It's that time of year when you have the opportunity to re-connect with
friends you may not have seen in many years. You dash off a happy note with
your card mentioning something you may have shared years ago, suddenly
forgetting the relentless march of time - as though you were magically
transported back and nothing has changed.
And then the return card comes, with the unfamiliar handwriting and the
return address that, although familiar, is not quite right. That happened last
night.
So why am I sharing this?
Because a
friend, a dear friend of my parents, is gone. But the loss is significant here because
this person sparked my fascination with lettering.
Oh, so long ago.
I guess I was 10 years old.
We’d
moved to Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan and as we looked out the back window of our
new house to the neighbour’s, we saw the largest cage we had *ever* seen.
It never took my mother long to solve a
puzzle.
That was how we met John
Stolarski and his family.
John was an
RCMP Dogmaster.
And he loved Italic
lettering.
He shared nibs and ink with
me and an instruction book that I cannot remember the name of. He took my
parents to an RCMP Ball in Regina. He took me out on the bald prairie one
weekend, asked for my scarf and told me to go hide.
Then he laughed at my saucer-eyed expression when
his huge German Shepherd suddenly found my scent and came roaring over a little
rise towards me.
And when we had our
first son many years later, he and Mildred brought the gift of a wonderful
stuffed bunny with bendy ears.
I
remember sitting beside John watching him give that bunny life and character by
rearranging his ears, chuckling the whole time. "Mr. B" still sits on the shelf behind my chair. His ears are pretty worn out now, though!
John passed away a few weeks ago and it feels like I’ve lost my parents all
over again.
Our paths weave in and out and lives tangle and stray and often come back
together.
I haven’t seen the Stolarskis
in years.
But the memories are still
vivid and never forgotten.
John never stopped addressing Christmas cards in his jet black, strong
Italic hand.
Watch for the next black
cloud in the sky.
Perhaps John has
spilled his bottle of ink.
My deepest sympathy to Mildred and Shawnee for their loss. And my apologies to John that this quote, lettered many years ago, isn't even Italic!
