End of the road
My lover slept beside me as the train barreled along towards Montreal, and I was full of anticipation. It was around ten years ago when I first came to Montreal for a summer to learn French, and that was only my second time living away from home. The city shocked and seduced my naïve prairie sensibilities, jolting me out of my Saskatchewan conservatism with every musician and restaurant and artist and cafe I encountered. The city spoke to my soul and became home.
Montreal seemed like a good place to return to with him—especially now, when we are in need of a little reinvention. So I finish my tour and we embark on a trip, where we can relax and reconnect after two months apart, before returning back to Saskatoon. We sat in Notre Dame, mesmerized by its grandeur, and pretended it was a place of forgiveness, perfect for lovers embarking upon a fresh start.
Through and with each other, we absorbed each new taste and sight as if we’ve been starved and blind for years. And it’s true—maybe we just haven’t been paying enough attention lately. When he introduced me to espresso at the Café Italia, the taste and environment so perfectly suit my bodily cravings that a simple coffee becomes a spiritual experience (which is certainly the approach to espresso at this distinct little café, full of old Italians clustered around the soccer game on TV). It’s hard to express the perfection of these moments. So we just lean in closer to each other. And closer still.
*******
Before Montreal, I did two final shows: a house concert in Ottawa and a show at the legendary Black Sheep Inn in the very picturesque town of Wakefield. The house concert was buzzing with my lover’s arrival, as everyone knew this was to be the site of our reunion. Moments before he arrives, I have a chance to sit down with Caz, a vibrant and spirited woman at the house who reads Tarot Cards. When I pull one card, she looks at me knowingly: it is the card of the lovers. I pull more and she speaks quickly and with purpose, giving me a very optimistic reading that even furthers my excitement. I'm a sucker for horoscopes and tarot cards and anything that invites a little reflection, imagination, interpretation, magic.
The music comes easy. It flows. I forget where I am. I forget everything but the moment of playing. Ottawa. Wakefield. The audiences are generous and attentive. And I am lost in the shear joy of finishing a fantastic tour. What catharsis.
It was sad saying good-bye to Peter. I’ve come to adore his idiosyncracies and have learned so much from traveling and performing with him along this tour. In Montreal, I am full of stories and experiences and thoughts as I relive moments from our tour and come to really appreciate Peter’s talent, sensitivity and insight. I’m sure it won’t be the last of our collaborations . . .
Montreal seemed like a good place to return to with him—especially now, when we are in need of a little reinvention. So I finish my tour and we embark on a trip, where we can relax and reconnect after two months apart, before returning back to Saskatoon. We sat in Notre Dame, mesmerized by its grandeur, and pretended it was a place of forgiveness, perfect for lovers embarking upon a fresh start.
Through and with each other, we absorbed each new taste and sight as if we’ve been starved and blind for years. And it’s true—maybe we just haven’t been paying enough attention lately. When he introduced me to espresso at the Café Italia, the taste and environment so perfectly suit my bodily cravings that a simple coffee becomes a spiritual experience (which is certainly the approach to espresso at this distinct little café, full of old Italians clustered around the soccer game on TV). It’s hard to express the perfection of these moments. So we just lean in closer to each other. And closer still.
*******
Before Montreal, I did two final shows: a house concert in Ottawa and a show at the legendary Black Sheep Inn in the very picturesque town of Wakefield. The house concert was buzzing with my lover’s arrival, as everyone knew this was to be the site of our reunion. Moments before he arrives, I have a chance to sit down with Caz, a vibrant and spirited woman at the house who reads Tarot Cards. When I pull one card, she looks at me knowingly: it is the card of the lovers. I pull more and she speaks quickly and with purpose, giving me a very optimistic reading that even furthers my excitement. I'm a sucker for horoscopes and tarot cards and anything that invites a little reflection, imagination, interpretation, magic.
The music comes easy. It flows. I forget where I am. I forget everything but the moment of playing. Ottawa. Wakefield. The audiences are generous and attentive. And I am lost in the shear joy of finishing a fantastic tour. What catharsis.
It was sad saying good-bye to Peter. I’ve come to adore his idiosyncracies and have learned so much from traveling and performing with him along this tour. In Montreal, I am full of stories and experiences and thoughts as I relive moments from our tour and come to really appreciate Peter’s talent, sensitivity and insight. I’m sure it won’t be the last of our collaborations . . .
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