Remembrance Day
Fear not, this is not another throwing up story.
But I must warn you that it, unfortunately, has some elements of nose picking.
Believe me, I’m not any happier about that than you are, but I thought it was only right to warn you.
This Remembrance Day Andre and I went to Ieper (Ypres). Most Canadians know it as Flanders Fields – the place where the poppies blow between the crosses row on row.
Most poignant moment: The Canadian War Memorial. The Memorial is a grand marble column, the topmost part of which is the carved bust of a soldier, head bent in solemn acknowledgement. Maple trees grow on the grounds and autumn leaves, golden and red, blow gently about.
There is a little bench recessed into a well-kept hedge where I sat and phoned Don so that we could connect for a while. Don is like my grandfather, but moreso my friend. We kind of adopted each other some years ago and he’s been a central figure in my life ever since. When Don’s wife Emma died 5 years ago it looked as though he would have to move into a home for the elderly. Not an attractive proposition for him. And then a miracle presented itself -- as miracles are wont to do -- in the form of small-town whispers that the house 4 houses down from my mom’s might be for sale. It was and, on the day I signed the mortgage, I handed the keys to Don and asked him to take care of it for me. And he has been. Don is now 83 and a WWII vet having served in the US navy amphibious forces (now called the Navy Seals) aboard the USS James O’Hara. Don was at Iwo Jima. He is, in a word, awesome.
I call him regularly to check in and chat about life and to heckle CNN, but there are 4 days in the year I never fail to call him:
His birthday
The anniversary of the day Emma died
Christmas
And Remembrance Day, when I thank him for things that I’m sure I know very little about. We always get a bit mushy on Remembrance Day. This year was no exception and I know that it means a lot to him that ‘the young people’ don’t forget. That I called him from Flanders where no small number of his buddies died, meant something to him.
Flash to the end of the evening, Andre and I attended the moving “The Last Post” ceremony at the Menin Gate Memorial which is a tribute to the fallen soldier. Favorite moment there: We’re inside the Memorial where the names of 55,000 unburied soldiers are inscribed. There are about 1,000 people in the crowd, yet the Memorial Hall is silent. Two Irish violinists begin to play “Danny Boy”. The crowd begins to hum softly, becoming gradually louder. The crowd starts to sing the last verse. Many are moved to tears. Few are able to sing the last line.
It almost seems awful to start into a description of the middle of the evening, but there was one, so here goes. It should have been really incredible – and parts of it were – there was just this one little thing that rather ruined it: The nose picker.
Andre and I bought 2 of the 7 remaining tickets to “The Great War Remembered” Concert in the Cathedral of Saint Martin and Saint Nicholas. Picture a majestic cathedral, the Band of the Belgian Royal Navy, the Choir of the Holy Trinity Church, The Saint Nicolas Male Voice Choir, The Devon Ceremonial Unit pipers, fiddlers from Ireland and Maori singers and dancers. And then imagine you are seated next to the world’s most relentless nosepicker. The man I sat next to – no word of a lie – picked his nose throughout the entire concert. 20 minutes into it, I actually wondered if he was doing some performance art reenactment of all of the major battles. He continued to wage his particular version of trench warfare for almost 2 hours… At one point, he was so deep in that I thought he might lose his arm at the elbow. Trying to earn a purple heart, I guess. Anyway, it was grotesque. As the concert was completely sold out, there was nowhere to go… to cope I unapologetically held my mercifully full-sized programme to the side of my face and held it there as a shield for almost 2 hours lest I get hit by flying shrapnel.
And I know that this is really off the topic of Remembrance Day, which I take really seriously, but I can’t help but wonder aloud what the fuck could be so wrong with someone that they would attend a beautiful symphony – and then pick their nose feverishly through the whole thing. I’m not exaggerating either.
This is an action shot I took about an hour and a half into the concert.
The nosepicker picked his nose through “It’s a long way to Tipperary”, and "Pack up your Troubles, and all through “Roses of Picardy” (which, ok, maybe I can see), but to pick ones nose during “Danny Boy” and “God Save the Queen”, I mean, my God man. What is on your mind? Perhaps you sustained a closed head injury from a prior nose-picking marathon. Last Christmas with the family perhaps? Maybe you forgot you still had the turkey carving knife in your hand?
Anyway, I’m going to try to forget it. It would be a shame to have THAT be my Remembrance Day memory.
Fear not, this is not another throwing up story.
But I must warn you that it, unfortunately, has some elements of nose picking.
Believe me, I’m not any happier about that than you are, but I thought it was only right to warn you.
This Remembrance Day Andre and I went to Ieper (Ypres). Most Canadians know it as Flanders Fields – the place where the poppies blow between the crosses row on row.
