Six Decades: Part B

And so we moved to Canada's capital. I silently sobbed from Lloydminster to Lashburn, my father's birthplace, and a distance of about 25 miles, and then I   just couldn't sustain the sadness for the loss of my first love anymore. I was, after all, moving to Ottawa, the capital of Canada! Totally exotic and beyond any pre-conceived, not conceived, and any other -eived
notions. Ottawa had big department stores  and skyscrapers. For a child of the prairies, this was heady stuff. Oh. Ya. It was also the capital of Canaduh...what-evvv-errr.

We arrived in early summer - time enough to get enroled in school -advancing a year to accommodate the fact that the prairie system only took 12 years, but in Ontario, kids needed an extra year to learn everything . Who knows? And 50 years later? I don't care. I got to skip a  grade.

And all of a sudden I was a big city kid, knowing absolutely no one  and in high school. I learned very quickly how absolutely alone one can feel in the middle of 1000 people.  And immediately on the heels of that lesson, I learned that the creepy term "Peeping Tom" was rooted in reality. As in someone was in our backyard, staring at me sleeping, night after night. CrapandshitI'mscared!

So big city living meant that this whack job (WJ) liked to look through the bedroom windows of teen-aged girls. I discovered this thanks to the next door neighbour's dog, whose barking woke me one night. In the morning we discovered that pervert WJ had dragged cement cinder blocks under my window.  The next time it was huge sawed off tree stump,  and then later a cement sewer conduit...all under my bedroom window, so he could stand on the peeping aide and watch. Me. Sleep. I was 13. 

I won't drag this particularly tawdry incident out. The police were called, stake outs were set up...did I say I had to act as bait one night?  I did.
But he was in fact caught just down the road from our home, on a ladder, peeping into the 2nd story window of a blonde 14  year old.
I don't know if he ever went to jail, or court, or even received much more than a reprimand. I hope so.

I know when I hit "publish" I will be sharing this incident with friends, acquaintances, and a few strangers. I've decided, after much consideration,  that I'm okay with that.

So, my first year in Ottawa was interesting to be sure,and  I think that experience may have influenced me in some ways.

Ed...to be continued

Flying Cigars and On We Go

My first organized bird walk resulted when I saw a notice in the local paper that renowned Canadian birder, Bruce DiLabio was going to be leading a spring bird walk at the Britannia Filtration Pond in Ottawa…interested people should show up at the appointed meeting place at 6:00 am.
With my second marriage about to disintegrate in tatters around me, I had been looking for something for me to do, just me. Something that resonated within my spirit…fun, fulsome, and fulfilling. And this really felt like “it”! As I drove to the meeting place one very early Saturday morning, I felt happy and excited, believing that I was about to embark on the lifelong adventure that I’d been looking for for years!
And so it began. A motley crew gathered in the parking lot, and before half were even out of their cars, Bruce was calling “Chimney Swift at 9 o’clock”. I looked around, saw a dark cigar shaped speck off in the distance about 2 miles away, and knew that this was going to be a bit of a challenge!
The group ranged in age from 8 to 80, and we represented almost every cultural group found in Canada’s capital. Happily assembled, we started along the trail circling the pond, following our learned leader as he called out names to flashes of colour above, below and beyond.
I was awestruck, and overwhelmed! I would never figure out what that small yellow wink was heading into the bush. Or that grey blur, or the pipping in the cedars. Feeling quite disheartened and totally out of my comfort zone, I decided to call it a day, and head back home. Which is when I heard a whispered, high pitched “Help!” And again, “Helllp”. Looking around I couldn’t see anyone in distress, the entire group was busy training their binoculars on a bit of fluff high up in the pines, necks tilted, binoculars engaged. And again, “Hhheeelp”. And there right behind me was an older gentleman, quite tall, who in his eagerness to see fluff feather overhead, had overextended his neck…and it was locked in at full back tilt. He couldn’t move…until I gently placed my hand on the back of his head, and just as gently, pushed it forward, releasing him in to the fully upright position.
We laughed, causing others to look. He explained he had been necking with himself and got caught, and more laughter ensued. Bruce went on to discuss ways to prevent Birder’s Neck (who knew??) and we proceeded on, as a bonded group of beginning birders, having a great time on a fresh spring morning. And that was it! I was hooked on birding! I didn’t leave, and I never looked back.