Day 4

Today was the grandest day. One of those days that sneaks up and catches you by surprise. You certainly couldn’t plan it. You seldom have them, except on vacation. You surely couldn’t organize it in a “planning binder” for your holiday!! I’ve come to think of them as “gifts”. Days that God takes over to assure you that He is in charge, and for that we should give thanks.

The plan today was to get up early and head out to Northern Bay Sands for a day at the beach. For those of you who have never been to this wonderful place, a beach in Newfoundland, especially on the Avalon Peninsula, usually involves some very coarse sand … grains the size of softballs! Northern Bay Sands is one of the exceptions … thus the name I suppose. When we got up this morning the days was gloriously sunny as promised but the wind! David and Grant decided that continuing with our plan would be akin to, “a trip in a sandblaster!”

With our plans ruined we decided to take advantage of the extra morning time to head to Mass at the Basilica. The Basilica of St. John the Baptist was started in St. John’s in 1841. At the time the Bishop’s intent was to, “erect a cathedral of unusual elegance, extent and beauty.” The design was inspired by the Romanesque churches in Italy and was one of the earliest examples of this style revival in North America. The majesty of the Basilica has always been breath taking and certainly leaves you with a sense of being part of something far greater and enduring. I sometimes lead the parade on complaining about opulence and pride on the part of the Church, but sitting in Mass this morning, I certainly could understand how someone could want to build the great Cathedrals as a testament to the greater glory of God.

Home after Mass and the day spread before us, I decided to check and post my daily blog. I have taken to writing them before bed and posting them in the morning. Thank you to those of you commenting on the blog. It is so cool for me to get feedback! Anyway, checking Facebook while I was near the computer I had a post from one of my cousins. George, or Jeep as we always called him, is a lawyer here in St. John’s. He is also a very accomplished artist. Today was the day of the opening of his gallery exhibit and clarifying details through Facebook, David and I, with beach plans cancelled, were free to head downtown to the gallery opening.

I had never met George’s wife Valerie except through Facebook. As we walked into the gallery we spotted one another and I was immediately enveloped in a massive hug as she assured the lady she was standing with that she had never met me before in her life! Valerie was absolutely delightful and might have been enough to make the afternoon except it hardly stopped there.

Without delay she arranged my reunion with George and we spent the early afternoon getting to know one another again as he shared his wonderful work with us. We discovered that the afternoon was also to include a poetry reading by the poet laureate for the city of St. John’s, Tom Dawe, and a musical interlude by Pamela Morgan, formerly one of the founding members of Figgy Duff. On the way back from fetching (yet another!) glass of wine – I haven’t stopped eating or drinking since I got here – I heard someone call my name. This was another, more distant, relative on the other side of the family (Eleanor Swanson for the family followers). She was with a woman that I remember from when I was a little girl (Mary Martin, again for the family followers) and we had a great union, exchanging email addresses and they have promised to email pictures they have from way back … I love the computer age!!

The afternoon performances were incredible. I can’t even put into words just how perfect the afternoon was. The poet was phenomenally entertaining. He read poems from his youth, his middle years and his recent work. He told stories with each one that not only contextualize his work but gave voice to his thoughts, motivations and struggles as a writer. At one point he allowed us a glimpse into the art of his

poetry by saying, “Everyone of my poems tells a hundred stories.” He shared his life experiences that led to his poem The Bear. At another point as he shared the importance of talk and of oral story in this writing process, he shared a very intimate and touching story about his grandfather dying. He told us that he doesn’t believe that he will ever be able to write the poem because the, “Talked it out.” He was an incredible gifted man who left you feeling he had shared a bit of his soul with you by day’s end. David and I are heading out tomorrow to find our own copy of his latest book, Where Genesis Begins. We agreed it had made our ‘must have it list”.

The combination I suppose of inspiring art, soothing music, stirring recitation, old family and friends and a cool sea breeze sliding in the window from the narrows made for a magical afternoon. Now I some might suggest it’s the wine talking, but here I am at day’s end, long after the sun has set and the wine faded and I am as content, yup that’s the word – content, now as I was throughout this glorious day. The day that never would have happened but for the wind.