Originally written for Click by Lavalife and revived here with a fresh coat of mosquito spray.
It’s four days into my summer in Winnipeg, and the weather is holding true to form: cool, grey, rainy, and windy. I should know better by now — come later in July or even August. I vaguely remember a sweet spot between mosquito apocalypse and heatstroke, but I never manage to hit it.
Still, there are some things I can always count on — like this annual exchange between my buddy Ed and my 75-year-old bachelor uncle Morley. Usually in my parents’ kitchen, it goes something like:
“Hi, Ed. Long time no see. So, when are you getting married?”
“Just as soon as you do, Morley.”
This year there was a slight variation:
“Hi, Ed. Long time no see. I hear you’re close to getting married.”
“Just as close as you are, Morley.”
Family Gossip & Hidden Horses
A reliable feature of these trips is catching up on family gossip. Like the cousin whose doctor husband left her: once the victim in the story, she’s now the villain. Turns out she’s not blameless — and she’s also been secretly keeping… horses. I’m not at liberty to say more.
On night one, I met up with Ed and another high school buddy, “Y.” Over dinner, Y told us about a girl he’s still hung up on — one who ghosted him long ago. He sent her a birthday present anyway. “Is that pathetic?” he asked. I’m no dating expert, but…
Backyard BBQs and Anniversary Banners
Saturday brought a backyard BBQ for my sister Corrall’s in-laws’ 40th wedding anniversary. That’s right: 40 years. My brother‑in‑law even had a 6‑ft banner made with their wedding photo beside a recent one — and damned if their smiles weren’t just as bright. Congrats, Larry and Janice. I couldn’t have done it. Also: does that mean you’ve only ever had sex with each other? Sorry, I had to ask.
A few years ago, Mom decided we needed a trailer. Actually, she bought one from her sister Vilma (nickname: Doll). Dad was “talked into it” (bullied is such a harsh word), and now we have a trailer in a park near Lake Winnipeg, just north of Gimli — aka “New Iceland” thanks to its Icelandic community.
A Sunday Drive to Gimli
So on Sunday, my uncle, dad, and I made the 90‑mile trek to Gimli. Mom greeted us with: “Take the garbage to the dump!” (She was annoyed that we stayed late at the party the night before while she’d already been working at the trailer.)
Big news that day: Cousin Darlene was bringing her new boyfriend. Owen turned out to be… well, a dud. Quiet, forgettable, and overpowered by Darlene, who did all the talking while we swatted mosquitos in the yard.
Reuniting with Old Friends
It was good seeing Dennis again after years. Still boyish, still the same smart‑alecky grin. Back in the day, we haunted Broadway’s — the kind of prairie nightclub with free peanuts and post‑punk bands — and Carlos & Murphy’s, the faux‑Mexican bar of our misspent youth.
Dennis now lives back in the city he swore he’d never return to, pulled in by maturity and sick relatives. Still married (15 years?) to Sandra, still child‑free. “There are twice as many people now as when we were born,” he said. “I don’t want to add to that.” Fair point.
Lunch with Mom and a Surprise Drum Lesson
Yesterday: lunch with Mom. Always risky. I heard another terrible family secret — something so bizarre and TV-movie-of-the-week-ish I can’t even repeat it. (Don’t worry, it doesn’t involve my immediate family. Thank Odin.)
Later, I ended up taking a drum lesson — thanks to my mother signing me up with my nephew’s instructor. “We’re not going to work any miracles here,” said Greg, the manic, shaven‑headed, very loud teacher. I think he meant it as a compliment?
Folk Festival Flashbacks
Ah, the Winnipeg Folk Festival. One of the city’s true institutions — right up there with the Guess Who, Monty Hall, and mosquitos. I missed last year’s, which was apparently the Year of the Pasties. Women (and maybe a few guys) were going topless with burlesque‑style nipple covers. By day four, it wasn’t just the young and brave — even the granola crowd was letting it all hang out. This year: no pasties. Banned. Or at least not officially sold.
My friend Linda was pouring beer in the beer tent, the only familiar face in a crowd of thousands. I was with my buddy E., freshly divorced and dancing like a madman. He’s become a kind of local legend, imitated by kids wearing butterfly antennae who joined him in what can only be described as a St. Vitus dance revival.
Small Triumphs and Singing Along
My niece Delaney (or Duh‑Laney, as I call her) finally agreed to make me lunch today — tuna salad with dill pickles. A personal triumph, since last visit she hid behind the nearest adult when I entered a room. Now we’re bonding over sandwiches. Growth.
Last night was special for another reason: The Weakerthans played the Folk Fest. Their song “I Hate Winnipeg” — equal parts gripe and love letter — brought the crowd together in a singalong that felt almost more moving than a field full of topless folkies.
Leaving Winnipeg with a Head Full of Noise
Back in Vancouver now, I realize I never really wrapped this up. My 10‑day summer in Winnipeg was part work, part family catch‑up, and part memory‑lane detour. As always, it left me thinking about the warmth of the hearth I left behind — and all the ways my life has unraveled since I crawled out of it.
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