Our Way Home opened Thursday morning, July 6, with a workshop that was designed to foster dialogue between Vietnam veterans and Vietnam war resisters. I had another commitment on Thursday and couldn't go, unfortunately. I understand it was very healing for many of the participants. I did go the movie Thursday night in Nelson, when Sir! No! Sir! played at the Capitol Theatre. I'd just seen Escape to Canada, and this movie was an effective counterpoint. It was the perfect introduction to the rest of the weekend.
I joined the conference Friday at lunch, served downstairs at Cultural Centre. Lunch was a colourful variety of salads, whole wheat rolls, a variety pack of squares, plus juice and tea or coffee. Lunch was prepared by the Doukhabor ladies who are always cooking something at the Brilliant Cultural Centre.
The last time I was there was for Polly-from-next-door's funeral. It was November 19, easy to remember because that's the anniversary of when Ted crashed the plane and subsequently lost his leg. We entered the main room at the Centre, and the pew-like benches were set up perpendicular to the stage, in two rows with an aisle in between, men on the left, women on the right. One of the women who was sitting in the midde of the pew beckoned me over and patted the seat beside her, for which I shall be forever grateful. The men were singing in Russian, their powerful voices reverberating off the walls and through the room.
Dan and Judie came to Polly's funeral too, because when Judie and Ted moved to the property in Ootischenia back in the seventie's, one of the things that came with it were their next-door neighbours, Mike and Polly. Keepers of the land, they helped the young couple from the city by explaining how things were (Mike) and doling out the occasional jar of borsch (Polly).
I wasn't around yet when they were living next door. I only met Polly when she was living in a Baba house in Naramata, in the mid-nineties, and then again when she moved back to Castlegar and was living at Talarico Place, getting the regular nursing care and assistance she now needed. She used to call Ted every so often, wanting him to come visit. Once she asked him to bring his camera and when we got there she was wearing her beautiful platok (shawl, like that worn by the women in the Doukhabor Women's Choir on Sunday), one with flowers embroidered on it, and she wanted Ted to take her picture wearing it.
The woman I was sitting beside whispered that people were going up to pay their respect to Polly and her family, so away I went. When I got to the first person whose hand I was going to shake, I introduced myself by saying, "I'm Linda Crosfield, Ted's wife," not knowing that only minutes before, in order to simplify things when introducing herself, Judie had said, "I'm Judie Crosfield, Ted's wife." We got a good chuckle out of that later on, when we were all eating the funeral borsch downstairs.
Which segues nicely back to lunch at the Our Way Home reunion as prepared by the ladies, after which we went upstairs and listened to a panel, "Social Activist Leaders Responding In a Time of Crisis," moderated by Seth Klein, BC Director of the Canadian Centre for Policy Alternatives, with panelists Tom Hayden, Rabbi Michael Lerner, Brewster Kneen, and his articulate wife, Kathleen. Svend Robinson had to cancel at the last moment.
Here are some pictures from the weekend.
Keith Mather, of Veterans for Peace, who was a facilitator in a writing workshop, Tom Little, a peace worker and a friend of mine, and me. |
Arun Gandhi |
George McGovern |
For more information on the reunion:
It was an amazing weekend and I'm so glad I had the opportunity to be there.
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1 comment:
Absolutely amazing report. What an experience you and Ted must have had. Thanks for sharing it!
Stu
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