This last Wednesday, I travelled to Toronto to attend the book launch of Honouring Age by my friend Mona Tokarek LaFosse. Mona has been working on this book for some time, and so I was very happy to be able to join her and others to celebrate this labour of love. The completion of each of my publications has been a satisfying experience. But nothing quite compares to the experience of holding the first book with your name on it.
I opted to take the train to Toronto. I find train travel to be a bit of a balm, especially if the alternate involves driving the 401 at peak times. Another bonus was that the train got me into Toronto early enough to afford me the occasion to attend the Art Gallery of Ontario. I first became a regular there during my graduate days, when a student pass made possible a weekly visit for something like 40 dollars per year. It was an oasis. I kept up my membership after leaving Toronto although the loss of a student rate meant it was a bit more money. But still I ventured into TO a number of times per year, by rail, enjoying a day away with art. Covid destroyed that.
So I was happy to become reacquainted with the AGO, which now has a year-long pass for a mere $35 per year! I utterly enjoyed my time, wandering about aimlessly for a bit before visiting a Keith Haring exhibit on the fourth floor, whose work I saw at the AGO some years ago. It was fascinating and a little bit disorienting – in a good way. Afterwards I made my way down to the second floor, entering from the back of the building. I was soon utterly lost. I used to know the second floor like the back of my hand, but the AGO has re-walled the space, and mixed up the work on offer. They have thickened Indigenous representations and set these alongside of “old favourites” in a way that enriches the viewer’s experience.
I next walked north to Emmanuel College for the book launch, and along the way passed a street where some 22 years ago – in a restaurant whose name I can no longer recall – a festive dinner was held. The event celebrated the launch of a Festschrift that Pam McCarroll and I had shepherded to honour the career of my Doktorvater, Iain Nicol, now at peace in the womb of God’s love. It was a wistful moment when I paused my walk and looked down this avenue of memories.
The launch was successful and after a train ride home, I walked back to 185 Sheldon Ave. N., sated.
And then just yesterday I went for a walk on the Walter Bean Trail in Kitchener, following the steps that I had taken with two of my three amazing daughters just before Christmas. It felt a bit as if they were walking along with me, and as I looked up to see the geese honking and flying in various iterations of a “V,” I noted that one such flight pattern more closely approximated a check-mark, thereby giving me a fowl version of a thumbs-up, perhaps.
Travel is remarkable. Sometimes God saddles up alongside our pilgrimages to knead the memories of our bodies in a way that soothes our souls, and to arrange the detritus of our life into evocative collages. Sometimes a walk is just a ramble but when the stars, or geese, or art, or memories align the gamble that is life takes on a fleeting but breathtaking poignancy. And we step into the One stepping longside us.
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