Let go

No, not the song that has burrowed like a worm into your brain.

In 1988 we took a trip to Canada for a late summer break, we covered most of Ontario in the 15 days we had available, Debbie Gibson was my holiday companion that year, she sang happily in my ear and drowned out the frustration of a man driving in a foreign country on the wrong side of the road. The first week was spent on a farm out on Highway 5, it was a really great place with orchards and corn fields and an elderly couple who fed us in a fantastic fashion. Freshly plucked corn for supper….mm mm.

Week two was spent in a friends house in Hamilton, from there we travelled out in all directions exploring and enjoying the summer warmth. The gentleman had a 1979 Cadillac of gigantic proportions in which he took us to see Niagra Falls. It was a blisteringly hot day and the spray from the horseshoe falls was a welcome coolant. Having seen where Lois Lane plopped into the torrent we moved on to the other attractions.

I was keen to go on the Maid but the queue was snaking like a 2 mile conga up the ramp and along the walkway for some distance. So an executive decision was taken to give it a miss. Our hosts informed us of another option several miles down river that may alleviate some of the disappointment; and so it was we found ourselves on the Aero car which is strung between the the two great countries and above a gigantic whirlpool formed by the raging river.

We were reliably informed that it was next to impossible for anything to go awry as we jolted away from the cliff edge heading for the opposing rocks on the American side. It was a phenomenal sight, seeing the mighty Niagra from 270 feet up and witnessing the silent power of the water below in contrast to the roar of the falls. The guide helpfully told us that if we were to find ourselves down there it would be lights out.

My mother was never great with heights or water, so combining the two into one delightful experience was her idea of a nightmare. It did take some cajoling to coax her aboard the dangling gondola but once she was firmly planted her breathing calmed a little. I took a fair number of pictures on our trip over and my youthful exuberance allowed a lot more hanging over the edge than I would now be able to do.

Today’s generation will never fully understand the concept of snapping merrily while out and about and hoping for the best with the results. We quickly forget the patience required to wait until you got home and had your photos processed before you could be disappointed by the outcome. I did however get some good snaps that year.

In one of the pictures there is a clear shot of a woman’s hand; the knuckles are white with the pressure being brought to bear on the hand rail and it seems like there would be an imprint she is holding on so tightly. She never let go of that pole until it was time to leave the gondola and have lunch back on solid ground.

Fear is a horrible thing, it is the reason that we hold on so tightly both physically and mentally and I have been slowly learning this.

It has been a long process which has been comprehensive in it’s reach; in the last 15 years in no particular order it has covered jobs, friends, churches, family, houses, security, comfort, societies expectation for everything and most of all hurts and pain.

The list could go on but I will need to keep adding to it.

It isn’t about being flippant with things and people but rather understanding that we borrow everything for a few short years and actually own nothing in the end.

Our only duty is to cherish the things we have for the time we are privileged to have them.