Mom was right...

A Valentine

When I was 17 and an older member of the local youth pipe band, I started teaching solo lessons to younger pipers. One of these was a 12-year-old with incredible musical sensibility and talent, and an annoying number of other activities that prevented her from practicing pipes to the maximum. This is sometimes the way with really talented folk—they are called from many corners and enjoy being good at pretty much everything. It’s admirable and annoying all at the same time.

She would come to the house on Saturday, sometimes before or after her younger sister’s lesson, and over time her natural ability shone through until she was leading the band herself. Of course, she was also an MVP in volleyball, basketball, on the high school curling and track and field teams, and winner of her school’s “spirit” award. So annoying.

Now an 18 year old, her visits would prompt my Mom to say, “That’s an amazing girl. You might want to keep your options open for the future.” Or words to that effect. “Oh, Mom, get a grip!” Honestly, what would she know?

And then a couple of years on, playing in the same band again, and spending more time together, I started to come to my own conclusions. She was smart, funny, playful and just so great to be around.

One thing led to another, and we got married in June 1983. I still get teased by her for the hole in my beard that day, or the fact that I didn’t really do the math on “wedding outfit” and wore my pipe band brogues with trousers. What an adventure we began. We made all kinds of terrible decisions together, and loved every minute of it. We moved to Vancouver to pursue piping and education. She got a degree at UBC and we both piped, took lessons and played in a band. We brought home a dog from the humane society, who turned out to have distemper and she ended up saving him with advice from younger piping sister, now a vet.

Dilis [jee-lish] the lab cross.

A year or two has passed since those days (40) and the bad decisions and adventures continue, even if somewhat more carefully than before. My Mom was entirely correct [about this] and having this person in my life continues to be a daily joy that I do not take for granted.

In 1998, with two small children, busy work and not enough money, I wrote this:

The Still Night

Throughout the still night
I hear your breathing, warm,
and I think about our life—
and I have no answers,
only questions.

And in the morning, when I wake
to feel you stretching in the bed,
stirring to the sounds of small feet in the hall
I know the answer is you, and
I have forgotten the questions.

So, Happy Valentine’s Day, and here’s to more adventures and bad decisions, together.

Scottish fun.