Enthusiasm, an Open Heart, and a Selective Memory

(that thing you always are, that thing you'll always be. again.)

I found unmailed letters, written by my mother.

On My Sixth Birthday

"I was so afraid that this year would change her, rob me of her headlong joy. It should be a lesson. She is as brave and intractable as ever. She reads as a fully literate person and will not print to prove it to them. Her birthday wish this year was that everybody be at her next birthday."

On My First Day of Grade One

[Brian P. was a boy that i was fixated on as a very young girl. after 2 solid years of HARD rejection, i gave up on boys altogether. i didn't develop another crush until late junior high, and didn't lose my virginity or get a boyfriend--in that order--until first year university. but the Brian P. story goes a long way to explain the way that i approach life; enthusiasm, an open heart, and a selective memory.]

[K] "started school today. After a summer of not missing school or Brian P., she was wildly impatient for the morning to pass and school to start. Spent the morning buying Snoopy pencil case, crayons and ruler at City Pharmacy. She couldn’t wait for school, wondering/hoping that Brian would be excited to see her. Completely forgetting that she had accepted that he hated her before school closed. She wanted me to walk her to school. More and more excited as the minutes passed, planning show and tell. She will take Scrabble Sensor and give everyone in the class a word. She has it all thought out.

At one point as she dressed, she called out “I’m really a big girl now, aren’t I?”. Walked her up, leaving at 10 to 1. When we came to the gates, she raced in forgetting all about me [and my baby brother]. Very few children were there, all appearing older. She drifted from one group to another. Stood outside the fence, unable to tear myself away, marveling at her enormous strength and bravery. Only then realizing that I’d taken [K] half an hour early. Watched her stand, alone, for a time.

[K] came home with word that school was terrific. Asked if Brian was happy to see her, she said no. He hated her. When she told him she was moving, he said, “Good”. And she didn’t even chase him or kiss him. She looked regretful, then in typical [K} bounce back said, “sometimes he does like me to chase him, you know”."

sometimes you're embarrassed enough to delete.

In The Spirit Of Things

I used to do some acting as a kid. Beyond a lot of show choir and dabbling in musical theatre, I was in a few commercials, all low budget and mortifying. I was in a few movies, as well. They too were all low budget and mortifying while ALSO having the curious distinction of ALL being costume dramas. Partly, this was because the place I grew up was close to an historical village/tourist attraction that drew its share of film crews. I also suspect that I was cast in these movies because I have that kind of face. I don’t even know what “that kind of face” is, other than “not exotic”, or “plain” but there you have it. I only ever got cast in period dramas that involved me wearing bloomers and petticoats and bonnets and dresses, all made of itchy wool that bordered on felt, something akin to torture when shooting in the rain.

So it came as no surprise when I auditioned for a movie set to shoot at the historical village and was invited for a callback…in Toronto. Very exciting! I had an exceptionally “not exotic” face! I presented myself to the on-camera Toronto audition in a plain dress, my hair pulled simply back. I looked the part. And the part. Yes, the part. What of it? I was reading the part of a girl in a quilting circle. The youngest (and only unaffianced) girl in a quilting circle, to be exact. The scene read something like this (I’m GS):

A: I am very happy to be betrothed to Ezekiel. He is a good man. Every day, he helps father in the field. He will be an excellent provider.

B: I am very happy to be betrothed to Jebediah. He is a handsome man. Even Martha Featherstone agrees, and she is the prettiest in the whole town!

C: My marriage to Samuel is so wonderful. You have much richness and love to anticipate. Being a wife is a bounty of things to enjoy (giggles).

GS: Oooooh…Ezeeeeeeekiel….Ohhhhhh! Jebediah! Ezeeeeekiel! Oh Ezekiel! Jebediaaaaaah! Oooooh! Saaaamuel! Samuel! Samuel! (wild giggles)

Read this to yourself. How does it sound?

Here’s how I read it: like I was a ghost. Like I was a ghost, haunting three very unfortunate men. Like a ghost who really enjoyed, uh, ghosting, hence the maniacal (read: head thrown back) spin I put on the "giggles" bit at the end. Obviously.

