Grey is the colour

After Lunch
Idylwyld Inn, London, Ont.
October 3, 2010

Grey is the colour of the pillars on the porch of the Idylwyld Inn; also the colour of the porch floor and the colour of both the hair and the suit of the man sitting on his walker surrounded by family, all of whom just came from the hotel dining room and now stand silently staring at him while he stares at grey porch floor and then someone says "Oh, you brought the Volvo," and, after a lull, someone else says, "Well, this sure is a nice spot," then another lull and the grey man on the walker looks to his left and here comes the Volvo and everyone is suddenly animated with goodbyes -- "Goodbye dad... bye, bye, take care of yourself," and there are hugs and the relief is palpable as dad is put into the Volvo and the sons and daughters and spouses become awkwardly chatty with each other as they take turns reaching in to pat dad on the shoulder one last time, then someone closes dad's door -- Bye dad! they all shout, all smiles now while dad sits alone, hermetically sealed in the unmoving car and the family shuffle on the pavement in silence and then one mutters to another about what kind of hydrangea this is growing in front of the porch and a few others quickly express their own muttered bemusement about the shrub until the driver starts the car and it begins its escape around the circular driveway and onto the street and the family, their backs already turned, search for their own car keys -- no one sees dad's face looking out the window as he's driven away in the Volvo, they barely say goodbye to one another in their haste to their separate (grey) cars, all long exhalations, shoulders dropping as doors unlock, slam shut, engines start; no one waves as one by one they also escape.

Not that it matters, but the hydrangea is 'Annabelle'.