THE EXPEDITION Chapter 12: Green, Eggs, and Wham (Section 2)

In which Mr Myrtle Sir uses his therapy skills.....and gets some gifts!
 

May 26, 2019 – June 2, 2019 Regina

I got some practical things done – groceries, basic supplies like salt for teeth and baking soda for deodorant, kibble and treats for Mr Myrtle Sir. I stopped at a second hand shop and found a scooter-friendly long skirt made of sturdy but lightweight fabric with lots of pockets, a couple cotton tank tops, and a long sleeved linen shirt to wear as a layer of sunscreen. When I left, I left behind much of the heavier and warmer things, which balanced out the weight of stuff I’d gotten. I did that a few times on the trip – let things go as others came along that worked better. I’ve lost so many things through my life, and lost everything more than once, and been living quite minimally for several years now. I do get attached to some things, and still have the stuffed bunny my friend gave me when we were in junior high school, but most stuff come and goes (admittedly sometimes dramatically, but not this time).

Another day, while staying at Carmen’s but before she was home, Mr Myrtle and I went and split some fries at the nearby neighbourhood restaurant. It was run by a family – three generations, and a few lateral relatives. They were nice, friendly, good people. One half of the establishment offered pizza and Greek food and the usual Canadian offerings. The bar was separate but connected, and they shared a kitchen, as well as a hallway with bathrooms. Both sides were frequented almost entirely by locals. It wasn’t a fancy neighbourhood, and had a few ‘interesting’ (in the euphemistic sense) corners and inhabitants, but most folks were nice, and friendly.

As Mr Myrtle and I sat quietly doing whatever we were, there was a sudden uproar in the bar and the grandmother came running into this side with her granddaughter, both clearly really scared. There was a quick few words behind the cash register and other family, mostly large men, ran to the bar, customers from tables and hallway and outdoors running to join. Others ran to the counter, to the family, and to each other to give security. It was all very fast-forward and very intuitive and sensible; there was no confusion or chaos at all, really. Just good solid response. There was more quick yelling from the bar, and moments later someone came back into restaurant side saying everything was alright.

As multiple police vehicles and I think emergency medics pulled up out front, we learned that a very large, very angry, and very disturbing man, probably under multiple various influences, had pulled either a machete or a gigantic kitchen knife on the bartender and tried to rob the place. Half a dozen regulars promptly jumped on him and before the villain even hit the floor, half dozen other folks had called 911, and then everyone else ran in to further fortify the premises. Several (five, I think someone said) big guys quite literally sat there right on top of him, holding him flat to the floor until the cops came, and all the uniforms had left to do was cuff him and take statements from everyone. Nobody was hurt, but a lot of people were very shaken up. A lot more were relieved and downright touched that so many had responded so well and so quickly.

The owners’ daughter, a pretty and quiet girl of about eight, was crying at a booth with her grandmother and mother taking turns to comfort her. She was clear about everything being alright, but it had been such a shock. Mr Myrtle was terribly worried about her; he kept looking towards her, then turning to me and raising his eyebrows and squeaking and hm-ing. He wanted to help. I took him over, carefully, and explained how worried he was. I told them about he helps me when I’m upset, and asked if it might help for us to sit with them a little so he could help the young girl calm down. Really, it helped us all.

The police took the villain away, and we all kept thanking god and the universe and whoever else we all had to thank that everything had gone down so remarkably well.

We slept even better that night than falafel night.

Another day, I had to take a chunk of time and a bigger chunk of money to go get new boots. My secondhand ones were getting serious wear, and in light of my wonky knee, good functional boots seemed pretty crucial. Naomi recommended a place with exceedingly foot-friendly shoes and boots and all the fancy insoles and orthotics (which I wouldn’t have time to order). Thank goodness those folks were patient, because I tried on more than a dozen pairs and it took me a couple hours to decide. At the last minute, as I was frazzling between two pairs that were okay but not great, trying to decide because I wouldn’t have time for further shoe shopping, I absently picked up one of the men’s hikers. I realized it was basically the same as one of the ones I was waffling between, but being for men, was wider. My feet are nearly flat, and probably because of that, the front is wide. So are the bunions. I don’t know why shoe salespeople always think that footwear is so rigidly gender-specific – these fit so well I bought the pair right away, and some good insoles too. They’re still in great shape. I love my walk boots. Their soles are full of stories.

When Carmen made it home, we talked more in the next few days than most people could in a few weeks, about everything. We didn’t always agree on things, but we talked about an absolute world of things – nobody can agree on everything. I wish we could have had a slower friendship; cramming it all into such a fast-forward context was a bit awkward. It was an incredibly interesting visit, though.

