identity – As Far As The Eye Can See

The Kettles Go to the Symphony

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.

This is the view from our seats as the symphony came to a close, there was a standing ovation. My cousin David is in the chorus on the right side, just under that arrow I added to the picture.

David, Lyne and I during our walk. Old Montreal is so beautiful.

Two cousins with bouncing curly hair go for a walk.

You must be…..

My Dad was a memorable character in Saskatoon. He was 6’6″, a school teacher and administrator, he had a beautiful bass singing voice and a heart for underdogs. He acted in summer musicals. He served on alot of boards and committees. He was well known. I was proud to be his daughter but as a young adult making my way in life I reckoned with living within the shadow of his identity.

A backstage photo from his appearance as “Bill Sykes” in the musical “Oliver.”

I am not sure which school this was, I would guess Estey School, but Dad is in the centre, the principal.

Dad had a big presence and an ease in public speaking.

Dad was very naturally affectionate which increased his impact even more.

I was reminded of living within his shadow after I posted a video on Facebook last weekend. It was of my daughter Jillian singing “O Canada” for the opening of two big hockey games. She did a really nice job and I was proud of her.

Jill giving it her all, with that microphone her clear voice brought warmth and solemn dignity to us all.

It was a provincial play-off game, the flags in combination with the anthem created a grounding moment.

The responses to the posted video were overwhelming to her and I. She received plentiful and beautiful affirmation. The most common refrain was “you sound so much like your Mom!”

The feedback is a wonderful thing and especially for a young woman on the verge of launching into the world. She is blessed by such supportive people. However, I found myself saying to her, “oh I’m sorry Jill.”

That’s a curious reply isn’t it? Weird. Out of place.

Here is the background. At exactly this time of year in 1994 the winter Olympics were happening. Some of you will remember the figure skater named Nancy Kerrigan. Events of those Olympics have given her name long lasting recognition in addition to the fact that she represented the U.S. as one of their top skaters.

Back to Saskatoon…..

In winter 1994 I was 25 years old and in my first year at Seminary. I was shopping at the Safeway (in Cumberland Square….if you want to picture this vividly and you are a Saskatonian). I was wearing a full length navy blue wool coat, quite a sleek look, and my hair was pulled back, also quite a sleek look. I was shopping for bananas when out of the corner of my eye I saw a woman moving towards me and settling in right beside me. She had moved with purpose. I was curious but didn’t need to be for long, she began to speak, “you must be….” In my head I finished the sentence for her “You must be….Wayne Kyle’s daughter.” But that is not what she said, instead I heard, “you must be Nancy Kerrigan’s sister!” I assured her I was not, but I am sure I remember her saying “really!?!”

That was one of the weird, random and hilarious moments of my life. I wonder if that lady had considered the likelihood of a U.S. figure skater’s family member hanging out in Saskatoon during the Olympics or whether she had just turned off her tv and whipped in for some groceries with Nancy Kerrigan’s face fresh in her mind.

A picture of me right around the same time.

Whether we even look much alike or not I took from that moment a realization. The way I finished that ladies sentence for her allowed me to see clearly that I was used to being known for who I was related to not for who I was, and I was 25 years old.

That is why I said sorry to Jill. I know what work it is to carve out your own identity, and moreso when your parents are well known. Between Russell’s history here and generous personality and my ministry and music, in this small area we have become known. I think as humans we delight in finding the connections between people, the similarities in look, mannerism or talent that move through the generations. Is it reassurance that things we value live on? It has seemed delightful for people to make the connection between my voice and Jill’s, so Jill will work out her own unique presence with this as a part of the background. It’s something to reckon with. I think maybe thats why my unthinking response was, “I’m sorry.”

How do any of us establish an identity that arises from our own unique selves and experiences? It strikes me that it starts to emerge and grow as we throw ourselves into the life that we seek and the opportunities we are able to embrace. Decision by decision, effort by effort, success by success (hopefully) we become known for that unique presence we bring to the world.

Perhaps that whole process has been turned on its head by social media, giving people a chance to be recognized far and wide for the public persona we choose to put forward. But do our ventures with social media allow us to feel truly seen and known?

Back to the Carnduff rink….

Jill was asked to sing again this past Sunday, she said yes, so for the 3rd time in 8 days she put herself out there (for a game that our Red Devils went on to win 10-1, taking the series!) Perhaps there is a shortage of willing singers that has created this set of openings for Jill. However her willingness and strong voice are giving her opportunity, the building blocks of her own identity. It won’t be easy separating herself around here from the connection of being “Russell and Kathy’s daughter.” But on the other hand it honestly feels like only a matter of time before we are known somewhere else in the world as “Jill’s parents”.

Maybe that’s the way it should be. Maybe we are strongest when our identity is a mixture of what we can do and who we belong to, and it seems amazing when those strands of belonging come from our past and extend into the future as we become a part of new generations.

Today in the background I am always Wayne and Georgie’s daughter. However, as I stand at the fruit counter at the Co-op, making my choices, it is very likely my status as Russell Bayliss’s wife that will cause someone to draw close to me out of the blue, but instead of telling me I look like an Oympian I will hear, “how are those cows doing?” I will sit in an audience soon, perhaps with tears in my eyes, absorbed with being “Gina Bayliss’s Mom”, she is thriving at theater school. I will fluff a skirt and scramble to oversee a graduation celebratory meal as my beautiful anthem singer graduates in a few months. I am watching in awe as I see in my son, Morgan Kyle Rain Bayliss, the genetic threads of two family trees come together and I know my miraculous body has allowed this opportunity. I live all this within the shelter and the challenge of knowing life as a follower of Jesus Christ. That opportunity ties all the pieces together for me, I have one job, to love and be loved.

Day 20 – Postcards from the Heart

Looking at this postcard and the seven pictures that go with it I can tell that I was in a hurry when I wrote it. I have tried to reproduce it exactly as the original postcard looked. There is no date, no greeting, no sign off, several abbreviations and its basically in point form. That in itself tells a tale. I remember it was at a time when I knew if I wanted Mom to see these pictures I didn’t have the time to send them one by one.

The first picture was taken in December 2020, the next six were all November 2020. Liz has a zillion more colourful and varied pictures of Russ since this time, but this is what I had chosen to have developed for Mom. They look good in this format but some of these will be best shown, perhaps you could even say, “AMAZING” in the coffee table book we are working on creating with Liz.

This set of pictures comprises the 20th of 22 posts of this series “Postcards from the Heart”. The entire series contains photos taken by Liz Griffin Photography, used as a way to share my life and my thoughts with my mom while she dealt with her cancer reality.

SEVEN PICTURES – ONE CARD
Caption: “YOUR SON-IN-LAW IS A COWBOY!”
-its core to his identity
-I think being a mother is core to your identity and I wonder if seeing that in you has allowed me to embrace that for myself. I believe my call in life is not primarily ministry, but to create a family…. to be “Mom”. I ❤ it!!
The pics 1. Morgan, cousin Laurie + Russ in the morning sun.
2. Russ + Clarence at the back of the herd.
3. 4 hooves off the ground! Dirt flying!
4. Russ – pleased by something🙂!
5. Maddie, David Powell, Knightwing, Russ + Bingo – rounding cows out of the bushes in our rented “River Pasture”.
6. The snow that made for epic pictures.
7. Russ, hot on the trail + 65 lbs heavier than he is now.