Breakfast With Brent

I will never be a morning person, although most days I can steel myself to get up and at it when day breaks.

But one day this semester it was easy for me to get going: I was meeting Brent for breakfast at the Belmont Diner - take one of my most favourite breakfast places and add in one of my most favourite people, and you have the perfect recipe for a wonderful morning!

Who knew when I hired Brent so long ago that almost seven years later we would be sitting together over Cody Scramblers and coffee (I never could convince him of the merits of tea ...) and catching up on what had been going on in our lives?

Who knew that that bashful teenager would turn into a fully fledged adult able to think for himself and able to tackle what life throws at him, both the tough and the tender?

It hasn't been easy to achieve all that he has accomplished in these years. It's required single-minded dedication, discipline at a level we don't witness in many post-adolescents; a denying himself some of the many extracurricular activities that university life offers at every turn; and a determination to succeed in reaching his goals.

And in all those tough areas, he has indeed more than succeeded. 

Fortunately, there has always been in Brent a tender side too. He is part of Big Brothers / Big Sisters and every week he makes time for an elementary school kid who doesn't really know how to be a kid. Brent hangs out with him, plays games with him, and is generally the great big brother he's been to his own younger brother all these years. He also spends time with a senior citizen, going for coffee, listening to his stories. He's president of a mixed martial arts club. He runs marathons.

And - best of all! - he's met his match in a wonderful woman who complements him, challenges him, encourages him and cares for him.

The caption he has on this profile picture is "She's got it all" - and I would agree, because in addition to being more impressive, more endearing to me each time I've had the privilege of being in her company, I see how everything good she adds to his life, he brings back to hers.

Happy 22nd birthday, child of my heart. My Dad's life's verse is the one I want to leave you with as you enter into your last semester of undergrad and prepare for the fresh challenges ahead:

"Faithful is He who calls you, who also will do it." 1 Thessalonians 5:24 

I am so very proud to be your friend.

Gold Standard

This year for my birthday, you gave me a knife. "It's my favourite kitchen knife," you explained. "I wanted you to have one for the TH."

And indeed, it has become the kitchen go-to piece of cutlery. It's perfectly weighted for my hand, and it can chop at lightning speed a pile of ginger root ...

... or it can settle in for the long haul, tackling with methodical precision enough turnips and sweet potatoes to feed 60+ people:

It is so like you, Brian, to notice what is difficult for me and then try to mitigate it. You've always had that kind of insight into the inner workings of me, the core that is unexposed, for the most part, to mere cursory examination and interpretation.

I think it's been that way almost since we first met as teenagers, both working for the town of Three Hills. You, preternaturally careful, thought before you spoke; I, impulsive to a fault, would blurt out what came to mind.

Somehow we became friends. 

Both of us went on to use sharp implements: you - always seeking to heal, to help, to restore - became a dentist.

I discovered the power of the pen - both for ill and for good - and attempted to learn how to write.

Thirty-four years later, with much water under the bridge, we both strive to rightly divide the word of truth, using what instruments we have in our respective reaches.

And here you are, at 50, the gold standard for what a friend should be.

You are balanced, fair, reasonable; you have a sense of humour and don't take yourself too seriously; you seek the highest good for others, sometimes to your own detriment.

You love your family unequivocally, celebrating milestones and accomplishments with them as often as you can. As I write, you and your beautiful Viv are close to heading to the airport on a trip of a lifetime, a trip that celebrates what it means to have lived fifty years well. 

You make time for what's of value. Thank you for making time for my Mum and Dad, for being with us as she slipped the bonds of her earthly home and went to be with God. Your presence and the words you spoke to me that day have been a source of great consolation over the past six years. Thank you for lending Dad your oximeter when we went to India - you suspected it would give him enormous reassurance, and it did.

Thank you for showing up at the TH unexpectedly every now and then and lending a hand just when it is needed most.

You have always been able to cut straight to the heart of the matter. I remember once, when I was planning a trip back to the States in 1989, you took me out for coffee and - looking me directly in the eyes - asked me if I was sure I knew what I was doing. You listened to me babbling away, and then in a few succinct sentences you laid out the reasons not to go.

