It took the walls away
into nostalgia and memory
recalling the many phases
of our lives.
Parents, grandparents,
aunts and uncles
long vanished into the ether
came alive once more;
school days of teachers and games
with school yard friends and foes.
They echo all around adding
a light patina of richness
to these walls and I am grateful.
“Patina is the value that age puts on an object.”
~ John Yemma, journalist and editor
This is a moment when
memories tug at my heart
begging me to tell their stories.
Stories of the first day
trying to ride a bicycle,
of all dressed up for
the first day of school,
of the brick wall of that
school where we bounced
rubber balls with white, blue and red
raced each other on
a sliver filled teeter totter
Skipping ropes - Double Dutch so much fun!
Hop Scotch on the sidewalk at recess
Swinging on seat polished swings
Each of these moments
of fun tucked away in my
heart for a moment for story.
“As long as there are memories, yesterday remains.”
~ Billy Joel
When age comes upon us
as more than a number,
when our youth has passed,
our adulting years,
when we come to the years
when we were supposed to
become wise we find that
wisdom is nothing more than
lessons from
the School of Hard Knocks
through the years that have
slipped by and through us.
“If you can learn from hard knocks, you can also learn from soft touches.”
~ Carolyn Kenmore, from Daily Peace,
National Geographic Society, 2015
The old school yard beckoned.
I’ve walked that street many times
but never saw the place
where my feet would take me.
A woman sat at one
of the picnic tables reading
On the far side of the school yard,
children played on the swings
Hand in hand, a couple walked in with their dogs.
The old school yard beckoned.
“When a thing beckons you to explore it without
telling you why or how, this is not a red herring; it’s a map.”
~ Gina Greenlee, Postcards and Pearls:
Life Lessons from Solo Moments on the Road
The line-up spilled out of the old brick building onto the sidewalk. A lovely autumn day, sun shining, a light breeze and patience seemed to be in force. Edging slowly to the front doors of the school house, casual conversations and old friends sprouted from time to time. Once past the front doors, up the ancient stairs, I was astounded! The line-up was not only long, but had snaked around, in at least four rows in front of the auditorium. Still everyone was calm and patient. Gave us a chance to look at the beautiful old architecture that had been restored and honoured. Oak banisters and moldings, high, high ceilings, old photos of children in the gymnasium and class photos from a couple of decades ago - or more - when teachers were still in suits and ties. Today, classes were in and, seeing kids in the halls, I wondered if we made a good impression about elections and voting. Our long snaky lineup was all ages, smooth skinned young people, middle aged, young adults, and a fair amount of gray headed folks.
In the last month, I voted in a few elections. In the last many years, I have voted in many, many more. I have not ever been in such a long lineup: 45 minutes! And when I left, the line had spilled out onto the public sidewalk and was half way down the block. Was this an anomaly or an indicator that this group of voters were serious about this municipal election
“Sometimes the wheel turns slowly, but it turns,”
~ Lorne Michaels
“Charlie, ask me one question at a time. That ‘brown thing’ is an old bird house. Now what bird would even want that old thing. I suppose somebody just didn’t want to throw it away. There’s enough trash as it is. I suppose it’s not hurting anyone hanging there. Just doesn’t make sense. And the eye appointment isn’t til next month. You’ll probably have to get new glasses and you’ll have to get rid of the old ones.”
“I’ll take ‘em down to the senior’s centre. You told me they recycle them - give ‘em to others that need glasses and can’t afford them. Too bad that old bird house can’t be recycled the same way.” Arm in arm, the elderly couple continued their evening walk. Myrtle stopped suddenly and pulled on her husband’s arm. “Why can’t it? Little Robbie has a school project about recycling!” Their grandson was always with his grandparents after school til one of his parents got home from work. “Grandma, teacher gave us a project today. We have to recycle something and then write a paragraph about it. We can find something in our house, in nature or in the school.” He had looked pretty dejected about the whole thing. “Looked like he’d lost his last friend. Let’s see if we can get that old bird house for him. If he doesn’t want it, well, maybe you can fix it up, Charlie”
Robbie’s grandparents did indeed get the birdhouse for him. The owners were more than happy to get rid of it. “We were just going to throw it in the trash. That fence has to come down. I don’t even remember where it came from, or why it’s hanging on the fence. If your grandson can revive it and use it in his school project, then it’s in good hands.”
