November 11th 2021 was shaping up for me on two fronts, independent of each other. There was Remembrance Day approaching and secondly items for Sheila’s garage sale on our front veranda the same day were being collected.
For Remembrance Day I was filling in for a veteran who usually totally immersed in this matter every year but this time he wasn’t up to his usual ability. As well, representing the WDRA, hosting this year in lieu of the Riverview Social Club for convenience because of Covid-19, I volunteered to help Pastor Anita who was responsible for the service that morning.
That meant various efforts like arranging our regular volunteer Cathy Williamson to bring the sound system and programmed songs – “The last Post” for instance. Then there was lining up people to lay the wreaths at the cenotaph during the service. The political ones, Anita picked up at our MP and MPP offices. I had possession of the WDRA’s plus one left behind in the 2019 ceremony. Luckily, I did as it was designated for two officers assigned from Camp Garrison.
Their enactment of laying a wreath was so impressive, it made the rest of us look so-so. That’s okay, that maneuver is in their paysheet; we are not in that category.
Even Mayor Moore, representing the township, only landed a borrowed wreath at the midnight hour – but no wreath holder. Hearing this I managed to have a spare holder for him when he arrived.
Being so keen at being involved, I set my alarm for 6:15 just in case! I was over prancing around the Cenotaph before 10 am. No one else arrived until 10:30. It was then I noticed someone I thought I knew (masks cause many bloopers). Because I was fairly new at this matter and because I had the first wreath to lay, I asked where she thought it should be placed. We chatted and then she said, “Pastor Anita had wanted her to say hello to Bob Grylls.” “I am Bob Grylls, who are you then?” It turns out she recalled me from school years and was a friend of my middle sister. Now I remembered her back then, naturally apologizing for mistaking her for someone else. I found the whole incident so bizarre.
In tandem with prepping for Remembrance Day, Sheila was planning her pre-Christmas sale, often sneaking in questions of what I could contribute. Sometimes she didn’t ask and I had to take an item here and there back and hide them. By the morning of the 11th, that veranda was stock full of items, not only Christmas ones but blankets, knives (used only on food stuffs), wine glasses and an ape singing “The Macarena Song.”
Signs had been put up to tease those passing by to take a peek. That first day was far from brisk. One item of mine I donated was sold, a ceramic Christmas tree that had a concentration of coloured bulbs over its whole surface and charming but unusual.
It was an unexpected gift to me under atypical circumstances.
I was working for a company in Scarborough and the lady concerned was in charge of a molding department. When passing her area I would always say hello.
The pleasant chit-chat became a habit. She had migrated to Canada from Poland and now had prepared to go back there for a visit.
Upon her return she called me over and handed me this gift-wrapped package. It was the Christmas tree. I couldn’t believe someone could be that kind and generous to me, especially when she had many good friends in the workplace.
Back to the ceremony. As the Pastor called the names of the fallen, a breeze started up making it difficult to manage her paperwork. At the same time I noticed my left hand was all covered in blood. Someone said my jacket was too. Even my new Levi jeans had spots on them.
The program was so blood-stained, I almost didn’t notice that it was time to lay the first wreath for Canada. Afterwards, I wondered if my wound made the ceremony more profound.
That over with, before one of the largest turnouts ever, there was just Sheila’s sale to endure for only a few days.