I went anyway. And you were right.

You have always heard me; you take my dreams seriously. And because you have been listening with sympathy and without judgment for all these years, you are able to encourage me to be the best "me" I can be.

As I've been ruminating on our friendship I turn to Mary Oliver, who knows a thing or two about friendship so comfortable which stands the test of time, and who can say everything so much better than ever I could: 

I want to write something
so simply
about love
or about pain
that even
as you are reading
you feel it
and as you read
you keep feeling it
and though it be my story
it will be common,
though it be singular
it will be known to you
so that by the end
you will think—
no, you will realize—
that it was all the while
yourself arranging the words,
that it was all the time
words that you yourself,
out of your heart
had been saying.

― Mary Oliver, Evidence: Poems

And I want to say thank you for a friendship which endures through the vagaries and the vicissitudes of life. My own life would be so much less without you in it. Happy 50th birthday to the friend of my heart. 

Here are Lyle Lovett and Randy Newman - two of my favourite singer-songwriters, singing one of my favourite songs:

Golden Boy

I've known him half his life now.

And I am compelled to say that in the last 25 years he has never let me down; he has always been only a phone call away when I need him, my source for careful listening, wise counsel, and unquestioning comfort.

I've watched him come into his own, from a determined young man struggling to stay alive to a callow first-year law student tiptoeing into his initial vin ordinaire gathering; from a jubilant law school graduate to a harried articling student in an office where, if you crept in after hours with only the dim corridor light flickering, your heart would stop as you were confronted by a figure in a full coat of armour appearing ready to accost you; to the day when he had a launch party in his new 17th-Avenue digs, the ones where his name is listed first on the door; to the evening, earlier this year, when he gave me the grand tour of his beautiful home, and noting that what he was most excited about were the rooms for his kids.

I remember the days of eating steak sandwiches at Caruszo's and discussing the genius and humanity of Bruce Cockburn; working out guitar cords in the basement of Kathy Nichols' home; enjoying the sun and the view at Calgary Cannons baseball games; watching with gathering indignation the final episode of Seinfeld (really? we cut short our dinner for that?!); tasting (and admiring) the results of his new-found baking skills in the days when he was forced to adhere to a restricted diet; shopping for a black suit to go on articling interviews; breaking speed limits to find a clear spot where we could catch the last song of the Northern Lights; going to the law school grad banquet; feeling horror and gratitude a couple of days later when his car was totalled by a deer clearly not apprised of his new academic status.

Gary Kirk, it occurs to me that you are one of those rare people, completely true to yourself. You charted a course for your life and - against all odds, sometimes to the accompaniment of protest and discouragement - you have succeeded. You are healthy; you are wise; and you are a success - in your profession, with your children, and to your friends.

I've been thinking about you a lot these last couple of weeks, and I've been reading Mary Oliver. Her words have captured you like no feeble attempt I could write in tribute:

The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice -
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations, though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen branches and stones.
but little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do-
determined to save
the only life you could save.

Mary Oliver, Dream Work, Grove Atlantic Inc., 1986 & New and Selected Poems, Beacon Press, 1992.

I am so proud of what you have accomplished - oh, not professionally necessarily, although it gives me great pride when I hear people say, "He's a really good lawyer ..."; but when I see how you have set the bar high for yourself and how you have been equal to every challenge thrown at you. 

You are a man of sterling character, of exceptional resilience, of uncanny acumen, of great good humour, of enormous heart.

So this October 12 especially I want to say Happy Birthday to a true friend. May these first 50 years pale in comparison to the success, joy and love I wish for you in the next 50!

Jewel Tones

Modelling Sophie

My first memory of you is a serene face atop a black suit with a flash of amethyst silk at your neck. Your sapphire eyes sparkled and you reminded me of a beautiful Annette Bening.

"She'd be someone I would love to know ..." I remember thinking wistfully.

That was back in 1995 or '96.

And, it turns out, you are.

Colour is important to you - you notice the prism-like beauty of a sun dog, the mysteries of the variegated greens as you run through a forest. You affectionately called your much-loved mother-in-law a peacock because of her sense of style and passion for vivid hues.

