Gerri’s gallivanting Grandma
In her lifetime which ended around 1940 or so,
my grandmother’s travels were limited to the general environs of South Wales between Cardiff and Swansea. Margaret O’Leary Bulger was an elegant, articulate and intelligent woman who was born ahead of her time, according to my mother. When she was not looking after her own family, her time was spent as a midwife, assisting young women in trouble, and fighting for women’s rights. It was no wonder that my mother admired her so highly. Apparently the boys in the family were less impressed. I guess that figures for those times when men were content to keep the status quo where the little woman cooked, cleaned, procreated and was subservient to her husband. I was brought up with endless tales of my grandmother’s reputation and I learned early that I too should never accept a lesser role in life than a man. Hence my bra-burning years in the 1960’s. My mother was one of nine children and one of the younger ones, so it was surprising that she ended up with the oil portrait of her mother. Perhaps it was because my mother was her namesake or maybe it wouldn’t have meant much to her brothers who (except for one) escaped Great Britain as very young men and settled in Canada. My family emigrated to Canada in 1954 and Grandma’s portrait sailed with us on the Queen Elizabeth sustaining some minor damage on the journey. It was later professionally repaired.
Many years before my mother died, she passed on the portrait to me and ‘Grandma’ has graced the wall in my house for many years. I never failed to think about her and talk about her even though I never met her, as the painting constantly brought her to mind. But Grandma had a new home in her future. Many years ago, my son David elicited a promise from me that one day, she’d be his. Now with our month after month of travel and Grandma in an empty house, I felt the time was right for her to move on, so when David bought a new house in Toronto, I promised him Grandma as his housewarming gift.
Before we left home in January,
I packed up the portrait in bubble wrap, stiff cardboard and a protective envelope and popped it into an ‘Out of Africa’ carrier bag for ease in handling. She remained safely tucked into the back of my closet in Maggie until my flight north on February 6th. I couldn’t take a chance on her getting out of my hands during travel – no overhead bins, no being stuffed under the seat and certainly no checking for Grandma.On the first leg of my flight sitting in an aisle seat, I managed to wedge Grandma under my legs and I obscured sight of it from the flight attendants by keeping an open magazine across my lap – but it was mighty uncomfortable. I was glad
when the three and a half hour flight to Cleveland was done and I could stretch my legs. The flight between Cleveland and Buffalo was on a small commuter plane and I sat in a single seat right at the front #1A. “I’ll have to store your package – FDA rules” said Claudia the one and only flight attendant.
“Oh no! – you can’t” I cried and explained that it was an oil portrait of my grandmother, very delicate and over a hundred years old.
Claudia scratched her head “I’ll think about it a bit” she assured me. Ten minutes later, “I’ve got just the spot” and Grandma was taken onto the flight deck and carefully stowed in the closet behind the pilot reserved for the flight crew’s use. As we taxied in to the Buffalo Airport after an extremely bumpy half an hour flight, Claudia carefully returned Grandma to me intact.
I was so happy to pass along Grandma safe and sound to David at the airport and now her travels will be curtailed for many years hence.
Freezing, frosty and frigid
I’m always a trifle nervous when I fly north from Phoenix to Buffalo in the middle of winter.
“Will I make my connection in Cleveland?”
“Will the weather cooperate and allow David to safely drive from Toronto to Buffalo to pick me up?” and then –
“Will a storm stop David from getting me back to Buffalo for my flight back?”
“What if the US border guards give me the same problem as they did last year and frighten me that they might not let me back in?”
All seemed well as I left Phoenix and
it was raining and above freezing in Cleveland so I was quite relaxed. However, as we descended into Buffalo, our flight attendant advised “Thank goodness! They just reopened the airport.” An ice storm had brought it to a halt and earlier flights in and out had been cancelled. I guess I was lucky and I was extremely pleased to see David waiting. It was 8pm and he’d left Toronto at 2pm because of the impending storm. Ice pellets were assaulting our car as we exited the airport and obviously a new storm was attacking. How amazing that they’d had that small window of opportunity between storms to allow our plane to land.The freezing rain turned the highway into a skating rink and the traffic crawled along about 60kph (35mph) except for the huge transit trucks, which
roared by us dangerously. It was a white knuckle, nail-biting ride. Portions of the highway were closed to detour around major accidents – usually one of those mad semi-trailers who’d flipped over. I don’t know how many abandoned vehicles we encountered totally turned around and facing us on the freeway – obviously overdriving the conditions. As we slowly motored on, the freezing rain changed to driving snow and the visibility lessened while the snow built up on the roadbed, pulling our wheels left and right as David struggled to stay in the tracks. No snowploughs had been through and we weren’t sure if the roads were salted or sanded – it didn’t appear so. “This is the worse snow storm that Toronto has experienced in years” ominously emanated from the radio. By this time, I was eyeing up motels. “There’s a Holiday Inn,” I bleated but David assured me we were safe to motor on. But when I announced, “There’s a Perkins” he happily pulled off and we scoffed down one of their ‘all-day’ breakfast specials and warmed our chilly bones with piping hot coffee and tea.
