a peek inside the fishbowl

We drove to Barrie for a funeral yesterday. I don’t feel right writing about it in this space because the story of this life isn’t really mine to share. I am really only mentioning it in terms of context, but I will say that yesterday was a very long day and that the world is sadly deprived of a pretty great fellow and his generosity, his kindness, and his joy for living. I like to remember our fellow as someone who loved a really good joke. He loved to laugh and to make others laugh, and this is one of the things I am certain many other people will be missing too.

–

When we bought our Prius we received two key fobs. As the salesman handed them over to us he half-jokingly warned us about losing them. Fer chrissakes don’t lose these things, he laughed. They are EXPENSIVE TO REPLACE.

You see, these aren’t car keys in the traditional sense. You can’t take the fob and stick it in a lock or in the ignition. You can’t make a copy of it. This is TECHNOLOGY OF THE FUTURE. These “keys” are small black devices that contain a sensor. When the sensor is near the car it can be unlocked and started. This is incredibly convenient because it essentially means that I leave the thing in my purse and never take it out.

We lost one of the fobs over a year ago. Mark blamed me because I’m apparently the scatterbrained one who has a history of losing keys. We looked everywhere for it – in every coat and pant pocket and every bag and purse. We were told it would cost $300 to replace so we held off ordering a new fob because of the expense.

In May 2012 we up packed our entire house in preparation for our move. We thought the missing fob would make an appearance at that point but it didn’t. Then we thought it would resurface during the unpacking stage. It didn’t. And so, for about a year, we’ve been sharing one fob. This has had its challenges as you can imagine, like the time I had to drive one of the kids to an orthodontist appointment and Mark realized he had the fob in his coat pocket when he was already almost at his bus stop, a 10-minute walk away.

So yes. We’ve had to make do with the one fob.

After the funeral service yesterday the four of us found ourselves standing around our car in the parking lot, getting ready for the long trip back to Ottawa. The tears had been shed and the music was still ringing in our ears and our stomachs were full of soft-bread sandwiches and tiny desserts and the sun was beating down on our shoulders… and that’s when Mark and I reached into our pockets for the fob to open the trunk.

And each of us pulled one out.

We both stared at the fobs in our hands. WHAT! WHY! HOW THE HECK ..!?!?!

There were two fobs! We gawped for a moment and burst into laughter. The missing fob had been in his suit pocket all along. And had been there since the last time he wore it… to a different funeral.

I felt like the fellow who wasn’t with us – the one whose life we had just commemorated with stories and song – was laughing right along with us. Or maybe it was him who showed it us the key that had been lost for so long. I’m not sure, but I like to think that he had something to do with it. And now I’m sitting here with a giant lump in my throat and tears in my eyes. What does all of this mean? The key to living, the key to dying, that goddamn key to the car that had been gone for so long.

–

On the drive back to Ottawa we found ourselves looking for the shoe tree. If you’ve driven down certain winding two lane highways you may know what I’m already talking about. Sadly, we never found the tree, but I did find a blog post about the very one we were looking for in case you’re curious as to the nature of our search.

We did come across something kind of sweet along the way: the World’s Smallest Bookstore. (That’s its official title by the way.) It was a good find on such a long long day. The sun was just about to set, the forests that stood sentry along the highway were darkening, and then this:

We were actually hoping for comic books, but that’s not the kind of thing they sell here.

The tools of the trade are simple: pens, paper, lightbulbs, and a label-maker:

This is the kind of place in which transactions operate on the honour system:

And this was kind of neat too (you can see a larger version of this pic here):

Shoppers were asked to jot down which book they bought. And they did. There were sheets and sheets like this:

We browsed the shelves but were soon chased away by mosquitos and a pressing need to get back on the road. We didn’t buy anything, but were glad to have the opportunity to poke around. Books on the honour system… I think our fellow would have liked that.