The Christmas after I got Josephine, you gave me a ruby hat adorned by a black band festooned with silk flowers. Pinned inside the hat was a hand-written tag saying her name was Sophie. "Wear her when you're out and about with Josephine," you suggested.

We were in Quebec City at a Carswell conference on a break years ago, window shopping in a store stocked with richly woven woollen goods, when we really started talking. We were both at question marks in that period of our lives. I remember how easy it was to confide in you, how I knew I could trust your wisdom, your discretion, your perspective.

From then on you became in a sense my personal Polaris. 

You are the only person I know who has a concert grand in her living room, who knew that music was so important to the fibre of her being that one of the primary criteria when searching for a home of her dreams was that there be room for the piano of her dreams.

You understand the pull of Handel's Messiah every year. You mourn during the Easter production of the selected Requiem. You gave me the book of Beethoven sonatas that I turn to both in joy and in sorrow.

Your voice itself is melodious, often reminding me of Mozart and the light and beauty he brought - he brings - through his music.

You know the power of the perfect little black dress.

You brought the magic of Paris - a lifelong dream for you! - back to us, who waited eagerly to hear your stories.

You and John plan great swaths of your life with care and much thought; and yet you are flexible enough to live in the moment, to adapt to someone else's plans and schedule without losing sight of your desired end:

At my 50th birthday luncheon

Blue coffees ...

Indian restaurants for plates of copper-coloured butter chicken curry on pearly basmati rice ...

Lazy afternoon in your back yard drinking some delectable amber beverage and nibbling on avocados ripened to a perfect jade ...



Drive to Three Hills for a quick lunch in the purple chairs ... (You are one of the very few people who have ever come out to see me rather than simply meeting me when I'm in the city; do you know how very much that means?)

Even when we haven't seen each other for some time, you make it easy to pick up the threads of our lives right where we left off. You have always welcomed me to share your family table, and it has been a joy to see snippets of your two boys as they have grown and matured into the truly wonderful young men they are today.

You accept adversity, and adjust your plans accordingly, with a minimum of outward protest and a maximum of inner strength. You set a powerful, compelling example of grace in action.

This year it's time to tell you thank you for your presence in my life. Thank you for the music and the colour you bring just by being. Thank you for your friendship.

Happy birthday - you are pitch perfect.

Pure Gold

Gold: 

(Symbol Au) A soft, yellow, corrosion-resistant element, the most malleable and ductile metal, occurring in veins and alluvial deposits and recovered by mining or by panning or sluicing. A good thermal and electrical conductor, gold is generally alloyed to increase its strength, and it is used as an international monetary standard, in jewelry, for decoration, and as a plated coating on a wide variety of electrical and mechanical components. Atomic number 79; atomic weight 196.967; melting point 1,063.0°C; boiling point 2,966.0°C; specific gravity 19.32; valence 1, 3.

The symbol Au is from the Latin: aurum, according to some sources meaning "shining dawn," from Sabine ausum "glowing dawn."

Gold is the most malleable of all metals; a single gram can be beaten into a sheet of 1 square meter, or an ounce into 300 square feet. Gold leaf can be beaten thin enough to become transparent. The transmitted light appears greenish blue, because gold strongly reflects yellow and red.Such semi-transparent sheets also strongly reflect infrared light, making them useful as infrared (radiant heat) shields in visors of heat-resistant suits, and in sun-visors for spacesuits. 

Aristotle in his ethics used gold symbolism when referring to what is now commonly known as the golden mean. Similarly, gold is associated with perfect or divine principles, such as in the case of the golden ratio and the golden rule.

Gold is further associated with the wisdom of aging and fruition. The fiftieth wedding anniversary is golden. Our precious latter years are sometimes considered "golden years." The height of a civilization is referred to as a "golden age."

Something regarded as having great value or goodness.

(from Wikipedia and the Free Online Dictionary)

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When I think of gold 

I think of light, like the sun

warmth, like the fire

When I think of gold

I think of love, like a ring

sparkle, like champagne

I think of mystery, like the harvest moon

exotica, like the crux of a peacock's feather

When I think of gold

I think of foil, on a creamy Indian sweet

wrapping, of a 5-Star chocolate bar

I think of nine metres, shimmering shot silk

holiday chappals, Kolapurs on dusty roads

When I think of gold

I think of history past, my first friend

History present, her sons almost men

I think of two sisters singing:

The law of the Lord is perfect, converting the soul;

More to be desired are they than gold,

yea, than much fine gold ...

