Man On Fire Revisited

   Things (mainly my face) are about to get ugly. Again.
   Last night, I began another three-week series of Efudex treatments on my face. I kind of chronicled my first run of treatment with Efudex a couple of years ago and referred to it as a "Man On Fire" because Efudex is a topical chemotherapy cream which essentially burns away skin cells. The skin cells we're aiming for are pre-cancerous ones (which is good) but the treatment also does a bit of a number on ALL the skin cells it touches (which is bad) so the end result is somewhat akin to a nasty sunburn.

It's you 'n' me, Eff You Dex, just you 'n' me.....

   My original treatment was not nearly as bad as I was led to believe it could have been and this time around we're only talking about two or three tiny little spots I need to treat so no big deal. More of a pain in the....face...I guess!
   The last time around, I chronicled the experience pretty extensively (with pics, even!) and if you're at all interested in close-ups of my ugly mug with even uglier red spots on it you can go back to September of 2013 on the Blog Archive (scroll down the right hand side if this page) and click on it. Religious scrolling will then take you to a whole series of blog posts on the subject. Or you could just go cut the grass, instead! And, if you're a friend of mine who actually occasionally sees me in person and is wondering what the tiny blotches are, well, now you know! Cheers!

I Am A Long Way From Home

   This afternoon, I received notification from a cousin that one of my aunts was ill and in hospital out on the west coast.
   If I wasn't thousands of kilometers away here in Ontario I could visit her in the hospital and if there was anything I could do for her I'd also be more than happy to help out.

On the Trans-Canada, leaving Calgary, headed to the mountains.
I want to be able to do this all the time.

   This, of course, is an impossibility.
   I was born in Calgary, Alberta back in 1953 and for the first eleven years of my life (apart from a couple of years in Youngstown, Ohio) I lived out west---in Calgary, Edmonton and Vancouver.
   In spite of the fact that I then moved to London and, essentially, grew up here, the west was still very much imprinted on me. The prairies, the foothills, the mountains and the ocean all have this undeniable hold that I continue to feel to this very day.
   When I moved east, I left all my cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents behind. Occasionally I was able to make the trip back and see one or two of them and occasionally they were also able to make the trip this way. But get-togethers were few and far between.
   

Through the mountains and on to North Vancouver.

As happens in life, my grandparents and almost all of my aunts and uncles eventually passed away. For me, though, they passed away in absentia---they might as well have been in a different country. Most of those times I was likely too young even to make adult connections with the remaining family members. In truth, if you asked me, I would not even be able to give you the years most of them passed.
   I have always found this pointedly unfair.
   We moved east following my Dad and his work. He'd been sent to London to help set up an office for the insurance company he worked for and had been assured that it would only be a two-year stay. Forty-nine years later and I am still here.
   As much as I enjoy living in London, much of the time I find myself feeling very displaced. I feel strongly as though I am supposed to be out west. Many times people I know post pictures of their travels to the mountains and the ocean and it is difficult to describe the way this eats at me. 
   I've been fortunate enough to have been able to travel through the Rockies to the coast with Doralyn and we've both remarked at how we could understand people going there for a visit and then just staying there. There is something about the beauty of the place and, for me, I suspect there is something in my genes which connects me to it.

Gibsons, B.C., pretty well my favourite spot in Canada.

   As it happens, Doralyn and I are both at different points in our careers, by about fifteen years. Because of this, retiring out west is likely an unpractical thing to consider. More importantly, all the people we love are here in Ontario and moving away from them all would be more than difficult. At this point, even an extended holiday out there would be hard to manage.
   So I sit here in London with a little bit of an ache in my heart. It's an ache that I got used to a long time ago, though,  and is mitigated by the fact that I actually like where I live. It's good to be here, it's just that it feels so far away from home sometimes....

End of an Era

   Almost three weeks ago, in a trailer park near Port Franks, Ontario, there arrived an end of an era.
   After much soul-searching and deliberation, my mother-in-law, Marlies Buren, decided to sell the family trailer. It was a trailer in name only, however, and is only referred to as "the trailer" because, in its humble beginnings, that's what it was.