Over the next few months, Robbie took it apart, put it back together again with new nails, and gave it a fresh coat of bird friendly paint. His paragraph told the story of how he got the birdhouse, that it was about to be thrown away, and that he would hang it in the tree in his front yard. There were little mistakes - Robbie wasn’t the best at describing things ~ but he did get a B+. Fixing up the bird house had been fun!
“There is no such thing as “away”. When we
throw anything away it must go somewhere.”
~ Annie Leonard
Awakened
Roving through a meadow full of grasses and daisies, I stopped, looked and listened. Walking deeper into the meadow, a lake appeared. “It’s a jewel! Like the awesome pendant Ricky gave me last night.” Red-winged blackbirds called to each other. Long legged waterbirds stalked the mud at waters edge. Soft winds rustled thick green bullrushes protecting deep water life. It was early spring before bulky brown seed heads appeared. “Cattails, I think.”
School had taught Shandra about the environment, but a city girl, she had really never experienced anything like this. She’d been to the beach, collected pretty pebbles and walked barefoot on the sand. But that was just fun. Their assignment for their weekend was to not just go to the beach, but walk out in the meadow behind the school. The land that hadn’t been absorbed into the city yet. She took a deep breath of the humid, cool air. It was different? Is it the wet mud smell? Different than wet beach sand. Shandra hugged herself and rubbed her bare arms. “Will the city really destroy all this?” At the beach, she and her friends played volleyball, laughed and loved the sun and water. Here in this meadow she felt like she had intruded, but that she belonged.
“Look deep into nature, and then you will understand everything better.”
~ Albert Einstein
“No, Cook. It’s just me, Brigitte.” Tall, green eyed and lovely, she ordinarily burst through the back door, whipped off her helmet and looked for something sweet to eat. Today, her voice was quiet and strained. Even her motorcycle seemed to be quieter.
“Brigitte! I didn’t hear you drive up on that motorcycle of yours. How lovely to see you. Where have you been? Come, the coffee’s just finished dripping and I was just about to set down with my tea. Have you had breakfast? Miss Em will be down in a few minutes.” While she talked, she had set places for Brigitte and Miss Em. Brigitte had little to do but pour herself some coffee and stay out of Cook’s way. She wasn’t feeling very sociable but she loved Cook. What she had to discuss with Miss Em had coloured her mood. Her sleep had been off for the last week. Maybe it would be good to sit with Cook before she talked with her boss. She didn’t know she was coming so having breakfast together may be a good way to start.
~~~~~
When Emelina read Brigitte’s email, she knew that something was up. It was short and terse, asking only for a meeting. She didn’t say she was coming in to work, just wanted a meeting. Emelina was up a bit earlier on the scheduled day, having another meeting in town with the accountant later that morning. Mr. Winston had contacted her about his final updated drafts of the documents Emelina had requested. Hoping her meeting with Brigitte wouldn’t take long, she went downstairs ready to go to town as soon as she was done.
“Good morning, Cook.”…… “Oh…Brigitte..you’re here already.” Seeing her, head down, at the table, Emelina was suddenly uncomfortable. “Are you all right?”
Cook caught the tension in the room. “Breakfast’s ready, ladies. You know my rules…no business talk at the table - especially the breakfast table.” The tension in the room eased only slightly out of respect and caring for Cook. Cook - always ready with firm but kind words and something to eat. She served up bacon and scrambled eggs, toast from her home-baked bread, fresh tomatoes from the garden and a jar of apple jelly.
