The Last Day

I have one more day to go before I head back to the delights of poverty and stress in Montreal, so I thought that I would tap this out here.

Usually, I have two weeks at home and then I get out of my hometown of Hamilton, Ontario. This time, I have had a little extra time to settle back to old routines and really take in what I thought I had left behind me.

And I need out.

Don't get confused when I type these lines out. There are plenty of things about my hometown that I do love. I cherish the fact that I got to go back to the Chedoke Bruce Trail on New Year's Day, joining what turned out to be quite a large crowd of people who also wanted to exhaust themselves with the effort of finding your way on that tongue of dirt, leaves and rocks. Then, there was the Art Gallery of Hamilton, mercifully open on a Thursday for free and containing some very challenging and interesting work this season. Also, the malls (Limeridge and Jackson Square; yes, even the latter still works for me), the parks, and the incredible view afforded to a city with a literal downtown and uptown separated by an escarpment (look that word up).

And then I get to the people. I noted many times before that the demographic has shifted here. Many young people have left the city and they barely exist in the suburbs where I rested. This is a retirement community that is adapting to the changes in immigration levels and income growth. Maybe this is why I've noticed a particular level of generosity and warmth that my younger self ignored. People smile more freely when you pass them on the sidewalks; they start up conversations you never thought you would have; they are also very generous. Let me explain the latter: on a very cold day when I was sent to a local strip mall to run an errand, I passed by a pizza parlor where a customer was enjoying an entire large pizza on his own. When I passed by, he offered me a slice.

"Dig in!" he offered.

"Thank you!" I responded.

Has this ever happened to me anywhere else in this country? Well, in Montreal, I was once offered a ride while waiting for the bus on a very similar cold day. In Japan, I was part of a crowd invited in to carry a portable shrine during a festival. In my hometown, that offer of food seemed to me a miracle.

So, what bothered me?

The weather bothered me. After the cold and greyness of my trip home, I did not expect the same cold and greyness to follow me...and then shift into something warm, rainy, even greyer and uglier as I went for my runs in the neighbourhood. And I resent what happened to the neighbourhood. Parks where I once ran - this included the spot where I trained myself to run and develop that particular habit - is now mainly housing and a parking space. Bus stops have changed, as have the routes (always fun to discover during a cold snap) and I found myself having to hike quite a bit to get to old locales.

And in other news: our junior men's hockey team did not qualify for a gold medal...again. Our prime minister has just resigned (interesting to see how other non-Canadian networks are covering this story). And Trump's reinstatement is taking place on the exact day when his disloyal opposition desecrated the Capitol four years ago (it was not "an act of love," DT). Does any of this really matter?

Not really...especially as I look at my family.

My relatives are living the lives I expected them to continue following. My brother and nephew now work for the same company in repairs and internships. My niece is enjoying her work in the nursing home and other younger faces are now popping up with interesting lives and occupations. But there is my mother and stepfather. I can see how frail they are and how my brother's frustrations with them have a point. In life, change is the only thing you can expect, and yet none of us expect it. I feel guilty about even thinking of moving them to a smaller place - never a home - but I can see that my mother is the one who does all of the work around here (if she drove, she would probably never bother with my stepfather). I heard her coughing through a bad cold that I seem to have avoided while it traveled through all the households I've visited. I have heard her complain on the phone with banks and companies that I would have dealt with online (the Silent Generation is not a fan on the Internet). And I wonder what to do next...

I know that I need to end this with some sort of focus on my life. I want to make some big changes, and I will be honest enough to say that I do want to make more money than I usually do in January. The college only has me down for two classes (other instructors are doing worse); the online teaching is a possible growth area (possibly...); the work I want to do - public speaking, voiceovers, background acting - seems like a distant and impossible dream some days. But I write all of this knowing that I have not given up. I went for my run, did my laundry, packed my bags, made my journal entry, studied (thank you, Duolingo), and cleaned up.

Bring it on, 2025.

I'll be right here for ya.

;)

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You can find more poems, stories, and articles by Kendall Defoe on my Vocal profile. I complain, argue, provoke and create...just like everybody else.

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