically and healthwise, that his only

way to get around was to crawl. A poignant episode. 

I crossed the border between Pakistan and India when they were at war. Thankfully not

where I was crossing. A border guard confiscated half of the rupees a German girl

ahead of me in line was trying to smuggle into India to circumvent currency controls. I

was trying to smuggle a hockey puck sized hunk of hash. Lost half to the guard. An

ironic episode.

At the Red Fort in New Delhi I was jumped by a playful child beggar who wouldn't let go.

A brouhaha ensued. I was saved by an embarrassed local businessman. I needed to

bathe again. 

At the airport leaving Kathmandu I discovered along with some border guards that I had

overstayed my visa. They let me go. If they hadn't we would have an episode filmed in a

prison cell. 

The flight from Kathmandu took me back to New Delhi which this time was just a stop over on my way home. I was back in Toronto a few days later where I started generating stories for a new sitcom.