I’m a lousy traveller. I under pack if I pack at all. However I found myself preparing to pack an item weeks before my departure date. A young Thai lad, my partner’s nephew, was 7500 miles away awaiting my arrival. I had a tip that a Lego set would be well received. I settled on a bush plane.

Upon arrival within moments Arshi grabbed my hand, a slender boy with an infectious smile, his positive energy making me feel less tired by the minute. This was the beginning of a timely friendship. In a strange world where I understood nothing I suddenly felt at ease. Perhaps one of the reasons was he seemed to learn English by the minute but I am inclined to think love transcends borders and languages and Arshi is filled with love for everyone. He and his wonderful sister Anya began to teach me a few Thai words:

Yindi khráp (my pleasure)

khàawp khun khráp (Thank you)

If you add a mâak (very) or two you can really express how welcome someone is. And so Yindi mâak mâak mâak khráp became our fun response to every Thank you. Whenever someone thanked me for something I would reply in this manner, followed by Poupae having to explain to them Arshi was my Thai instructor, seemingly explaining it somehow. Sorry you took the blame for my horrific Thai Arshi.

We went swimming in the heat, he learned to play chess in an hour, we had an epic game of Uno where he stretched his knuckles before hitting me with a plus 4 card, causing everyone to burst into pure laughter. We made paracord bracelets, one for him, his friend, Dad and an Aunt who travelled over 12 hours just to meet us. Perhaps my favorite was building Lego as we listened to Keith Whitley. Arshi seemed to like it. It was calming he said. I agree.

At a dozen amazing restaurants, Thailand really does have the best food, we tried to teach each other our language. The truth is we didn’t need it to communicate. Arshi radiates kindness, humour, excitement, intelligence, love and as his Grandfather best expressed, cunning.

I’ve said my goodbyes to Arshi. I told him I didn’t have the words to express how welcome and loved he made me feel as I experienced a world where everything was new leaving me very vulnerable. I told him he was the best friend a guy could ask for when travelling to the other side of this world.

I’m sitting in my room at Arshi’s house. It’s past midnight and the cab is coming in 2 hours to take me back to Canada. I have said my goodbyes to Arshi. We both might have shed a tear or two. We will once again be 7500 miles apart but he is in my heart now. If he ever comes to Canada I hope I can be half the welcoming host he was. Arshi is a bright light in this world.

Arshi, this one is for you. I figured I owed it to you to find more words. I will do my best to look after your Auntie Poupae till I see you again.

Khaap khun mâak mâak mâak khráp!!!

-Tris

Jason is my oldest brother. He is the most loyal Cottier. He takes his role of oldest sibling seriously and never lets any of us go through a struggle alone. As I write this I wonder if we have done the same for him. I don’t think so.

My earliest memories of Jason are sleeping in his bed. I must’ve been 3 or 4. I felt safe in my oldest brothers room. I remember sitting in their rooms as they pledged their belongings to me after a recent family feud resulting in their eviction. They had to pack light. I couldn’t wait till they were gone so I could have their stuff. I guess I never asked myself who would make me feel safe once they were gone. As always things calmed and they stayed, unfortunately.

Jason would take me around with him at the ages of 6 and 7 collecting bottles from the drunks in downtown Red Deer. They didn’t seem like drunks, they seemed like our friends. We didn’t have a lot of money. My neighbour had a beautiful bike that had shocks and fenders that looked like a dirt bike, so Jason cashed in bottle money to buy me bike forks with shocks on them and built me a bike out of an old frame that wasn’t quite as cool as my friends but pretty close. My friend and I would jump those bikes as high as we could get them. No helmets, no pads. I can feel the impact of the concrete, cut shins and gasping for breath after being winded to this day. It was amazing, I’m glad I lived in that era. Together with my friend and younger brothers we owned the bike paths of the river valley near downtown.

As our lives changed my connection with Jason changed. I think I started spending more time with my two younger brothers. Our family started a new life. I watched as he took the brunt of the blowback stemming from kids that didn’t know how to be Mennonite. Twisted Sister blared from his bedroom on an illicit radio when parents were gone. The rebellion was glorious, we all lived it while he paid for it. I still remember my parents trying to tell an older Mennonite pastor what Twisted Sister was. Makes me smile. Jason wood burned a TC into my pellet gun stock that looked just like the Twisted Sister logo.