I think of patient Job, trusting,

"But He knows the way that I take -

 When He has tried me,

 I shall come forth as gold."

When I think of gold

I think of mining depths

sifting through detritus

testing mettle

furnace purifying

moulding 

shaping

tempering 

polishing

shining

Unto the perfect day

I think of

you

Searching for Helen Keller

On Sunday, June 9 - for the first time in a long time - I didn't have to panic about whether the red apron was clean and ready for the day. Yesterday was the first Sunday in four and a half years that Curtis was not an employee of Nilgiris Tea House. Curt loved that red apron, and everyone else knew not to choose it if he was coming to work.

How do you say goodbye to someone who has been with you since the week after his 14th birthday? 

I have seen the path from childhood to adulthood being traversed by this exceptional young man. The first day he presented himself for the job he shook my hand. His sleeves were rolled tidily to his elbow. His hand was shaking. He was shorter than I. His round little face encased two enormous chocolate-coloured eyes. His hair drooped shyly over his head. His voice quivered.

I wanted to adopt him, not employ him ...

But Brent, the big brother who has looked out for him since the day he was born, was in the House. He quickly got Curt's hands shoved into the dishpan and quietly, in a confidential, off-the-record sort of way, got him oriented in the mysteries of the kitchen.

And Lois, wonderful Lois, tucked him under her wing and gave him the big sister treatment he was missing so desperately since his own had moved to Lethbridge.

He was so timid, those early days. I would ask him to fill me glasses of water, or create Italian sodas. He would readily tackle anything like that; but if I asked him to carry out a glass of water or to get a dessert order from a customer, he would turn a stricken face to me and in desperate tones would say, "Karyn, I don't feel confident doing that." 

All of that changed when he helped hoist Erna out of the car one Sunday when she couldn't get herself out. From then on, Curt became the top draw for our senior ladies, otherwise known as "The Ladies." He entered into their conversations and freely chatted with them about his life and theirs. (One of The Ladies remarked to me this Sunday as I was taking her order, "... and I like butter - lots of butter. Of course, Curt knew that ...")

Suddenly the little kid who was shorter than I had taken over the dining room. All of us regular spectators of the Curt show would speculate how much taller he had grown each week, and we would repeat to each other the clever comments he would deliver almost as an aside. His dry wit became sought after and drew even quiet customers into conversation with others as they laughed over something he had said or done.

"Hello, Mrs Long!" he would always greet Norma. Don would ask him whether he'd got a goal in the last hockey game. If Curt replied in the negative, Don would say, "Well, did you get a penalty? If you can't get a goal, get a penalty!" Curt would respond earnestly but with a twinkle in his eye, "I'll try!"

"Pastor Ironside!" he would say to my Dad wherever the two would see each other. He specifically requested that my Dad come and pray for him and his team when the local pastors were invited to the high school assembly's send-off before the team ventured off to Colombia. 





He also popped into the TH for something the Wednesday before they left, and we prayed for him there too ...

The Colombia Team send-off. Photo courtesy of Becky Scott.

"Rookie mistake!" was Curtis's favourite saying, and the recipient of his scoffing would pretend to cringe while trying not to smirk. Rookie mistakes could be as diverse as dropping a spoon on the floor to making the wrong dessert to spilling dishwater everywhere.

Curt really grew up in every way during his time at the TH. Last December we celebrated his 18th birthday by holding the TH Annual Christmas Event at Rosebud. We went to the matinee buffet and performance, and then we made our way to my friends BJ and Ken Jantzen's Rosebud Country Inn for hot chocolate and pie and to fete Curt.

