The last day before school starts ... a familiar and comfortable sensation.

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We always have these conversations no matter how many decades have gone by or where we find ourselves; it seems Labour Day encourages them. They are the conversations and memories of the last day before school starts, and although not technically the last day of summer, those memories as well.

For some of my friends the memories of getting ready for school, the new set of school clothes, and the anticipation of the first day are vivid; for others, myself included, the memories are faint. No matter the quality of these memories though , there is always a familiar and comfortable sensation that something is about to change that keeps them company.

With my school years a ghost of a memory, and my parental obligations to get my daughter off to school in the latest fashion behind me, all that remains is this familiar and comfortable sensation that something is about to change; it is the anticipation of change, the excitement of something new, and the desire to search this out that captivates me.

Soon to be over, this summer has been one of friendship; a celebration of relationships that have spanned decades where we raised a glass to say both hello and goodbye to the people who have touched our lives. A wonderful time where I raised my face to the sun, and enjoyed the world and people around me. But these lazy days of summer are almost over, and that familiar and comfortable sensation that something is about to change is settling in.

Change, excitement and autumn await me... such a grand sensation.

iamgpe.

Surrender to the places that seduce you...

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Easily missed from the main street if you are not looking carefully; its only marker is a Carlsberg beer sign high over the alcove to the entrance. If not for the neon OPEN sign and THE HOLE IN THE WALL  embossed in gold on a window tucked back in the shadows, you would not know it is there. It may seem you should go down the stairs but don't - That is not the way in.

Inside, the space is narrow and long, with the bar along one wall. There is a rustic feel to the space with the wooden floor, the brickwork walls, and the back lit stained glass over the bar; all complimented by the eclectic style of the booths, the art on the wall, and the music in the background... there is a warmth that invites you to take a seat and sample the many craft beers, try the cocktails they can make or enjoy the food they offer - An oddly familiar sensation of being in a speakeasy takes hold; a bygone era that with a little imagination becomes real. 

The people come in waves, leaving the bar empty one moment and full the next. Standing room only on a Friday or Saturday night with live music filling the air, only ever escaping into the street when the door is opened.

It is a place I keep returning to (alone or with friends), as if being seduced by a forbidden lover. 

I would not go so far as to say I am a "regular" but there was one time my beer was poured and in front of me as I sat down; a brown ale called 10w30 from a local craft brewery. It is my beer of choice, Woodford Reserve is my bourbon of choice, and an incredible bacon cheeseburger is my default for food. 

It is curious how a place can seize you and create a connection never to be forgotten; The Village Kitchen and Pie Shoppe in California, the Ranstead Room in Philadelphia, the Hotel de la Montagne bar in Montreal*, and now The Hole In The Wall - I will carry them with me always. These places spur on the human condition I suppose... they give us a place to savour all of our senses, be a voyeur or an exhibitionist, remain solitary or be social, and allow for engagement in the conversations that bring us together. 

They whisper your name, forever calling you like a great love, "Come join me, I am waiting. We have much to talk about."

Surrender to the seduction, but don't pick just any place.

iamgpe

* I almost broke down and cried when I heard they demolished the Hotel de la Montagne. The bar in the lobby was truly one of a kind. 

The moment that defines us...

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I greet death differently now.

I suppose it was my sister's doing; that witching hour phone call, the lonely trip to the hospital and a quiet goodbye to who she used to be. I collected up her things and then in the silence of a new dawn walked back to the car... a forlorn scene as I balanced a vase and bamboo stalk along with her other possessions; the metaphor for the last seven months of her life. She was cremated five days later and her final resting place is an urn in the shape of a birth bath because she didn't want to be buried in the cold ground - She wanted to stay among the living. 

As a matter of course, the following days and weeks involved the contemplation of death; not a macabre examination of death itself but more a pursuit to understand life. There was the predictable reflection that life needs to be lived, all the while embracing trite words like "zest, gusto, bucket and list". In the end though, there was just the resignation to the inevitability of death and that our lives were then defined - Nothing more "can be written" that defines who we are, and what we have done.

I looked at the caller ID on my phone and was deeply saddened as I knew what would greet me when I answered; my long time friend Paul Sipprell had died after his long battle with cancer. His life's defining moment had come. 

Paul was a loving husband and father of two beautiful daughters, an accomplished graphic illustrator and artist who befriended everyone he met with humour, kindness and generosity. Avidly pursuing his outdoor passions until his mind could not convince his body anymore, Paul personified the grand appetite for life, adventure, friendship, bravery and the appreciation for a life lived - A life well defined by any measure.

I will miss my friend deeply and cannot help but consider what my defining moment will ultimately look like.

Rest in Peace Paul.

iamgpe