Last weekend, the past and the future seemed to collide with each other right during the present moment which I was trying, with limited success, to live in.
It was like I stood at a crossroads.
In one direction there was a gravel road leading past a simple white church, an old school house and a skating rink taking me straight back to the days of my childhood.
The Condor reunion.
That was the past!
In the other direction there were shale diamonds, softball provincials and a young girl on the pitcher’s mound, her chestnut braids peeking out from under her baseball cap, her eyes like blue steel as she measured up the batter.
The U12 Girls’ Softball Provincials.
That was the future.
And they were both happening at almost the exact same time. I was torn.
It would be good to go back.
I knew once I walked through the doors of the Condor Hall, I would slip back to the past along with the dear people whose hearts, beating behind their name tags, belonged to those kids I knew once a very long time ago.
And I also knew that once I sat in the bleachers and watched my granddaughter on the ball field my own heart would skip a few beats of pure joy.
As it turned out, thanks to a small window of time between the two events, I got to do both.
My sister and I drove out to the reunion on a idyllic Saturday, driving past green fields and an old cemetery, silently remembering our own beloved family members who lay sleeping there.
We drove into the hamlet, pulling into the gravel parking lot of the hall, which was already packed with vehicles.
And, just as I imagined when we walked in, the present disappeared and the past rose up to greet us.
I made sure I put my maiden name on my nametag nice and big so people would know who I was. And, even before the ink dried it seemed people came up to me.
And in less than a heartbeat, the strangers disappeared and the kids I once knew, wearing the faces of their older siblings or maybe their mom and dad, showed up.
It was awesome.
And so we laughed and we cried a little, but most we just talked about the good old days and the way we were. And we were happy.
I took a quick moment to go back (at least, in my mind) to the house that I grew up in. The house used to be about 200 steps from the hall. I took those 200 steps, closed my eyes and there they all were.
My dad watching out the kitchen window, my brothers and I playing catch in the front yard, my sister coming in the front door, and the golden haired dog, Smokey patiently sitting on the front steps.
My family. My home. My roots. All alive and well in my mind now and forever.
Finally, I leave the past and move on to the present and into the future.
We arrived at Provincials in time for the 7 o’clock game, but Mother Nature simply laughed at us and cancelled it due to rain and lightening delays.
Instead we were there at 9 a.m. sharp the next morning to watch that game and it was just as I had predicted.
My heart skipped a beat and I felt complete and utter joy as I sat in the stands and watched a little girl who is particularly near and dear to my heart grab her ball glove and trot out to the field.
And I discovered that sometimes you can be fortunate enough to have a taste of both worlds.
And it truly is wonderful!
Treena Mielke is the editor of the Rimbey Review. She lives in Sylvan Lake.