In my late teens I’d accompany Jason to meet with friends. Everyone loved Jason. He was himself. He didn’t try to be someone he wasn’t. My favorite trips were late night drives to Red Deer to catch a movie. One night we watched Jeff Bridges in Blown Away and snuck into the very first Toy Story. Jason loves a deal. I had lunch with him a few days ago and he enjoyed Dairy Queen’s meal deal. “Good value.” he said.

He’s been a furniture maker, bought and started a new furniture company, EMT, Firefighter, Real Estate agent, Framer, and now a Red Seal Mason. He is and was excellent at them all. He’s a skilled scuba diver and mechanic. Within an hour of finishing my Open Water course he navigated me and my brothers down 100 feet to see a wreck. As always, I felt safe because I was with him. Despite all those things I know what he is most proud of is his family. He loves his wife very much. He adores his three children and constantly serves them.

It’s no secret I am Christian. Not a great one but trying. Lately the prayer Jesus taught his disciples to say has been on my mind. I feel it’s really the only prayer I need to know. It once again brought back memories. In Red Deer, the family feeling like it was about to fall apart yet again. Jason would let me in to his room and he taught me to pray…..

“Our Father, who art in Heaven, Hallowed be thy name…..”

I’m lucky to have a brother that taught me to reach out to my Heavenly Father. I know they both will be there for me when I need them. My prayer is that he still says that prayer as he rides the storm of his life. I think he does. He just doesn’t feel a need to tell the world. I think Him and God are working things out. He knew God long before he knew Mennonites. I know. He introduced me to Him.

If you read this far, thank you very much.

Tris.

They say as you age time speeds up. My father explained our sense of time is relative to how old we are. If you are 4, a year represents 25% of your life. It feels long. When you are 50, a year is 2%. It feels like a moment.

Makes perfect sense. Yet this summer was a lifetime in a season. Started full of hope, dreams of camping, fishing, fires, motorcycle rides and trips to far away places in the ole musketeer. A partner who loved me and was loved. There was also a promise of joy.

Robert Burns explains to the rodent:

“But Mousie, thou art no thy-lane, (not alone)

In proving foresight may be vain:

The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men

          Gang aft agley, (go oft awry)

An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,

          For promis’d joy!”

Plans went awry. My family was hit hard with grief and pain. Guilt and regret, my old dance partners came calling. We are hanging out again although I now know they will destroy me if we move in together.

For promised joy. Burns is saying we get grief and pain where we once expected joy, but for me the grief and pain were a prequel to a promised joy. The joy came! An expected child arrived on the last day of summer.

Burns tells the mouse it has it better than man. The mouse deals with things in the present while man understands doom is ahead. Anxiety expressed in the 18th century. What Burns does not tell the mouse is we have beautiful promises to look forward too as well.

We lost one of our own. But we will get to see him again one day. I ask for a picture of my son’s daughter every day. I am building a lifetime picture album. Every night I watch it to music. I think about how it felt to hold her. It helps heal the grief and pain. It brings me joy.

Thank you God for promises of joy during this crazy journey you put us on.

If you read this far, thank you.

Tris

It’s painful to know the truth. It is painful to see the light, and want to share it, knowing that the very fact it’s you that’s sharing it makes it less credible.

You learned the truth because you were less, worse, more flawed. You saw the light because it was a life preserver thrown to you where others swam easily. Grace was offered you because you needed it more than most. The realness of it so certain because of your own weakness.

Now you share it with those you love. You see the doubt in their eyes because it’s you sharing it. They think it’s because you want your way, not understanding it’s the very last thing you chose.

You were first to the pit, so grace was extended to you. Why would anyone listen? I would not have. It’s why I ended up where I did.

If you read this far, thank you.

Tris

We have all chased it. That glinting thing that caught our eye that deep down we knew would leave us hollow.

Perhaps a time you left a movie night with your mum early, to go be with friends. Friends that would fade away in time but the lost moment with someone you dearly loved and lost would burn forever.

Maybe it was years spent trying to make clients happy, or get ahead, at the expense of time and memories with your family.

Could have been a night out drinking, while a young family waited to spend time with you.

Possibly years spent chasing a woman that may or may not have loved you, but certainly not as you were. Deep down you always knew you were not what she wanted, no matter how much you wanted her.

Could be seeking strangers approval while taking the never ending loyalty of family for granted.

Were you caring about stupid and trivial grievances with a sibling rather than remember all the times they had your back?

How do we get it so wrong? How can we be so stupid. Correction. How did I get it so wrong? Why was I so stupid? what was missing inside me that made me look in all the wrong places to feel something? Speaking for myself, I know the answer. I refused to ask God to guide my life. I still struggle with this. The things that can fill you are closest to you. Embrace them. Love them, give to them. Ask them to forgive you. Look up and do all those things to the One who never stopped loving you, no matter how many times you chased fool’s gold.

