I’m ashamed to admit that last week’s Remembrance Day service at the Winnipeg South Osborne branch of the Royal Canadian Legion was the first I had been to since high school.
There I had proudly buzzed the Last Post and The Rouse on my trumpet. Now my trumpet has collected dust and I’ve forgotten the tune.
Our recent Remembrance Day assignment in Journalism class (I’m in CreComm, remember) made me realize how selfish I’d been for the past few years. Thanks, Duncan!
Also, Melissa Martin, a talented and spunky writer for the Winnipeg Free Press spoke at school today about immortalizing experiences through journalism. Those words rang especially true after recently completing the assignment, which included a profile of someone affected by armed conflict. I can only hope that I was able to responsibly capture their story.
The other part of our assignment was to write about our experience at the ceremony.
Here’s mine:
A small boy wriggled in his metal chair. He stretched his neck to see over the puffy white hairdos of the women in front of him. He pulled the hood of his camouflage-pattern winter coat over his face and tugged at his mother’s sleeve. She calmly placed one hand on his leg.
The boy was one of the few children who had come to the Winnipeg South Osborne branch of the Royal Canadian Legion to pay their respects on Remembrance Day. According to the legion’s first vice-president, Maureen Dunlop, about 250 people attended the service, a similar number to previous years.
“Of course, it would be nice to see more young people out,” she said.
The boy continued to shake. He curled into his seat and tried to press the crown of his head through a space in the back of the seat. During Last Post he mimed a trumpet, squishing his lips into the invisible mouthpiece.
When O Canada crackled through the dusty speakers, a woman behind the boy began to sing. Her shrill voice rose above the quiet recording. She stretched each line of the anthem longer than the recording, often sounding the words moments after the rest of the crowd.
The boy turned around to watch her. Her blue blouse hung loosely on her thin frame. Her dark glasses were framed by wisps of white hair.
The boy’s mother grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back to facing front. The woman continued to sing above the music.
After the boy had wiggled along to a recorded recitation of In Flanders Fields by Lt.-Col. John McCrae, a big-band arrangement of Amazing Grace played through the speakers and the boy turned to watch the woman sing again. His mom’s hand returned to his shoulder but he continued to watch.
His bottom eyelids were puffy and red. He turned toward his mother and nestled against her side. He sat still for a few moments after the song, but was soon pulling the hood of his camouflage-pattern winter coat over his face and wriggling in his seat.
– – –
After the service, Eva Wasney, Kyle Goldstine, and I visited the Oakwood Cafe on Osborne for a late breakfast or lunch. Or brunch. Or lunkfast.
Here’s what I had at the Oakwood Cafe:
Denver: Two eggs, diced ham, green onions, mixed bell peppers and cheddar cheese on your choice of Texas style toast. $10.99
Impressions: The toast was done right – actually toasted, not floppy – but had a little too much butter for my taste. The egg was fluffy and stuffed with ham and onions. The cheese was tasty but I couldn’t help but notice the melted cheese had already cooled and solidified by the time the sandwich reached my table. Adding the bell peppers to the traditional ham and onion of the Denver added a satisfying crunch.
The Oakwood itself was small and classy. While it was busy (Monday morning on a long weekend) we were greeted politely and seated quickly.
What made it? Unfortunately, the sweet potato fries. This sandwich was great, but didn’t stand out in the sea of Denvers. Perhaps that’s why it’s not one of the 5 sandwiches highlighted as the Oakwood’s specialty. The fries were spectacular, however.
Power Goes Out (to eat) 