Checking into Air Canada

I had trouble doing the electronic check-in at the airport and had to go to a clerk for help.

The bearded man opened the paper I gave him with my booking number on it and slowly said, “Arta,” as he looked at me.

Then he said, introducing himself, “Scott Nalder.”

We shook hands. I remember his wife, Christine, when she was taking art lessons at the university.

Now she teaches the drawing class there and in past years has also taught print-making. They have some a small acreage he said, south of Okotoks and a few animals and have raised their children there.

I know him two ways. His paternal grandmother was a Pilling (from the good Pilling side [as opposed to the rebellious side from which I descend]) and his mother was a Lucille Ursenbach (a daughter of Charlies). Not that anyone but me would know all of these connections.

Just fun for me to have him check me in. I reached to pull out my ID saying, well, getting down to business, you need to see this. “No,” he said. If we know someone we dispense with that. And taking my suitcase, he checked me in for the trip to Ottawa.

The first thing I am going to have to research is whose territory am I sharing right now.

Arta