BJ (centre) and "her" girls with Curt's cake

Curt loves red! Presents for his
college career

Curt's Dad and Mom, Oswaldo and Jackie,
with big (but suddenly shorter!) brother Brent

There have been many firsts for him in the last few years. He joined both the hockey and football teams and quickly became a leader on each. He was Vice President of the Student Council in Grade 11, President in Grade 12. He went on a mission trip to Columbia and volunteered in various capacities around school and town. Cute giggling girls would come into the TH to be served by him - one mother actually brought her daughter to apply at the TH, stating openly that she wanted her daughter to "catch Curt" - but so did his buddies, a strong core of excellent young men who clearly respected and admired him. He grew comfortable talking to anyone, working with anyone and assuming leadership of the rookies. He would move smoothly from serving customers to plunging his hands in the sink and doing a few dishes to give someone a break. He kept himself busy all the time; but he was never too busy to stop and give someone a word of encouragement, either in the dining room or the kitchen.

On his last shift

Or to me. Right from the start, Curt would exhort me to drink water. Or to eat. Or to smile. He'd ask about my day and my week. He'd tell me which customers seemed to be a little down in the dumps. He'd help me with the tables I was caring for. He'd work past the end of his shift without being asked when he saw we were busy. He'd flip me a text message every now and then on a week day.

He shared some of his own life with me: exams, sports, friends, burdens. A few of his burdens were great indeed; but he never let them affect his demeanour in the dining room. He would ask me to pray for a particular friend or other, or to pray for him, and then he would be back at his duties.

Only one thing is missing from this picture. As you know, all our tables have names. The one closest to the counter is named "CFD" ... which stands for Curt's First Date. When he was about 15 he promised that he would bring his first date into the TH. Every female who has worked and currently works in the kitchen loves this young man and wants the best woman possible to come into his life. And of course we want to be able to check her out to make sure she's good enough for him; so we decided that we needed him near the counter on his first date so that we can observe her and see if she's worthy! On June 2, the last Sunday he worked, we were teasing him about who it might be. Curt, ever self-deprecatory, made some comment about how she would need to be blind and deaf to fall for him - "I'm searching for Helen Keller!" he quipped. Then after a pause, he added, "There'll be nothing to hear; might as well seat us at the Hug ..." 

"Oh, so a lot of hand holding on the first date?" I responded. "Besides which, Helen Keller learnt how to speak - but she always had an unmistakable, piercing, oddly high-pitched voice so we would be able to hear her at least!"

Last day: with Rodrigo ...

Over the years I have joked with Curt that there is one prayer that I'm pretty sure God is not going to answer in my favour, which is that Curt would fail Grade 12 about four times so that he could stay at the TH. I dropped off a carrot cake for him yesterday, and he asked how things had gone the day before. I told him everything was awful and my heart was broken. A slow smile spread across his face and he responded, "I haven't graduated yet, you know!"

... his parents ...

... and two of the Ladies

Well, he graduates in a couple of weeks. His next step is university - I'm not holding my breath that an A student is going to fail grade 12! - and we at the TH are so proud of him.

But how we miss him already! As he was leaving, we asked him to be sure to bring his girl to the TH when he eventually finds her. He immediately asked me if I would still have Nilgiris open in 20 years. I told him whatever it takes. 

Glancing back, he said, "Then I'll keep my ears open ..." 

Ten Years Ago Today ...

... we were basking in the well wishers of friends old and new who gathered at the about-to-be-opened Nilgiris Tea House for a little tea party.

 So it struck me as particularly fitting that ten years later to the day we celebrated our friend Gaylene's milestone birthday with a little tea party.

But what a difference a decade makes! In 2003 we were exuberant, nervous, excited, hopeful, full of anticipation for what the next day would bring. 

We didn't have a clue what we were doing, what we were in for.

As we opened the doors for today's tea party we certainly had a clue. Ten years perforce provides a lot of opportunity for learning - and our learning curve was steep! - and many windows of grace when the lessons seemed almost too difficult to see through to the end.

We might not be as exuberant or as nervous as we were back then; but we're still excited and hopeful, and full of anticipation for what God might bring to us next.

Thank you all of you who were with us that day ten years ago. Thank you for your enormous patience with us as we found our feet. Many of you have become trusted friends and we are so grateful to you for your love and support.

Thank you Gaylene and Debbie for the opportunity to celebrate with you today.

And thank you, God, for the gift of our little TH.