On the deck of the trailer...

   A little over twenty-five years ago, Marlies and her husband Cays procured a parcel of land at the top of a steep and winding gravel road in a section of the Oakridge Resort. They moved a small trailer there and began to use the spot as a summer retreat. The smaller trailer was then replaced by a fifth wheel, to which a  sun-room was added.

....and then on the deck of the fifth wheel!

   

Then, in its final incarnation!

Eventually, the trailer disappeared and with a combination of vision and keen craftsman's ability, Cays then transformed the sun-room into what it eventually became---a very modern, non-rustic home in the woods.
   As a relative newcomer to the trailer, it was very difficult for me to envision the place in its beginning stages. Old photographs have helped in this regard and I've tried to post a few of them here.
   Part of the appeal for me is that this is a family home-away-from-home. It's not as if Marlies and Cays scoured the

Definitely a place...

countryside looking for a cottage or a trailer and finally found a place that already had its own history. Rather, it was built by the patriarch of the family from the ground up, with much love and care. This makes for a better kind of place. The family pictures adorning the walls only confirmed this.
   In 2002, after a long battle with cancer, Cays passed away. There have always been bits and pieces of him, however,

...for family...

...and friends!

nestled away in the trailer's nooks and crannies---a picture, the cap he always wore, a walking stick. I never actually had the opportunity to meet the man but particularly whenever I was at the trailer he always felt close.
   One of my favourite trailer memories was when the aunts and uncles and other family members used the trailer as a gathering place to commemorate the fifth anniversary of Cays' passing. I spent most of that afternoon at the BBQ, flipping burgers and dogs. At the same time, I used it as a vantage point to watch all the different family members, many of whom I had only met once or twice, spend time together, swapping stories and sharing fond memories. I, unfortunately, had no stories to swap but was content enough to stand there and watch and feed them all!
   

Marlies and Cays

Over the years, the trailer has always seemed like the ideal place for the following generation of aunts and uncles to get together, with their kids. Every year, it seemed, cousins were able to come together under Oma's roof and enjoy their time with one another. As happens with time, however, getting families together becomes more and more difficult and as time progressed, maintaining the cottage became more than Oma was able or wanting to do.
   As a getaway kind of place, it was pretty well ideal. It always seemed quiet and pretty well secluded. There was nothing but forest behind the cottage and I can't recall how many times I just stood there on the deck, elbows on the railing, gazing out into the woodlands. The deck had a fire-pit built right into it and this always provided a wonderful end to the day. It was also the kind of place where you could rest easy with a book or sit yourself down to a card game. Pretty well perfect.

Out of the "oldies", my favourite pic....

   In later years, Marlies used the trailer as a meeting spot---grandkids, kids, brothers, sisters and friends all showed up from time to time, to enjoy both the solitude and the time together.
   

Kind of bittersweet.

So there has been a tinge of bitter-sweetness in the air these days. As much as we knew in our minds that this day was coming, likely sooner than later, the fact that it is now here has taken some of us, I think, perhaps a little by surprise and found us somewhat unprepared. As I write this Doralyn and the boys are there with Oma for one final visit. Other cousins have already had the last visits. Tomorrow, the trailer will switch hands for the first time and by the time you read this, it will belong to someone else.

Quin, Callum, Doralyn and Keenan, on their final visit to the trailer.

   Most endings, however, generally lead to some kind of new beginning. The sale of the trailer will open up some new possibilities for Oma. Of course, there'll be the money from the sale but also an increase in time available, away from all the travel and upkeep involved. She has already talked about the possibility of a newer and nicer apartment here in London.

The same kids--surrounding Oma this time!

   For the rest of us, visits to the trailer have ended. I imagine this will take some getting used to---regardless of how often we actually went there, it was always there in the back of our minds as a possibility. One can only hope that the new owners somehow or other come to value all the love and the history in the place.