REMEMBERING THE STORYTELLER: RIP GARRY SCALE

They could come from anywhere. At any time

They could come as you sat in one of those big recliners, with snow slapping against the big picture window, a beer in your hand or a coffee in your hand or an ice cream.

They could come in the cab of the truck or the minivan. In a restaurant or a bar. At a kitchen table over dinner. At a dining room table with your family all around.

You could expect them, you could ask for them but often they could come at you anawares. Unasked but always welcome. The stories. Garry's stories

True stories sometimes. Stories about his life, about the Lodge, about the people he'd met, the places he'd been. Stories that informed

Stories about why, during winter, when driving an Acadian you shouldn't take the hills on Lodge road too fast or you'd lose your catalytic converter. And why you didn't really need the thing in the first place. Stories that educated

Stories about my partner, his sister, stories from Collette's childhood, a bit embarrassing but equally informative, educational, but mostly funny

Then there were the stories that were, well, stories. Those ones you had be on the watch for. You had to be alert. They were sneaky, these stories that were stories. They were like ninjas

They would begin like any other story Garry would tell you. There would be logic to it, there may be some element of past experiences, there would be familiar names, all designed to lure you in.

There were traps here, my friends, cunningly laid by an expert. The deadpan delivery, the sincere hand gestures, just enough detail to make it all seem plausible. But of course it wasn't. It was all a set up. For another kind of story. The kind of story that you became a part of, because if you weren't paying attention, suddenly the point of the story would be you. And your total gullibility.

At the end of the story, whenI realized you've just been taken for a ride I'd ask Garry if that was true and he'd look me right in the eye and say "Oh yeah" And it would be there, that glint in his eye and even if the story just made me look like another citiot I'd have to laugh He'd got another one over on me and I was quite happy with that

Because it was all in fun, it was all part of who Garry was and he wouldn't have done it if he suspected that I couldn't handle it.

When the storytellers pass they never really leave us. They will always be there. "You remember when Garry told us about that" "There was that time Garry set me up, man he was good" "Yeh, I heard that story from Garry before"

He's always going to be there, in the stories, in the sense of fun, in that glint in his eye

So thank you Garry. Thanks for teaching me, for informing me, for helping me, for entertaining me. And yes, thanks for busting my balls.

I'll miss you