St Johns on Elgin Street



St Johns on Elgin Street
Image from the Internet



St. Johns on Elgin Street

February 8, 2011

I was to meet both Maureen Beecher and Jo Meyer Cassie at the hand bell practise at the High Anglican Church on St. Johns Street yesterday. Jo was not there – off to Kingston on business. When there is trouble at the prison in Kingston, a citizens group is brought in to investigate and she is part of that group. I still hope to catch up with her before I leave Ottawa.

I spent the afternoon with Maureen, but before leaving the church where the practise was held, she showed me around. One of the things that was charming was a list on the blackboard: people signing up to help with the community soup kitchen that is run from that church. Then we slipped into a side building where hot meals are served to women and children at noon. Someone brushed by us, Maureen stepped back, saying, “We are in no rush. You hurry ahead.”

“I have to get there or I will miss the meal,” the woman said, flying down the stairs. I had just been observing a large bathroom with showers and a side room with a washer and dryer, where woman can come in from the streets and clean themselves up, their children and their clothing – 24-hour-a-day access.

“Shall we eat here? We can,” said Maureen.

I would have loved to sit down, but I was wearing a silk scarf and having to deal with the internal irony of wearing something that would have provided 20 more meals for those women.

On the way out of the church, Maureen stopped to sign up to a potluck and a hymn sing, combined. On the page of paper you were to write what you will be bringing to the potluck and then you were to write down the hymn you wanted to participate in singing. Someone had written Good King Wenceslas on the list as their favourite hymn. I thought, why not? If the conductor is asking for your favourite hymn, better to forget about the season and have the group sing with gusto, the hymn you really love. Maureen said she wanted to write Come, Come Ye Saints, but only one other person in the group would know it. I was telling my daughter, Mary, about that quote from Maureen. Mary returned, “That is the hymn that can bring a tear to my eye. The music and lyrics capture the hopes and dreams of our pioneer forefathers as no other hymn does.”

In another section of the church was the thrift store – in two parts. One room where anyone can go in and the clothes are free. Take what you need. The other larger room is meant to bring in some income and the clothing there is all you can stuff in a bag for $10.

“I raised my children going to sales like that and all of them know how to fold clothes so tightly that they can get into the bag, twice as much as the ordinary person might be able to do,” I told Maureen.

I bought a used housecoat for the girl who doesn’t have one and lives with Mary and Leo. I also purchased a nice heavy pot to make spaghetti sauce in while I am at Mary’s. The best part of the pot is that whenever I use it, through my mind will pass loving thoughts about the congregation of St. John’s on Elgin Street.

Maureen and I are 2 women keep 20 conversations in the air at the same time. That is what we did. Among the subjects we flew over was our mutual acquaintance with you, Maureen’s mission (I didn’t know she spoke German); the groups she has joined since arriving in Ottawa (an ecology group, the handbell group, the soup kitchen group). That thread of conversation alone with her was inspirational – not for the good that she does, but for me. I am always looking to see how people just a little older than I am are living their lives. I need models. I want to see how they band together to give voice to their social consciences and sometimes what I see is so inspiring. Though I know this is a philosophically tenuous position, I like to hold in my mind that people are innately good. I thrive when I see their goodness meted out anonymously with no thought of return to themselves.

We ate in a Chinese restaurant – a quiet one on Elgin Street – the two of us lingering long after our meals were finished.

Then Maureen drove down to the canal. We walked together along its edges while other skated down the middle. I can walk faster than most women my age. Although Maureen is five years old than I am, I think she can outpace me. She looked vibrant – fabulous skin tone, a bounce to her step, her still naturally curly and now white hair in a smart casual cut. I think it is not her physical appearance that I love about her, but the fact that when we were in the women’s shelter she would reach out and touch women’s arms or give them eye-to-eye contact and call them by name.

Both of us can talk as fast as we can walk and we didn’t leave unused, any air time. Little families were there at the canal, pulling snow sleds, or pushing high buggies that slipped along the ice on runners. We ducked into a tall tepee on the other side of the ice. Stepping inside reminded me that I keep wanting to buy a tepee for down at the shoreline at the lake. I told Maureen that every time I get close to making a purchase, my son cautions me, “I didn’t enjoy the tepee when I was young, Arta. Don’t waste your money.” That is when I figured out that it is me, having never slept in one, that wants to take a try sleeping in a tepee. But that one on the Rideau Canal is not the place for me to arrange my first sleepover. Maureen made me laugh. Well, many times she made me laugh, but at this moment she suggested that I buy a yert which would be a saner choice and give me more comfort.

Maureen and I found we had lots in common – besides our deep friendships with people from our common past, many whom we named. I got caught up on her family news – they have a reunion in Ottawa and 30 of Charlie and Lucille’s progeny enjoyed each other’s company. I told her a bit about my extended family, but we are 42 cousins strong now – too many names there and too much to say.

By the end of Maureen’s and my hours together, I was sure I could travel with her. She was the one who vocalized the fact, “I think we would be fine on a vacation together”. That is not going to happen. She has in her mind, a trip to India sometime, though she said she would also be happy living in southern Alberta. And I am B.C. bound for the summer.

I am planning on getting together with Maureen should she have some more time available while I am still here. The two of us will try to make sure Jo is in the mix the next time. At least I will try to make sure a threesome will occurs though it might not be possible, given those two women fill up every moment of their waking hours.

This morning when I woke, I was remembering so many half conversations with Maureen left unfinished from yesterday’s meeting.

That line says it all.

I am getting together with them tomorrow. I am going to the service at St. John’s and then spending the Sabbath with two old friends.

Tomorrow  will be another perfect day.

Arta