write for when they scrawl names in the snow
—Margaret Atwood
At the outset of this journal I’ve got to confess I’ve gone a bit out of order. I didn’t begin this journey by chronicling my thoughts—the idea occurred to me when I was at a pub with Leo, my best friend.
The truth is I made quite a mess of my life—I alienated my wife, lost my two kids and ended up living in my house alone.
I’d like to put it down to some grand fault like booze, drugs or an affair, but the fact is my troubles sprang from cold neglect, at least as far as I can judge, but then, who am I to say?
I’m the one who messed up, so I’m not exactly a reliable source.
Anyway, while I was out drinking with Leo and he was commiserating with my plight, he happened to mention this professor in Guelph Ontario, who lived just am hour’s drive from my house, and this Prof specialized in hypnosis and helped people make sense of their lives.
Well, as you can imagine, I was skeptical but also desperate to gain some insight into my chaos so I decided to contact the Prof and see if he could help.
My schedule’s kind of busy just having started a new semester teaching Victorian Literature at U of T, but he agreed to meet with me on a Saturday and so here I was, driving in the country enjoying the fall scenery and wondering what the hell I’d gotten into.
I exited highway 6 for a tree-lined side road and drove only about a half mile before spotting his mailbox at the end of a driveway. I turned in and parked in front of an old farm house that looked right out of the pages of Country Living.
I was barely out of my car when a golden retriever came bounding out of the house followed by a bespectacled dude in his mid-thirties.
“She’s friendly,” he called out. “Hope you like animals.”
I was already down on one knee hugging the pup’s neck. “this is Happy,” he laughed, “and I’m Ken.”
“Lucas Cole,” I replied getting to my feet. The Prof had a friendly smile and I already liked him.
“I just made a fresh pot of coffe—interested?”
“Sounds good” I smiled.
He led the way back up a sun-dappled brick path to a huge country porch, chatting all the way.
“Amy, my wife’s on a field trip today—she teaches grade school, so we have the house to ourselves.”
He held open the screen door and I entered into a foyer with a front room on one side and large country style kitchen on the other. He pointed to a huge oak trestle table set out with coffee mugs and a basket of muffins.
“Amy baked these before she left, so we should eat them while they’re still warm.”
The house was filled with the aroma of fresh baked goods and I didn’t need much encouragement.
The homey atmosphere was comforting but caused a momentary pang of loneliness .
Ken discerned my change of mood. “Don’t worry, Lucas–things aren’t written in stone. Everything’s subject to change.”
I smiled back, desperately needing his words to be right and hoping this trip was a first step.
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