Clouds and Rhinos

Thinking back to 1987, when my first wife Michelle and I lived in a neighbourhood called Sunnyside, along the Bow River just across from downtown Calgary.  We used to go on walks along the river, often in the evening.  I remember there was a bench we'd sometimes sit on the faced west, where we could rest and watch the sunset above the river as it flowed by.

One such evening in the summer, Michelle commented on the prettiness of the pink sky, and how sweet it looked above the trees.  Being 23 and terribly wry and cynical, I made some joke about the purplishness of her language being worse that the pink sky, and as was her want — she was a small girl, ten inches shorter than me and just half my weight — she lowered her head and butted me as hard as she could in my shoulder.

I'd felt that many times, so I just laughed and replied, "So it goes.  I married a rhino, and the clouds were pink."

She laughed, and I laughed, and I suggested that would be a good title for an autobiography someday.  The moment stayed in my head, though ... and some two years later, after our daughter was born, I was in some toy store looking for stuffed animals when I found a pink rhinocerous.  I bought it immediately and gave it to Michelle as a present.  She loved it, and it sat on her bedside table for years.  I'm sorry to say I don't know where it is today.

Michelle passed away quite some time ago ... but our daughter today has a 3-year-old grandson, who takes great delight in slamming his head at every victim within reach.  It just a coincidence, obviously, but of course I can't forget a small, ordinary set of events that took place a very, very long time ago.