I read it once. The table sat in silence. They asked for another read. They told me to be more “into it”. I went for it. More wailing, more vibrato, more EVERYTHING, drawing directly from my favourite ghost of all time, Jacob Marley in the Alistair Sim version of ‘A Christmas Carol’. They dismissed me after a third read.

I thought I had it in the bag. I mean, I had totally ghosted the shit out of that thing, right?

Sigh.

Yeah, I have a favourite all-time ghost. What of it?

p.s.(i was 20)

(I had forgotten about this whole debacle until this week, when ‘Operation Take Back The Music” decided to reclaim The Mountain Goats’ ‘The Life of the World to Come’, which I’d had to break up with not long after its release fall of 2009, owing to some unpleasantness which I will not go into here. Anyway, I got the album back, but this story came with it. Do with it what you will.)

Actually, no.

(In the office, in Nunavut)

Local Clerk: Which one is John Candy?

Local Receptionist: He's the guy who lost all that weight by eating at Subway.

Local Clerk: Right. He only ate 6" subs until his pants got big.

Local Receptionist: 6" subs without mayo. WITHOUT MAYO.

Local Clerk: Right on. I wish we had a Subway. I need my pants to get big.


It's not that you're getting smaller, it's that your pants are getting bigger. I like that.

Bawdy Language

I grew up in a house without a full-length mirror. It was important to be smart. It was important to be creative. It was not important to be popular or pretty or to put any sort of effort into your appearance. I still have to force myself to try on clothing before purchasing it. I only started wearing mascara a few years ago. I wasn’t a tomboy, but we listened to ‘Free To Be, You And Me’ a lot in my home.

That said, even though I wasn’t a tomboy or jock, I did join the rugby team the year I was at Dal, with the hopes of making friends, even though my joints were sort of in tatters from years of jazz dance in cheap shoes. What I mean to say here is that I joined because I wanted to get invited to parties where there would be male rugby players. And while I’m telling the truth, I should confess that I never played a game, only practicing with the team for a couple of weeks before getting so sick that I had to stay home for 5 days.

The first day I felt well enough to leave the house, I went for a very long walk in the rain. When I got home, while changing out of my wet jeans, I realized that I was quite stiff and decided to stretch. I lunged over my left leg, rolled my head around in a circle to stretch out my neck. That’s when I saw it in the mirror. I was boarding with a family at the time, staying in their guest room. The guest room had a full-length mirror, and there it was. My ass. In the mirror.

I was 21 years old, and I’d never seen my own ass.

I was wearing gigantic purple underpants (bloomers, nearly), but that did not stop me from—head swiveled around 180º—grinding and shaking my rump, marveling at its existence, not to mention the fact that it was ATTACHED TO MY BODY. Have you ever seen an infant who is completely mesmerized by their own hands? Like that.

I must have kept at it for a good 5-10 minutes. Until, on the other side of the room, the phone rang. I turned my head to face the ringing, my weight shifted slightly, and…

I heard a loud snap.

I dislocated my knee.

I lay on the floor for hours, waiting for someone to come home, and when they did, they found me helpless in giant purple underpants. Not my finest moment.

When you injure your knee, they ask a lot of questions at the hospital. This is so they can anticipate what sort of damage you’ve inflicted. As they cut me out of my overalls (my knee had swollen considerably, particularly after I was dressed and ‘mobile’. and yes. overalls. it was the 90s.) and put me in a cast, I was forced to repeat the story several times. Several times more than I suspect was medically necessary. Again, not my finest moment.

I still don’t have a full-length mirror, and sometimes leave the house completely inappropriately dressed (see: the great shirt vs. dress battles of 2010). Sometimes, like today, I feel like I should make more of an effort where my appearance is concerned. And then I remember my knee and worry that I might wind up with a bone break or worse if I tried to use tinted moisturizer or a hair styling tool.

Happy New Year, everyone. Here's to keeping it real while making a whole lot more carefully considered bad decisions. Here's to hot meals burning the roof of your mouth, and cold hands freezing the small of your back. Here's to being okay with being happy without fretting too much about the sadness that might be around the bend. Here's to being okay with being sad, so long as you're willing to let people try to cheer you up. Here's to comfort wherever and whenever we can find it, no matter how fleeting.