In the early 90s a new family moved into the house by the bridge.
Maggi and I were living along the road and we were pleased to greet our new neighbours, Peter, a pregnant Sue [Holly was in the oven] and the toddler Emily.
During the intervening years from then until now, Holly was born, we discovered that there were other siblings, Lance and Sandie, brothers Shawn and Jim, sister's Linda and Oona and of course the extended family.
It was a little like 'Dynasty' "The Boulet Dynasty".
Emily and Holly grew up and showed up with Peter and Sue every year to sell Brownie and Girl Guide cookies and when Maggi and I went on vacation we could always rely on them to come down twice a day to feed our cats.
They were good neighbours and I am honoured to say that Peter became a very close and dear friend.
For the most part when times were busier our friendship was mostly "a toot" on the horn of our car and a broad sweeping wave of the arm as we sped by on the road and Peter waved back from the porch.
But… times change, kids grow up and move away to start their own careers and families.
The one constant was that Peter remained at this house by the water, at the confluence [if you can call it that] of the Rigaud River and Cat Creek.
I loved dropping by for a chat, a beer and a laugh with Peter.
Exchanging stories and updates on our children, reminiscing on our respective family histories, solving the world's problems, and…
righting the wrongs in the world of sports, everything from darts to hockey, tennis to baseball, soccer to Grand Prix Racing.
It didn't matter what we were talking about or how serious our conversations got they always ended with a good laugh about something or other.
Peter had a very special acerbic humour, even if at times he made himself the subject of his own jokes. He could laugh at himself and see the irony in life.
More recently with his health in decline we texted a great deal, not even a month ago on the day of the semi final between Germany and France in the Euros, I texted
"Hey Pete, who do you fancy to win today?"
He texted back…
"I want them both to lose!"
I thought that was one of the funniest texts I had ever received.
He was passionate about his likes and dislikes in sports…
Loved Lewis Hamilton…
Hated Niko Rosberg "a spoiled brat !"
and Ronaldo was a "Big baby, a mama's boy"
Besides Peter's dry wit, for me, above all he was a dignified man, a peaceful man.
Refined. Temperate. Honest and Sincere. There was something refreshingly old fashioned about him… and he was brave and uncomplaining.
He loved his family.
He loved his friends and… he loved Phoebe.
He loved standing at the kitchen window and watching the otters on the river or a blue heron deftly stalking a fish or frog.
He was very much at peace in his home and now he is very much at peace in the next, where, I am sure, he will have good company and good laughs.
I will watch the Hungarian Grand Prix tomorrow, I will cheer for Lewis Hamilton and I will boo Niko Rosberg in memory of Peter and …
…so long as I pass this house in my van I will 'toot' the horn and wave to Peter,
because I know that he will be smiling and waving back.