February 22, 1937

Some Time We'll Understand

Not now, but in the coming years,

It may be in the better land,

We’ll read the meaning of our tears,

And there, some time, we’ll understand.

We’ll catch the broken thread again,
And finish what we here began;
Heav’n will the mysteries explain,
And then, ah then, we’ll understand.

We’ll know why clouds instead of sun
Were over many a cherished plan;
Why song has ceased when scarce begun;
’Tis there, some time, we’ll understand.

God knows the way, He holds the key,
He guides us with unerring hand;
Some time with tearless eyes we’ll see;
Yes, there, up there, we’ll understand.

Then trust in God through all the days;
Fear not, for He doth hold thy hand;
Though dark thy way, still sing and praise,
Some time, some time we’ll understand.

(Maxwell N Cornelius, 1891)

Man of Action

Seriously - was it really 
          21 years ago that I skidded my way
 o  n 
                             bla k
   c                            c
i      e 

up 
Highway 
2 
to
try to make it for your birth day? 
You were ready to get going 
from the moment you opened 
your espresso eyes 
into this world.

You were and 
always 
have been 
ahead of the curve
        ahead of the pack
               ahead of the game
                       ahead of your time

You gave us
"Keep Calgary clean" when you were 2
"Judgative" when you were 3
"Because" at 4
"Why?" at 6
"Stay in the car" at 9

And at 11
You looked at my love seat
with awe in your eyes
and said,
"I bet you could get
 a lot of action on that couch ..."

And so the Legend of the Action Couch
 was born.

All you've asked for
  in my will
is the AC


They say that life begins
at 17 -
yours could have ended.
At 17 you gave me a
wake-up call:
What a chasm your leaving
would carve in my heart!

That was the day
I besought God,
"Keep him safe;
Keep him always ..." 

At 20 you walked slowly with
 your grandfather across
    that snow-flecked street
after McDermott,
  your turn to play
guardian angel,
your arm resting
across his shoulders

And I told myself
If he makes 21
He gets the
Action Couch.

Happy 21.

I adore you.

May and Joe and Curtis

(Image courtesy of Rosebud Theatre)

Saturday was the TH's annual Christmas Event. Twenty-nine of us braved nasty weather conditions to get to Rosebud Theatre for the matinee performance of May and Joe.

Here are a few glimpses of our group enjoying the meal and each other's company before the performance:

The Rosebuds who serenaded
us at lunch ...

From the Director's Note:

It's Christmas, when we dare to entertain the notion that mystical things could happen ... The story we're about to share with you is a little fiction that ponders what would happen if something entirely miraculous happened to a couple of people like you and me. What if it was possible? Dreams, miracles, and most compelling and maybe even frightening, love that enters our lives from beyond our limited understanding. Would we change? Would we wake up to our everyday with more sight, more compassion, more wonder? Would we embrace one another with more of an understanding of our mutual significance? (Morris Ertman) 

It's the story of a young man and a young woman and a pregnancy that she spoke of as a "miracle" and her fiancé's natural scepticism. He is impatient and impulsive and tender-hearted  In the middle of a fight he gets her a peppermint hot chocolate and a doughnut. She is principled and courageous and tender-hearted. She notices and mourns when he hits and kills a mouse on the road.

It is also the story of Angel, a guardian angel who had, some 2000 years ago, protected a Baby from the murderous wrath of a king but who, in the process, had not been able to protect the other male infants from being massacred. Angel had been unable to reconcile the horror with the heroics, the devastation brought on by the deliverance, and as a result he had retired from guardian duties. He meets May, who can see him because she has faith in the true meaning of Christmas; and he gets involved - almost against his will - in protecting this young couple and doing his part to make Joe (who can believe in UFOs but not angels!) see the truth and, in doing so, open his heart to the fullness of joy and love he had missed out on until he believed.

It was also Curtis's eighteenth birthday.

Curt brought his resume to me one week after he turned 14. He was shorter than I and, much like Angel, had little or no confidence in his ability to succeed. Even as he tried to spread his wings he would panic and withdraw. I remember once, early on, after he had filled three glasses of water and was preparing to carry them out to our Ladies table, he called me over and said, "I don't think I can do it."

