The Buses and Other Short Stories Read Online Free PDF Page A

wondered whether 1976 was the best year for him to have visited Greece, when Canada was the focal point of the world with Montreal’s Summer Olympics. He was so sorry to have missed the opening ceremonies. He was also disappointed to have missed the CN Tower’s opening to the public, an event all Torontonians anticipated. He longed to see
Gunsmoke
, his favourite television program, and to turn on CBC radio and hear Foster Hewitt’s dramatic play-by-play of hockey. But most important, Theodore missed The Elmwood’s bustle; he longed to be busy and serve his customers again; to chat with Bobby and Russell, his two buddies, the postmen who dropped by for bacon and eggs every morning. Would his partner Pete remember to be courteous to Miss Harriet who came daily for her apple pie and milk? And he missed resting on the bench at the nearby park, feeding the birds after the hectic lunch hour.
    After only six weeks in Greece, Theodore informed his parents he had received word from his partner that he was urgently needed at the restaurant. He would be returning to Toronto in three days. His decision to return relieved him. And the more he reflected on it, he was comforted with his
Papou’s
saying: “Theodore, my boy, you can never step into the same river twice.”

Making The Old New Again
    â€œLook, Mom the snow on the sidewalk has melted completely. The winds have lost their anger.” Then my daughter raised the window higher, stuck her head outside and sniffed the air. “Toronto is beautiful this time of the year! Its greenness smells of spring. It smells of Easter, Mom. When can we start our preparations for the big holiday? Can I help you with all the baking again?”
    My daughter’s boundless enthusiasm made her blue eyes sparkle and the freckles on her nose and cheeks accentuated the freshness of her velvety skin. In her eagerness to welcome the new season, there was impatience in her voice, the impatience she displayed as a little girl when she stomped her feet on the floor.
    â€œWell, will we start soon?”
    â€œYes, we will, darling.” My voice sounded dull, somewhat lifeless and I wondered about it. Perhaps my langour reflected my old age. Then, I remembered all the upcoming arrangements for Easter: the endless shopping, the baking, the egg decorations, the midnight masses and on and on. The same old, same old, like every other year.
    â€œOf course I’ll help you with the spring cleaning first, and then I can’t wait to help with the Easter cookies, Mom. Oh, I do love the coming of spring and all the changes it brings. I mean all those things that change and become new.”
    I didn’t answer. But I felt the wide gap between us. All the things that were becoming new for my young daughter, year in and out were for me ever so old. And yet I did not want to grow old. As if it was possible for me not to age. And suddenly I remembered my aunt’s words: “Old? Do you find me old? When the mind is still sound and the body maintains its vigour, no one is old, my dear niece.” She was my mother’s older sister Cleo. “Well, do you find me old, my dear niece?”
    â€œYou, old?” I started to laugh. You, my dear aunt are as young as me.”
    â€œAs young as you? What do you mean, dear?”
    â€œWell, look we walk together; we could run a marathon.” My mother heard it and chided me, “you’re full of nonsense, child.” But my aunt turned her head, laughed and said, “I know what you mean.” Maybe back then I didn’t know quite what I meant, but now, as my hair begins to whiten, I know only too well.
    Suddenly, my daughter’s keen voice interrupted my thoughts. “Mom, I can’t take it anymore. I’ll get my bike, ride around the block and maybe afterwards, walk in some trails in High Park.”
    â€œBe careful, darling, and please return before it gets dark.”
    â€œI will.”