Most poignant moment: The Canadian War Memorial. The Memorial is a grand marble column, the topmost part of which is the carved bust of a soldier, head bent in solemn acknowledgement. Maple trees grow on the grounds and autumn leaves, golden and red, blow gently about.
There is a little bench recessed into a well-kept hedge where I sat and phoned Don so that we could connect for a while. Don is like my grandfather, but moreso my friend. We kind of adopted each other some years ago and he’s been a central figure in my life ever since. When Don’s wife Emma died 5 years ago it looked as though he would have to move into a home for the elderly. Not an attractive proposition for him. And then a miracle presented itself -- as miracles are wont to do -- in the form of small-town whispers that the house 4 houses down from my mom’s might be for sale. It was and, on the day I signed the mortgage, I handed the keys to Don and asked him to take care of it for me. And he has been. Don is now 83 and a WWII vet having served in the US navy amphibious forces (now called the Navy Seals) aboard the USS James O’Hara. Don was at Iwo Jima. He is, in a word, awesome.
I call him regularly to check in and chat about life and to heckle CNN, but there are 4 days in the year I never fail to call him:
His birthday
The anniversary of the day Emma died
Christmas
And Remembrance Day, when I thank him for things that I’m sure I know very little about. We always get a bit mushy on Remembrance Day. This year was no exception and I know that it means a lot to him that ‘the young people’ don’t forget. That I called him from Flanders where no small number of his buddies died, meant something to him.
Flash to the end of the evening, Andre and I attended the moving “The Last Post” ceremony at the Menin Gate Memorial which is a tribute to the fallen soldier. Favorite moment there: We’re inside the Memorial where the names of 55,000 unburied soldiers are inscribed. There are about 1,000 people in the crowd, yet the Memorial Hall is silent. Two Irish violinists begin to play “Danny Boy”. The crowd begins to hum softly, becoming gradually louder. The crowd starts to sing the last verse. Many are moved to tears. Few are able to sing the last line.
It almost seems awful to start into a description of the middle of the evening, but there was one, so here goes. It should have been really incredible – and parts of it were – there was just this one little thing that rather ruined it: The nose picker.
Andre and I bought 2 of the 7 remaining tickets to “The Great War Remembered” Concert in the Cathedral of Saint Martin and Saint Nicholas. Picture a majestic cathedral, the Band of the Belgian Royal Navy, the Choir of the Holy Trinity Church, The Saint Nicolas Male Voice Choir, The Devon Ceremonial Unit pipers, fiddlers from Ireland and Maori singers and dancers. And then imagine you are seated next to the world’s most relentless nosepicker. The man I sat next to – no word of a lie – picked his nose throughout the entire concert. 20 minutes into it, I actually wondered if he was doing some performance art reenactment of all of the major battles. He continued to wage his particular version of trench warfare for almost 2 hours… At one point, he was so deep in that I thought he might lose his arm at the elbow. Trying to earn a purple heart, I guess. Anyway, it was grotesque. As the concert was completely sold out, there was nowhere to go… to cope I unapologetically held my mercifully full-sized programme to the side of my face and held it there as a shield for almost 2 hours lest I get hit by flying shrapnel.
And I know that this is really off the topic of Remembrance Day, which I take really seriously, but I can’t help but wonder aloud what the fuck could be so wrong with someone that they would attend a beautiful symphony – and then pick their nose feverishly through the whole thing. I’m not exaggerating either.
This is an action shot I took about an hour and a half into the concert.
The nosepicker picked his nose through “It’s a long way to Tipperary”, and "Pack up your Troubles, and all through “Roses of Picardy” (which, ok, maybe I can see), but to pick ones nose during “Danny Boy” and “God Save the Queen”, I mean, my God man. What is on your mind? Perhaps you sustained a closed head injury from a prior nose-picking marathon. Last Christmas with the family perhaps? Maybe you forgot you still had the turkey carving knife in your hand?
Anyway, I’m going to try to forget it. It would be a shame to have THAT be my Remembrance Day memory.
posted by Penless Artist at 9:43 p.m.
4 Comments:
Great story. You have a unique talent for making one feel bilious.
i would have said something......That offends me! how grotesque and savage. why did he even go, he could have picked himself to death in his ouwn house/apt/ town home/ car....the options were infinite. I guess he wanted to take his amusment elsewhere and share it with the world. So in a way he was very generous to share such an intimate and enjoying moment for him. You are lucky, you really got to know him....I envy you...(snicker snicker)
I can't really see why you can forgive your nose picking friend mining his way through "Roses of Picardy" I too was at the concert and thought that this was one of the highlights of the evening. Perhaps you're going for a pun on Pick-ardy? Snot very good if you are.
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