Everything changed the day, several months later, that one of the ladies came in and said, "Erna needs some help getting out of the car."

"Can you go, Curt?" I asked. He demurred a little bit, because he didn't know how he would be able to help her; but in the end, he went out. He wrapped his arms under her arms and hoisted her out - and in that moment, two things happened. All the Oldies loved him and he became "our boy"; and he realized that, actually, he could succeed in what he tried to do.

Curt and Erna on the day that changed everything

He has never looked back. This child - as I still call him - is now 6 feet 1 1/4 inches, lean and handsome, and can run the entire dining room by himself. Our guests look forward to seeing him. Even last night, when he had taken the day off to celebrate his birthday with his family, people who had come from Drumheller asked me, "Where's our boy tonight?" Everyone reports back to me the funny, clever things he says to them and how well he has taken care of them at the table.

He can do almost everything in the kitchen as well, from carving meat to making and decorating desserts. He is a great influence on the new people as they are being trained. The words that everyone quasi dreads to hear from him, though, are "Rookie Mistake!" when there is something they slip up on. He has come through for me on special events when I have needed someone experienced to back me up.

In watching May and Joe I saw elements of Curtis in all three characters: Joe, the super cool guy who has a heart bursting with love and wants to do the right thing; May, who has a simple faith and wants to share it with the one who means the most to her; and timorous Angel, who bears the weight of those children who lost their lives, who cares more deeply than most of us can begin to imagine, who second-guesses himself - but whose wings hold strong and steady in the end. 

Curt is the person in terms of sheer calendar time who has worked the longest at the TH, not counting Brenda.

Oops: I don't think THIS was taken inside the TH!

He is the one who notices when people are having a bad day or aren't as responsive as they normally are.

He's the one who says to me when I'm fading, "Karyn, are you drinking water?" - and then goes and fills a glass for me.

He's one of the people who can get everyone working together in harmony.

I am starting to face the terrible truth that academically he's leading the pack and so there's not a very good chance that he'll fail Grade 12 four times, like I keep hoping. I'm starting to try to picture a TH without Curtis looking after "his" ladies or the President and Mrs Long or Pastor Ironside, or the Komorowskis or Ed and Ted or the Wiebes or the college girls or Coach and Mrs Coach.

I'm going to miss overhearing him talking with great kindness to the little boys who come in and look up at him in awe. He's discussed field trips and shinny and soccer and how hard grade one math is and which is the cooler teapot - Global Warming or the Pirate one.

I'll never be able to forget the occasions he has come to me with a burden on his heart for one of his friends. I want to be able to forget the pain I have glimpsed on his face when someone has hurt him - and I'll always remember that he never whines or complains; rather, he seeks to find a reason for the person who is being less than a friend.

After the play we went to the Rosebud Country Inn, where our friend BJ Janzen had pie, hot drinks and birthday cake for us to fete Curtis.

BJ with Alyssia (L, one of the TH's old girls!)
 and sweet Amy (R)

BJ bringing out the cake

Happy Birthday, Curtis!

With three of the five people who mean
the most to him (Karla and Barry at
another celebration)

Opening presents from the TH
in anticipation of college life

As our celebration came to an end and we pulled on coats and mitts and nerve enough to get us home on those slippery, snowy roads, my heart overflowed with gratitude for Curt's Oma, who got the ball rolling when she called about a job for Brent, who in turn has had the biggest influence in his little brother's life (and yes, Curt, I use the term "little" only in relation to age, not height!). I am thankful for his parents: the old-world gallantry and gentility of Oswaldo, the new-world determination and drive of Jackie, the unconditional, sacrificial love and careful direction each of them has bestowed on all three of their children.

And most of all, I am thankful this day for Curtis. He is self-effacing and funny (for example, after he had opened all his red kitchen appliances, someone asked him if my red handbag was really his. He reached over and took it, commenting without missing a beat, "Yes, but I prefer to call it a satchel ..."); kind-hearted and loyal; quick on his feet but slow to anger.

I am so proud of his many accomplishments and of the privilege of observing his maturity into manhood. 

As we left the theatre, hanging above the door was the little mouse. He had earned his wings. He was soaring!