“Good morning, Miss Emelina.” Brigitte smiled uneasily “I just about called you Mrs. Beaufort but you’re Mrs. Crawford now.” She helped herself to breakfast and ate silently, only glancing up occasionally if she was spoken to.
“This is silly, Brigitte. Whatever is wrong?” Emelina had finished her breakfast and was watching the young woman she’d known for almost five years. Her caretaker for most of those years when she was grieving and totally lost. Losing Michael had been devastating for her. Finding the new relationship with Jeremy had been a surprise and a blessing. When the pandemic forced she and her sister Dez together, and all the staff had been lost to her, Emelina woke up to such a different life. When Brigitte had returned after weeks away, there was no longer any need for a caretaker. Emelina was so grateful that Brigitte was interested and excited when her job changed to one of Personal Assistant. Which made this meeting even more awkward. Brigitte’s sad demeanour suggested that she wouldn’t like what Brigitte had to say.
“Can we walk, Miss Em? I don’t want to sit in an office or even upstairs in the living room. We can have privacy out there. If we walk the far side of the track, even Samuel wouldn’t hear our conversation.” Emelina nodded at Cook and rose from the table, stacking their plates. “Just leave those, Miss Em. I’ll take care of it.”
“Let’s go, Brigitte. You do look like you need some fresh air. Are you sure you’re all right? Here’s a tissue.” Brigitte had tried desperately not to cry, but her eyes had their own ideas, tears bubbling at the edges of her eyelids.
~~~~~
The two women were silent until they reached the track. Brigitte could hold it in no longer. “Miss Em. I am so sorry. I will be leaving you and the Estate.” Her tears flowed fast. “Oh, Brigitte. Why? Is there not enough work for you out here? Your care and your patience got me through so much. And then this last many months, helping me become almost a real business woman……….. I just don’t know what to say.” Emelina was stunned. “Miss Em, I’ll still be here for another month. School doesn’t start until September.” Seeing her employer so shaken by her news, Brigitte’s tears immediately dried up. “You’re going to school?” Emelina sounded dazed.
“Yes, Miss. Being your Personal Assistant was so interesting - the business part of it. I’ve decided that I’m still pretty young, I’ve already done a lot of travel and my years out here have been fantastic. I’ll miss all of you.” Her words were stumbling over themselves, finally freed from the worries of the past weeks. “It’s only a Business Admin Degree and maybe I’ll be able to come back sometime and help you out….that’s if you would want me to.”
“Of course, I would want you to. I was just stunned with your news, but so glad for you. You can come back here whenever you want, even if it’s just for a visit.” Emelina was so relieved even though she would miss Brigitte terribly. She had often wondered why a woman so young would stay out on an Estate with a woman who treated her so terribly. Finally, she seemed to have found some direction. “Let’s take that walk.” She took Brigitte’s hand and the two women set out to walk the running track. “Tell me all about which school you’re going to, when it starts, do you need anything……..”
“There is love in holding and there is love in letting go.”
~ Elizabeth Berg, The Year of Pleasures
Caught  |
| Photo taken September 2013 at RGH Alumnae gathering Regina, Saskatchewan |
I have two short pieces of writing this evening. They are from our Writer’s group assignment for the month of April. We create an assignment each month for each of us in our little group. This month we were to write ‘a newspaper article about a famous event in history’. This was a difficult assignment for me, as I am much more used to stream of consciousness writing and creative non-fiction, even for the short pieces I write. There has been so much going on in the world that to choose one was quite overwhelming. Considering Florence Nightingale, I did some brief research, complements of Wikipedia and other online sites, and found an event. If a newspaper was picked up at the time, I couldn’t tell. So I’ve taken the liberty to write it on this blog 164 years later. When I read it aloud this afternoon, I felt it was choppy and did not flow very well at all. Please feel free to comment and critique my efforts.
