A calm observer of ought and must.
It is early Saturday morning. I am huddled in the old pickup truck with four layers of clothing on, under a fleece blanket that I had the forethought to bring. I have just walked around and photographed everything that interested me in this biting cold North wind. I now realize it is November, and denial of the upcoming winter is no longer possible. I think to myself, at least it is not snowing, but we still would have come regardless.
I sit here watching the brave, hardy Canadian auction goers walking by with those familiar toques pulled low over their ears. I brought the one I had picked up in a Home Hardware in Horne Payne Ontario, way up in the middle of the Northern Ontario bush during a one hour scheduled stop while riding the Train to Vancouver. I did know I would certainly use it again and really needed it then. My memories drift back to March of 2012, and that trip of a lifetime riding the rails with my daughter M. I will never forget that trip, and the timing turned out to be more important than I ever could have known at the time.
My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a car alarm. I look up to watch people fumbling in their pockets hoping it was not their vehicle; another car alarm starts going off. The duet of loud piercing noise would be very distracting to the funny auctioneer. For one brief moment, I wished I was standing outside in the cold biting wind among the shivering crowd just to hear what he had to say. He always makes me laugh; he has a quick wit.
The alarms now stop and I pull that fleece blanket tighter around myself, I am fine with sitting here. I pull out a homemade muffin I baked yesterday, and I think about that leftover homemade soup and warm fire waiting at home. I can see My Hero and his smile, he is happy, so I am happy. There are a few things here that he is interested in, and I love that we had gotten a parking spot so close that I can watch the auction action in relative comfort.
A woman walks past me with a beautiful old crock, and then a man parked in front of me places an old Coca Cola sign in the back of his truck. Then we all smile at each other; they look cold. From here I can see the old World Globe sitting on top of an old dresser, and dream of somewhere warm and sunny.
I watch as the evergreen trees bend and sway in this cold wind as I watch a woman quickly clasp her gloved hands over her exposed ears when a big gust blows. There is a swing hanging from a bare old Maple tree where it blows back and forth in the strong gusts of wind, as though there is an invisible child swinging.
I cannot believe there is a Pinball Machine here, I had not seen one of those in years and to see two, in two weeks is very funny. Something is certainly pulling out all those stored memories of my childhood.
My Hero pops into the truck to warm-up, I pass him a muffin. His face and ears are red and he pulls off his toque, his hair is standing on end from the static electricity and I laugh. We sit and watch the auction with all the bundled up and toque wearing Canadians, all standing and bidding on things from the relative comfort of our old pickup.
The auctioneer moves closer to the table, covered with an assortment of air tools. My Hero pulls his toque back on zips up his coat and hops out of the truck to join the other brave hardy Canadian auction goers. I pick my pen back up and start to write. I love auctions.