In mid September Russ and I got on a plane in Winnipeg, less than three hours later we were in Montreal and ready for some days where we planned to spend time with friends and family and see a few sights. There are a few stories to tell from our days there. Here is the first one……drawn out a bit to paint a picture.
My cousin David and his partner live just outside of Montreal. David is a musician through and through and as luck would have it he was planning to be in Montreal while we were there. He was singing with a choir alongside the Montreal Symphony Orchestra. Once I learned this it was pretty easy for me to decide that I wanted to attend that symphony and Russ was open to it. The tickets were bought and the plan made. We met David and Lyne for a very early supper and then enjoyed a walk around Old Montreal. Lyne’s family history goes way back and we absorbed her joy in sharing a few important spots linked to her family. At one point as we walked David and I got ahead and Russ and Lyne lagged behind a bit. These moments of one on one time with Lyne sealed the deal for Russell, he felt very connected to her by the end of our time together. It is so nice when bonds and bridges get built and you can feel the effect of them. Also in those moments Russ was greatly amused by the sight of David and I ahead, both fast walkers, both with grey curly hair that bounced as we walked. I treasure whatever threads of “family” show themselves when given the chance, Russell’s observation of those bouncing curls makes me smile as I sit here.
David left us to get prepared at the concert hall and we enjoyed more time with Lyne. Eventually she walked us to the Place des Arts and Russ and I entered the world of the Montreal Symphony. It was so fun and at one level deeply familiar. With Jill performing at the Arts Centre in Regina so much over the last few years we are used to the theatre vibe; the ticket scans from our phones, the buzz of anticipation in the foyer and the large venue. This was different though. We were navigating a different language, the facility was only 20 years old and beautiful, and as we pondered the stage we saw ten cellos warming up and the biggest bass we had ever set our eyes on. This was going to be something.
What unfolded in the first half was beautiful, I found myself noting sounds that seemed perfect as they blended together, the mastery of the music was incredible. I marveled at the 78 year old bass soloist, I delighted in finding my cousins curly grey hair and checking in on him throughout, I watched eagerly as the percussion team did their thing, I really love drums. Soon enough intermission happened. We went from our third floor balcony down to the second floor and got in line at the bar. While on holidays we make it our treat to enjoy beer when opportunity arises, this was an opportunity.
Its hard to explain the set-up exactly, just picture us being among the first to arrive in the line, picture a bit of a struggle behind the bar to handle the influx of people and receive payments, picture a bit of a “make your request and move over there” vibe (but in French at first), and then imagine that when all was said and done Russ and I were behind a roped off area, standing at tall bar tables, each with a beer in hand and visiting with each other. That is when a very polished looking gentleman came over to us, he was on his own and he asked if he could join us (in French), once we established that our French was very limited he made his best effort in English. He was very friendly and we got a bit acquainted quite quickly. Perhaps learning that we are ranchers from Saskatchewan is what prompted the question he asked that instantly made me feel like Ma Kettle. He said (picture his French accent) something like this, “so you are friends of the symphony or with the youth circle?” I don’t remember the exact terms but how he said it made it suddenly dawn on us that we were not supposed to be in the roped off area, we were to be with the common folk loitering elsewhere, not in the space meant to reward donors. The country folk had arrived, blown right past the signs they didn’t understand and were acting like they belonged there!!!! We stammered for a second and started to apologize but before we could he said, “I’m not security, stay!” So we did.
This whole thing struck us so funny, but I am not sure it is funny. If it is, what is it that makes it funny?
I think it could have something to do with the contrast of our self identity as country bumpkins rubbing up against the classy folk of Montreal. It definitely has something to do with the bumbling that was part of it. Its like we tripped, almost fell but then landed safely on our feet, with our drinks upright, right there behind those ropes, except it was language we tripped on. Further, once given a blessing to be there we mastered the “fake it til you make it” approach. That approach holds some suspense, when will the “faking it” not work and the “making it” end? We were giggling and it still makes us smile to remember.
One more thing happened that tickled our fancy. A stranger came over after our first stranger friend moved on, the new stranger just had to meet the guy wearing the cowboy boots because she too was wearing western boots. Experiencing her delight made us feel like there was space for us in this classy environment and not only that we were actually kindv’e cool.
I think this story delights me because it brings to mind those entertaining TV shows of my youth where according to my memory Ma and Pa Kettle regularly embarrassed themselves but kept trying with every opportunity they were given. Our story also connects with questions of identity. I have never felt at ease among people who are fancy, certain I will not live up to expectations. This story had us feeling like we were staying afloat among the fancy folks. Beyond the sense of permission we were given what gave us the courage to stay once we were found out? I think there was a certain confidence we gained from being at each others side. I feel our holiday ease, excitement and time with David and Lyne meant we had a noticeable little joy glow, maybe that was appreciated. At some level we knew that a cowboy at the symphony is inherently different and made us interesting. Another thing is that at our age I think we are absorbing more fully than we have before that “Jesus Loves Me” is not just a sentimental song lyric, its our truth, we are loved and loveable, just as we are. That is something. That is a big something.
Here are a few pictures.
As Far As The Eye Can See 