A passage was read at church this past Sunday. I think it’s a heavenly precious metal detector:

 “Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things”.

Boy does this fool ever have room for improvement.

If you read this far, thank you.

Tris.

Caleb. My youngest brother. I think Caleb is the most misunderstood man I know. His razor sharp intellect is only outmatched by the size of his heart.

One thing I have learned writing about my family is there is a common thread. Generosity. Our Father taught us to live Mathew 5:42:

Give to him who asks you, and from him who wants to borrow from you do not turn away.

Caleb lives this. I cannot add up all the people I have watched Caleb help. He Gives. Gives. Gives.

Whether it’s giving me his allowance to double mine to get the socket set I wanted, to giving our aging father a home when no one else would. Including me.

God blessed Caleb’s generosity with 2 amazing children. A son as smart as his father, and a daughter that has completely captured his heart. There is nothing Caleb will not do for his kids, no pain too much to endure, no cost to high, no obstacle thrown in his way he can’t overcome.

Caleb is hilarious. He makes me laugh every day. We have had a couple heated moments over the years, but most of my memories with him are joyful.

Two brothers, 4 years apart working together in an oak shop owned by their older brother. A familiar song comes over the radio igniting the inner rock star inside them, both jump on the table, grab sticks for guitars, and perform back to back for imaginary thousands.

The spirit to perform is still there, even though the goal has changed. We now dream of performing for a few people at a Karaoke night. We we want to do the 9 min version of Bat Out Of Hell by Meat Loaf. We will be out of tune, awful, and will not realize our dream till people start tossing drinks at us. It may never happen but discussing it monthly for decades brings us joy.

Caleb helps me when I need to sound intelligent. When we felt our son needed to jump up a grade, Caleb wrote out a paper that the school board could not refute, backed by facts and crystal clear logic. Seeing my son work hard through years of University makes me realize he will finish one year earlier, thanks in no small part to Caleb.

When I was upset coaches and local hockey were facilitating and somewhat encouraging drinking, Caleb once again put his time and effort into summarizing the disastrous affects alcohol has on a 14 year old brain. He was likely sipping a beer as he wrote it…

That’s Caleb. A checkered Angel. Behind the drink, the cigarette, the sharp remark, is my brother and friend. Recently I messaged him. I mentioned his intellect, and how it was superior to mine. His reply?

“I do not know a Cottier that is not exemplary”.

My teachers and grades would suggest otherwise. But I will say this. As a guy who left school early for the trades, it was always Caleb who would reach out and make me feel like I was enough. When someone like Caleb says you are not too bad, you feel 10 feet tall.

If you read this far, thank you.

-Tris

The man was 30 going on 60. Tired, unhappy, angry. He could not remember the last time he felt ok. If you were to ask him today about those years he would tell you he was in a heavy dark fog.

He lived in a small apartment on the 3rd floor of a building with no air conditioning. On a night like this, with the heat, it was unbearable.

On this night, as he walked in the door the one thing that made everything make sense was waiting for him. His almost 3 year old son. He was a brilliant young boy, spoke fluently, built things, shot pucks, and kept the lights on for his struggling young parents.

A month before the man insisted on buying the best tricycle available for his son. He had worked in a bike shop as a teen, and knew where to acquire it. That night the man and his son made a plan. A long distance trek, in actuality maybe only about half a mile, was planned. For a young child who could barely reach the pedals on his trike, this was an odyssey.

The two set off. They were patient with each other as they navigated out of the parking lot. By the time they crested the hill halfway to the destination the man’s anger was gone. The depression was gone. There was only innocent questions, jaded answers, and laughter. The second half of the trip was downhill and the man can still tell you every detail of his son’s face as he coasted down the hill. Light brown hair waving in the wind, wide smile, sparkling bright blue eyes, cheeks dimpled, fearlessly laughing with abandon.

The man was happy. Purely, truly, completely happy. He was exactly where he was meant to be.

The destination was Wendys. The reward was a frosty. But the gift was a memory that sustains the now older man. It fills up his heart as much today as it did that muggy summer night.

If you read this far, thank you.

Tris.

.

For a lot of my life I was depressed. Surrounded with people I loved but mired in fog. I was in pain. I felt like I did not belong anywhere, that I was not enough. I now know we can all feel this way. Understanding this helps me love those I used to despise.

