Finding Home

When we moved to Timmins, just over two years ago, we lived in a hotel for about two months.  There was just not a lot of available housing in any price range. So we ate a lot of microwaveable processed food, and got acquainted with Family Channel. On October thirty-first, we dressed up in our teeny room, and went out to greet our new town.  The weather was so poor, that we didn't make it a block.  Yesterday, it snowed, and I thought to myself with a smile, tomorrow must be Halloween. 

Seven People Have a Lot to Say in the Woods

Hersey Lake has some beautiful trails.  We know because last week our family walked them...for three hours.  It was epic.  Frankly, Jared is the "everyone get your shoes we're going for a walk," parent.  I'm more "thank you for taking the kids I'd love a nap."  Now I know just how much I've been missing.  Everything smelled so good.  And the leaves were crunchy.  And there were birds, and squirrels, and tall, straight trees.  And we talked.

Thinking About Community on Canada Day

Everything is closed today, so I ran errands yesterday.  In one shop, the person at the register didn't say anything at first.  It took me awhile to put all my purchases on the belt, so I just went with it.  Then the phone rang beside her.  She answered it and spoke softly.  Her voice was deep and I noticed the scarf at her neck on a hot, hot day seemed to cover an Adam's apple.  Now, I love living here.  The bush is beautiful and the people are wonderful.  I've been heartily welcomed.  But it's a small town that works hard and plays hard.  The queer community is quiet.  I think, if I felt compelled to explore my sexuality or my gender here, anywhere, but particularly here, I would feel afraid.  I wanted to reach out.  I smiled and asked her about the busyness of the store and whether it looked like rain for Canada Day.  She was tentative, but warmed as we continued to chat.  She rang in my odds and ends and I noticed her jaunty ponytail and her careful lipstick and her hands.  She had the most beautiful hands.  I thought about what it would take to have nails that perfect.  She must soak and scrub and file and moisturise.  I hope that's a happy part of her day, a day that includes risk, rejection, microaggression, danger, and scrutiny.  I hope she has great support.  I hope she's safe. 

From Away

This was a 'read whatever's kicking around the house' week.  It turned out that what was kicking around my house was two books with roots in Newfoundland.  Now, I've never been to Newfoundland.  But I grew up in Nova Scotia and an Atlantic province is an Atlantic province.  So Newfoundland makes me think of home.  Years ago, Jared's work took us to Edmonton.  I loved it there.  But my distance from the ocean was an ache.  One day, I was driving up Gateway Boulevard when Murray McLauchlan's "No Change in Me" came on the radio.  He's a Newfoundlander and his song is about having to leave home for work.  I heard the words, "You can't eat the air, And you can't drink the sea," and pulled over.  I sat in our little Civic that had carried us and all we owned across the country, and sobbed.  Now I live in Northern Ontario.  I love it here too.  But this week, I read these two books and felt homesick.

  If that wasn't enough Newfoundland, or just not enough homesickness, here's more.

From Where I Stand...Sit...Soar

Last week, Jared was required to do some night circuits--five takeoffs and landings after dark.  Have I mentioned that he's a pilot?  He's a pilot.  He got permission to take us along, and it was magical.  He helped us up the steps and buckled us in.  He gave us the passenger briefing and then we were moving.  As he and his co-pilot navigated the complex maze of taxiways toward the runway, I felt nervous.  Would this be too scary for our children?  I needn't have worried.  I have never heard a happier sound than the giggles that erupted as we picked up speed and found liftoff.  We flew over the Mattagami River, and the library, and Gillies Lake, and our house.  It all looked so different.  At one point, Mary said, "Those are trees?  I thought they were bushes."  And it hit me then , that the way I see trees is not the way trees look.  It has more to do with me than trees.  And that the Mattagami doesn't know I call it the Mattagami.  The name is useful to me, but in no way describes what it's like to be a river.  It was a beautiful experience, floating a thousand feet above the earth in a tin can with seven other humans, thinking about perspective.  Spiritual. 

Hiya, Handsome!

I've made it a Saturday habit to write about reading.  This Saturday I was a little busy.  I left the house at around five thirty this morning.  I apologise, neighbours.  That was my car alarm that went off so early.  I travelled the three and a half hours to Sudbury with some wonderful women.  Once there, I visited and lunched and attended workshops with some more wonderful women.  Then I came home with another wonderful woman.  On the way, we saw this good looking fellow and two others like him.

I'll write next week about the books I read this week.  Hint--one of them is the autobiography of a famous singer who also saw moose near Timmins.

Piano in the Snow

Can I tell this story yet?  Yesterday morning was sunny and nearly cloudless.  We had been offered a piano.  So on the weekend, Jared had cut a path through three feet of ice and snow from our driveway, around the back of the house, up four steps, to our sliding glass doors.  And I had booked a U-Haul.  We got up bright and early.  Most of the children were still asleep as we snuck off to pick up the truck, laughing and holding hands.  The truck was ready and waiting.  We had no problem finding the house.  Four of us were able to cover, load and strap the piano in without real difficulty.  We thanked the woman and her son for their help.  We wrote a cheque and took off.  On the ten minute drive home, we chatted and I remember saying, "I'm so excited!  We have a piano!  I'll wait to believe it when we get it inside."  Why did I say that?  Was it a premonition or an omen?

We had some help at our end.  We were quite impressed with ourselves.  We got the piano off the truck, around the corner, the length of the house, through the back gate, around another corner, up two steps. 

And then the piano fell in the snow.

Here the story diverges.  There's the version I tell on the phone with a smile and a self-deprecating chuckle.  "Well we almost had it.  One inch to left and it wouldn't have caught on that bit of deck.  But it did.  I'm just glad no one was hurt.  When it fell like that, we knew it was time to call in some professionals.  They got that thing dislodged, up the steps, and through the doors in twenty minutes.  The piano is completely fine.  We're so happy to have it."

Then there's the other version.  The piano fell with a sickening clang and a crunch.  The relief I felt that there were no crushed ribs or broken limbs was heady.  "Okay, this isn't what we hoped for, but we can still figure this out.  It's alright."  There was no answering expression of optimism.  Jared wouldn't look at me.  He was ready to push that thing back down the steps--so it would land on its end, he said, and we could try again, he said.  I could see the recklessness in his face.  He was not intending to try again.

"Let's talk about this.  You might get it unstuck, but you'll definitely break it."  I tried to speak calmly.  He took a step back.  He still wouldn't look at me. 

Nobody knew what to do.  We pretended to make suggestions, but it was useless.  Finally, Jared thanked our helpers and stepped inside for some 'space'.

I kind of laughed and thanked them for the help on what was a bigger job than we thought and apologized for the unexpected danger of the whole thing.  They had to go.  But they offered to come back anytime to help finish the job. 

And then I was alone.

Later, after the movers had gone home with their straps and a story, I looked at the bits of two by four that had seemed like sturdy steps, just that morning.  I think I can mend them. 

Not in a Hurry

My backyard last May--spring may be awhile

Next week marks the beginning of spring and nearly every day I find myself saying, "Soon there will be daffodils," or "Do you remember grass," "I can hardly wait!"  But, I'm lying.

Winter and I have gotten along just fine.  I'll enjoy spring when it gets here,  I really do love tulips, but it needn't hurry.

The road I take to drive my husband to work is tree-lined.  Yesterday, I was on my way home as the sun came up all orange and gold and bare frosted branches.  My frozen breath on the windshield glowed pink and I nearly giggled with the joy.  It stormed last night.  Driving today I could see only drifts and headlights and blowing snow. 

So I suppose it's convenient I'm not rushing winter out the door.