6. Oblivious

 

There’s No Life Like It (part 6) Oblivious (or, for my children, the flying monk story.)

“No, I’m sorry, we won’t be able to come down,” Richard was telling Uncle Bernie on the phone.

“It is too hard to manage.”

Uncle Cyril, who was Richard’s ‘holy-relative’, a cloistered monk from Wales, was visiting the family in Burlington. We had been posted to Ottawa in the summer and, for Uncle Cyril, living in the same province as his hosts, meant that we must be close by.  However, this was before the highways 417 and 407 were built, when the trip to Burlington took us eight very long hours with all the children in tow.

Besides, the twins were three months old. Life was unimaginably busy.

The next day, on the phone, I heard Richard say,

 “I don’t think so.”

He listened a bit longer, wrote something down and put the phone down heavily. Uncle Cyril had decided that if we could not go there, he would come to us. He’d bought a bus ticket and would be arriving at 7 the next night.

Seven? That’s bath-time and dishes-time and homework-time and piano-practice-time and certainly not me-at-my-most-hospitable-time.  Because they were small, I nursed the twins often during the day. There was always a baby latched onto my breast at our crowded dinner table. It did not seem out of the ordinary for our family to live this way. But, for our family to be observed this way, was going to be unimaginably awkward.

We decided just to carry on and try not to be too put out. Richard left for the bus station right after supper and we carried on with our routine, except that two of the boys would be camping out in the basement. Dishes were done, bath times almost through when Richard phoned.

“I can’t find Uncle Cyril.”

The bus from Toronto had come and gone, so had the next one. I called Uncle Bernie and was assured that Uncle Cyril had been dropped off at the bus station in Toronto. When Richard called back, he said he would wait a couple more hours.

Four hours late, in they walked; Richard with fumes coming out of his ears, Uncle Cyril all smiles.

“Liz,” he hugged me.

“It’s good to see you.”

No explanation, nothing. The house was quiet, so we were able to have a peaceful cup of tea and show him to his room. Once our bedroom door was safely shut Richard quietly exploded.

“He was sitting at the bus station in Toronto, and a lady asked him to hear her confession. - Must he always wear those robes? - Then another person came up, and another. Soon there was a line-up of travelers wanting confession.”

Is a person allowed to get mad at their ‘holy-relative’?

The next day we adjusted to our visitor. The babies were fed discreetly, the children were bundled off on the school bus and Richard managed to get to work on time. Uncle Cyril and I took the babies for a walk to Dairy Queen to pick up an ice cream birthday cake for the next day. Simon, our eldest, was turning nine. Everything was going fine.

Until Uncle Cyril announced that we should drive him back to Burlington the next day.

Uncle Cyril had this way about him of absolute determination. Once he got an idea, it was a fact, that was that. No discussion. Which is really strange for a man known to be unable to make decisions. There is a family folk tale from a previous visit which involves pie. Aunt Barb had asked him if he would like cherry pie or apple pie. Following ten minutes of indecision Uncle Cyril announced,

“I don’t know. You choose.”

Aunt Barb served him a piece of apple pie with a glare, because you can get mad at your ‘holy-relative’ if he is your brother.

“How did you like your pie?” she asked when the meal was over.

“It was OK,” he said.

“But I would have preferred the cherry!”

Thankfully in our Ottawa house there were no meal choices to be made.

Apparently, there were no trip choices to be made either. Uncle Cyril announced that we would drive him back to Bernie’s and we did. Saturday came and we were going to Burlington, 500 km, all nine of us,

It was also Simon’s birthday and he, unlike us, was quite vocal about not wanting to go. He was being ornery.

“What’s ornery?” he asked.

I was busy packing the diaper bag.

“Go look it up,” I snapped.

Simon came back with the dictionary because he was ornery.

“It says obtuse. What’s obtuse?”

“Look it up,” I said. He looked it up.

“It says ornery!”

I burst out laughing which perplexed young Simon. Looking for a way to regain his bad mood, he yelled that he shouldn’t have to miss his birthday cake.

He was right. So, we all had ice-cream birthday cake for breakfast.

Richard packed up the car. We were at a low point in vehicle ownership at that time, probably due to one income and many children. The ‘car’ that we had bought to accommodate everyone was a very old Ford Club Wagon. When you slammed the back door a cloud of rust would fall off. But there were four rows of seats, thank goodness. I got the back row so that I could nurse the babies. The four boys had the middle two rows. Uncle Cyril was in the passenger seat. And so, our epic journey began.  

Somewhere along Highway 7 Richard pulled into a roadside sandwich stop for lunch. They all piled out. I stayed back to feed the little guys. Lunch took a long time. A very long time. I was beginning to get worried, it usually does not take that long to buy sandwiches. But I’d forgotten about Uncle Indecision. Oh, poor Richard.

Eventually they all came back to the wagon, toileted and fed; Uncle Cyril was all smiles, but there was incendiary smoke coming from Richard’s ears.

“It was hard to choose a sandwich,” Richard muttered under his breath as he yanked the shifter into drive and threw the steering wheel hard left. He put his foot down and sped out of the parking lot. The passenger door flew open, and the ends of Uncle Cyril’s robes flew with it. Thank goodness he had done up his seat belt.

The rest of the journey was very subdued. Uncle Cyril sat carefully clear of the door although I think it had been operator error that caused it to fly open. The boys were not their usual loud, rambunctious selves. Successfully dropping off Uncle Cyril, we stayed overnight in Burlington then hit the road back.

On the way home something wonderful happened.  The muffler dropped off the wagon. It was so noisy we could not hear any of the kids in the back. It was glorious.

THE END