We felt renewed as we continued on our treacherous journey but it took forever. When I asked if we were almost there, David replied “Oh no, that’s just Hamilton we’re approaching”. The traffic got heavier as we finally and thankfully hit the Toronto outskirts. Up ahead a slow parade of salt trucks and snowploughs blocked every lane as they prepared the highway for the approaching rush hour. It was now 2:30am. Unbelievable – we’d left Buffalo at 8pm. It’s normally a 1 ½ to 2 hour drive.
The next few days were changeable. Sunny and not even freezing, then snowing again but wet snow with deep slushy puddles and snow falling dangerously from roofs. This was followed by more snow, colder and drier and then suddenly overnight, the temperature plunged from above freezing to minus 28 degrees when the wind factor was taken into consideration. Even the sturdy, native Torontonians could be heard chiming “Brrr! It’s so damned cold”. The biting wind made me dream deliriously of returning to palm trees and balmy weather – 23 degrees C (75F) in Phoenix.
Dark, dramatic, daring, dire and delightful
The reason why. What would take me to Toronto in frigid February? My granddaughter Myffy’s tenth birthday was certainly a draw. Coincidentally, her birthday falls on the same day as my travelling grandmother’s – her great, great grandmother. But the ‘piece de resistance’ was that David had once again garnered a tremendous lead role in a musical theatre’s production of Kiss of the Spider Woman, as Valentin.
To view a musical clip of Valentin singing "The Day After That" please click on http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H2t4Hm2kRks
A synopsis of the story:
In a dismal South American jail, Molina, a gay window dresser was serving seven years for approaching an underage boy in a bar. It was a set-up by the police. The dire conditions make Molina escape into a fantasy world where he participates in movies with his idol ‘Aurora’ who morphs into the Spider Woman, whose kiss will foretell death.
Valentin, a macho revolutionary is thrown into his cell, bleeding and unconscious after being tortured so he’d reveal names of his colleagues. Valentin is in love with Marta, an upper crust girl and he hallucinates about her, calling out her name. When Valentin regains consciousness, Molina tries to befriend him but Valentin is disgusted by him and his swishy, feminine ways and draws an imaginary line between their bunks warning Molina not to cross it.
Time passes; more torture; an attempt to poison Valentin by the jail staff, but Molina eats the poisoned meal and ends up in the infirmary. He recuperates and returns. A sort of friendship builds between M&V. Valentin is poisoned but Molina nurses him, cleansing him sheen he fouls himself and Molina finds 
himself falling in love with Valentin. More time passes; much violence and abuse from jailers but much tenderness from Molina. Valentin allows Molina to share his movie fantasies and Valentin even shares the story of his life. Friendship builds. The jail staff use Molina and threaten him that he must get info and names from Valentin or he won’t get out of jail to his ailing mother but he lies about the names.Valentin starts to love Molina; a touch, a hug and finally a KISS. More is hinted at. The Spider Woman finally kisses Molina. A surreal movie sequence takes the play to the finale.
A very talented cast brought the story to life. David’s voice was deep, melodious and strong. There was comedic relief in this dark and edgy play, which took away the discomfort of many of the most candid moments.
The content is not what one would normally prescribe for children. The language was blue, particularly by Valentin, the depicted violence was extreme and brutal and the intimated gay sexual encounter was ‘iffy’ for want of a better word.
However, Myffy (10) and Raheem (15) who support and follow their father’s musical theatre performances, understood the content and that none of it was real and the language and violence and sexuality is just a part of that sort of life. They are amazingly sophisticated. Their seats were in the front row while David’s wife, Janet and I were further back. I tried to get some photos, audio & video footage (sans flash), ignoring the announcement that no recording devices were allowed. No one approached me as I tried to be stealthy but I heard later that the camera’s red focusing light stood out like a beacon. Anyways, I figured it was worth the potential embarrassment of being confronted.
Janet and I were blown away once again by David’s talented performance. It is such a thrill to watch him. I know that we have a biased opinion but when he sang the showstopper tune “The Day After That”, the audience exploded with applause. And did anyone wonder how I handled ‘the KISS’? Strangely, David was not David, but Valentin – a testament to his acting ability – and the story evolved so that we empathised with the characters understanding the love that built. So, the KISS was a natural progression.
We all went out to a late (12:30am) dinner after the play at a pub-style restaurant called ‘McSorleys’ but known to the family as their ‘juke joint’. Myffy bubbled over with enthusiasm as she analyzed each scene. Her comprehension was far beyond mine and she dissected each character, song and nuance. She insists it’s now her turn and wants to audition for Gypsy, which is playing in the fall. Of course, she wants the title role.
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Sunday was birthday party day. It was held at an electronic
games parlour. The twelve girls and two boys climbed rock walls, gyrated on dance mats, sang karaoke to their favourite popular songs, played dodge ball, car racing and so on and so forth. It was exhausting watching them. After, pizza and cake and gifts galore. “What a day!” sighed Myffy when it was all over.
Myffy has obtained her first professional acting gig.....a commercial for cystic fibrosis. If you get Canadian Television, watch out for the commercial. Mind you, you won't see her and she doesn't speak. Hmmmmmmm.....what a conundrum! Well, listen closely to the coughing and wheezing. That's Myffy! "Grandma, I got $60 for it" she told me proudly.
Before I knew it, my visit was over and it was time to return to Phoenix – to Fernie, Caesar, palm trees and sun. Sounds good to me. It was unbearably cold when I left but the sun burned off the clouds. Thank goodness I left on Monday because another major storm was due on Tuesday.
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