Since, I have figured a few things out. The most important thing was believing God loved me. So hard to accept. I had broken every vow I had made, made all the big mistakes. How could the creator of every great thing love me? but accept it I did. Everything changed. Wounds I thought would never heal scarred over. The marks are there but the pain is gone. Mostly.

One of the beautiful things in life is as you journey along you sometimes are given moments to relive:

Sitting in Church with my Dad a few weeks ago the congregation began to sing. My Dad was following the lyrics with his finger as he belted them out. It was not polished but it was authentic. It took me back in time, I was 10 years old again, sitting beside my dad as he sang, I was happy.

I feel a lot of love. I feel. Maybe thats the biggest thing. I am here and I am happy. When I see people my age dying, I feel guilty it is not me. Did I not wish for it? Why them? Why not me? Only God knows.

Jesus says in John 10:10,

“The thief cometh not but to steal and to kill and to destroy. I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly.”

Thank you Jesus for my life. If it is ok with you, I’d like to stay a while. Heaven can wait. Tell mum I love her. Tell her I am happy and reading the Book she gave me. Your Book.

If you read this far, thank you.

Tris

Esme is just above me in the birth order of our family. Esme is artistic, beautiful, hard working and often the one who holds things together for her family and ours.

I remember well the thrill of the crime as I would sneak in her room and play her treasured Donkey Kong game.

One of my fondest memories is taking turns bouncing a ball against a wall for hours as she recounted a book she was reading at school.

As we both learned to drive our relationship took a turn for the worse. We seldom made it a mile together without one or the other exiting the vehicle and walking home.

Esme is an artist, whether it is a paint brush or a garden tool in her hand something beautiful is left behind.

Speaking of beautiful things Esme’s greatest art is her children. It would be impossible to describe the effort and sacrifice she has made for them. The effort was not in vain. A new generation of beautiful, artistic and successful women have emerged, along with an awesome young man who is framing homes.

Twice in the last 6 months Esme has helped me out when I needed it most without me saying a word. Watching her “get things done” both times took me back to when my mum would help me clean my room, get my life organized or just simply lift my spirits with an encouraging comment.

Thank you Esme for reminding me of her. She would be so happy you helped her son, your brother. Especially a brother who though younger was always a superior driver. As I write that I laugh. It is not true. I drive like the old man that I am now, holding up traffic with a blinker on. Esme drives fast. Because if she hurries, she may just get a few hours sleep before she starts working again.

Proud to be her brother.

If you read this far, thank you.

Tris

I love old things. Houses built as the century turned and the windows that characterize them have captured my attention for a long time. There is something about a vertical hung sash with single paned lites that feels like a window to a time gone by.

As I drive past falling down homesteads the dormers on the steep pitched roofs bring light to attic rooms and my world. I have taught myself to build all these things. It was not the best or most profitable use of my time but I have no regrets.

On my table I have a compass from WW2. I have an small canvas bag from the same conflict. Both are probably surplus items, but its not impossible a young soldier found his way with one and another carried a message with the other. In my utensil drawer I have an antique potato peeler. Every time I use it I imagine a mother in a tiny farmhouse preparing a meal on a woodstove for those she loved.

The small town museums I love and frequent are dying now. The volunteers themselves are a dying generation. Most can barely get enough donations to keep the heat on. It makes me sad. The generation that built everything we enjoy felt it important to preserve these items. We seem uninterested in preserving their legacy as we live off it.

I recently watched an old man order a beer at a restaurant, as the server went over all the craft beers with him he kept shaking his head no. He waived his hand in resignation and slowly walked away. He did not know how to choose between 10 artisan beers with names he did not understand, and he had no interest in learning.

I saw an elderly lady sitting alone in a restaurant. She was wearing a cotton dress and bright red lipstick. I saw her, I saw her now and I saw her as a young woman. She was gorgeous then and now. She was a stark contrast to the young couple beside her in clashing pyjama bottoms and hoodies.

My young dog is turning old in front of my eyes. It is breaking and swelling my heart at the same time. I have promised him a month at the river this year. We were supposed to live there together. I may not get there in time. He deserves a season there. I am terrified to lose him.

The Bible says:

”There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot,“
‭‭Ecclesiastes‬ ‭3‬:‭1‬-‭2‬ ‭NIV‬‬

As I age things I love are disappearing. When I see old things it feels like they are stopping by to bid us farewell. I struggle with goodbyes of any kind. I guess that it why I love old things.

If you read this far, thank you.

Tris.