She wouldn’t be able to come walk with me, after all. I could tell how hard that decision was, but the logistics weren’t possible. I wrote her messages into the book of notes which would accompany the petition, and told her that this walk belonged to us all. I was just the feet on the ground, doing the walking because I have no strings. I can represent everyone who wishes they could do this, and their support is part of what enables me to do it. Carmen was part of it.

Instead of continuing to Ottawa with me, she had wanted to plan was to put together a small group of women to walk out of the city with me, singing and sending me on with prayers. I think we tried to do too much with too little time, though, and couldn’t pull it all together.

One day, we went out early to a site in the bush where Carmen was going to be doing a sweat imminently. It would be for a few family members and others, and she wanted me to come also. This day, with her teen-aged daughter and slightly older niece and son, we cleared the space for the sweat lodge. With willow from the site, we built a light, solid framework for the dome. Before leaving, we covered it with heavy tarpaulins. We’d finish the rest on the day of the ceremony.

We stopped at her aunt’s home afterwards, where I met more family. They’d put out lovely dinner, simple and filling and so good, and it was so comfortable to meet them and spend the evening.

June 3, 2019

Regina to Balgonie 30 km

Families are complicated and so are road trips with missions. One thing and another kept taking longer than planned. It had been two weeks and June was starting. My knee was much better. Mr Myrtle and I were better rested (and fed!). So many good things had been happening, and the practical things were done enough. I felt like the road, and the mission, were pulling me. I couldn’t keep waiting, and I really couldn’t afford to get stuck. It was time to go.

June had begun. Summer in Canada is roadwork season. It’s all a mess.

I’m not good at navigating cities at the best of times, but it took me so long to get out of Regina that I missed the news interview I’d managed to arrange. Much to my frustration (and theirs, most likely), I had to call and cancel, apologizing and saying I simply couldn’t get there in time.

As if to make up for that, the universe sent more good human beings. First, as I argued with traffic and time, trying not to let my frustration turn into something requiring handkerchiefs, an older man full of stories I wish I’d had time to hear stopped to encourage me and wish me well. He’d done something similar in 1967, and he figured he’d find a young person to look me up online and show him more. Meanwhile, he doffed his hat to me, and apologized for being able to neither accompany me nor even help, but in a way he did both, so much.

Then, a very polite and good-natured man pulled over in an SUV and after learning who we were, asked me to please stop at the large pet supply store a few (long) blocks ahead, which he managed. By the time we got there, he put together a care package with some wonderful healthy kibble and treats, and a bright green stuffed turtle with a squeaker which kept Mr Myrtle happy for ages. It survived until somewhere in Ontario, which is no small accomplishment for a Jamaican Shepherd’s toy! He signed the petition, and posted about us on his own social media as well as the store page. I talked with his very nice other half in the comments a bit, and they both followed the walk page from then on.

Suburbs kind of melt together with cities nowadays but White City almost felt separate. June is definitely summer, though, and summer’s are definitely getting warmer. By the time we found a spot to sit and eat, I was zonked, and also a bit confused, and I’m pretty sure I’d sweated away any good the morning shower had done and probably reeked of road, but a place called the Icehouse let us in anyways and brought us a whole big pitcher of water before I could even ask for any, with a glass for me and a good bowl for Mr Myrtle Sir. We had nachos (a gigantic order which they packed up half of for later, and I’m sure they must have added to it when they packed it) and internet (mine was being a pain in the backside yet again), with a side of time.

I did need it (the time) (and the dinner, which someone very kindly paid for), but should have either waited till I got to where we could stay stopped, or stopped less long. I’d figured on either finding the community baseball diamond googlemaps had promised before it went wonky, or continue on to a big truck stop at Balgonie. Googlemaps wasn’t quite sure exactly where I was, though, and it wasn’t sure where Balgonie was. Up till halfway here, it had been telling me that White City was 27km from Regina, and Balgonie was another five. That meant a little over an hour till we could sit in our tent – except now, googlemaps was insisting that Balgonie was still 17km away. It was also intermittently telling me the truck stop didn’t exist, and I got tangled up and and managed to get lost. I found the town office before I found the baseball diamond.

They were pretty sure camping by the ball diamond wouldn’t go over too well with various people, but they wrote me directions and a scrap of a map to find a place on the other side of the highway that would be good. I think I managed to confuse all of us in regards to where I thought I was and where I was trying to go, as well as about the logistics of time and distance on a scooter rather than in a vehicle, but as I rolled across the bridge to cross the highway, a young woman pulled over to talk. She managed to untangle my mental map (or lack thereof) and confirmed that Balgonie was indeed only five kilometers away, with a nice easy service road to zoom along in peace, and the truck stop really did exist.

#WalktoWakentheNationexpeditionbook