Missives from the road: Old King Cole

After many days on road the crammed into our small Honda Civic, we arrived sea-side, finally in Baddeck. On the shores of Bras d'Or Lake. They call it a lake, but it's an inland sea of (mostly)salt water and waves. I'm not sure if it's ever still really still.

 

The place is teeming with tourist, and the waitress calls The Boy "honey" and us "dear" with no pretense. The seafood is fresh and unpretentious. There's a patience and a kindness here. We rush through so much. In a hurry to get to work, to pick The Boy up. Today, there is only a slow walk down to the water.

 

Sneaking in a rare moment of solitude, I head down to the water. Thoughts punctuated only by rhythm of the waves. I spot a boy in red swim trunks make a mad mad dash for the end. 4,3,2,1 ... Dead stop. Looks over the end of the pier and jumps. Three times, each time not quite gathering enough courage to jump in blind.

Slow down enjoy the ride, leap when the opportunity presents itself. Lessons for the day.

After dinner, we wander down over to ceilidh in the parrish hall. An amazing 17 year old fiddle player and a piano player originally from Kansas City. "We serve King Cole tea at the break." Memories. Before the age of peppermint, green, Earl Grey, lemongrass and all those variations and permutations, there was King Cole. When we moved to Ottawa, it was the one thing my mother complained about, no King Cole tea. And every trip, and every visitor brought with them a box or two of the precious tea.

Over the last year, I've been struggling to make sense of the journey to here. Sitting in the church hall, I am reminded that we can never really escape the past, we can just come to peace with it, learn, forgive and move on. Oh yes, and don't forget to enjoy the ride...

(PS: The boy loves fiddle music so much he's now asking for lesson.)