It took so long for the good weather to arrive this year, I've only just made my first trip to Maine this week. Mid-June!! And I'm reminded how I love this place.....waking with the sun to the sound of birds chirping, sometimes I can even hear the ocean as the marsh is right behind me. I was having a coffee at the seawall yesterday morning...I love that, sitting there and breathing in that salt air, steel grey ocean as far as one can see, the shore along Moody, Ogunquit, Perkins Cove, and York to my right....all the way to Kennebunkport on my left. And my cell rings--its my brother Dave. Within 5 minutes he's sitting with me and I get to visit with my baby brother and "catch up"....a few hours later, Ray and I are off on our bikes....passing his cousin's place off Route 1 we see their car. So we stop and have another visit...then continue on our way to Ogunqut, through the quiet sleepy neighborhoods off the main drag, to OGT beach, over to Perkins Cove. This is such a beautiful part of Maine. I love the rugged coast, the marshes, and I've logged God knows how many hours biking around in the 35 years I've been summering here.
Some of you know the disappointment I've had here, in this Park,the past couple of summers. Hateful, small minded (yet big mouthed!) people...but you know what? On the grand scale of things, on any scale really, they don't matter. I should have done as my Dad did; kept to myself. He would come here (its was his place after all, the whole resort...he's the one who made this possible, its his legacy if you will)...he would come here, walk, beach, and sit on his porch and read. He wasn't a "joiner" and he liked his space for all his love of life and a good laugh. But he chose his friends carefully, wisely. He thought distance and fences made good neighbors. Not constantly hanging together. So this "clique" that has made me uncomfortable and been extremely mean and hurtful...well, they don't matter. I matter. My dad matters. My love of this area matters. My history here matters. My family here matters.
I feel like a great weight has been lifted, free if you will...and that's what rising above a difffiult situation does. It empowers you. This is how we are meant to enjoy God's gift of another prescious day. Enjoying it. Celebrating it. Giving thanks for all that we have. And letting go of the stone of negtivity that is weighing one down. Any stone, whatever form it make take. A stressful co-worker, a complaining friend, a wrong done you for no logical reason. We can't control how others behave. We can control how we handle it. And letting go of caring...really letting go 'cos these negatives don't matter...that's when you're free. Light, happy...and free. They don't matter!!
So, I'm back in my happy place. The sun is shining through my Florida room blinds, Pepper is sleeping in a chair and Ray's still in bed...I'm on my 2nd cup of coffee enjoying my space and the quiet and the happiness that another Maine day is sure to bring.
Friday, June 21, 2013
Monday, June 17, 2013
A Little Thing Called the Telephone...
I'd forgotten how a phone call can be so much like a face to face when the party on the other end of the call is a real friend. I've become reluctant to talk on the phone over the years, preferring email, or texting, or Facebook...the modern tools of communication. But there's nothing like hearing a friend's voice. This past month I've had two long, fabulous telephone calls with two very, very good friends and I felt like we were actually together, in the same room, during the calls. One call was 2.5 (!!) hours and the other almost as long. Both were a "let's have a glass of wine together" and talk idea. They were exhilarating. And we've committed to making this a part of our lives going forward.
Its true, you have to carve out the time for the phone; unlike a quick mass email or Facebook posting which lets everyone in your "world" know whats up. But what nicer way to spend a late afternoon or evening than with a friend who is miles away, talking about everything together, laughing, realizing you are still on the same page? That years and geography have done nothing to separate you, that you still finish each others' sentences, laugh before the punchline, and "get" each other even while talking at the same time. There are no uncomfortable gaps in the conversation; no trivial BS as one searches for something to say (I've had that kind of phone conversation as well...) but two friends picking up where they left off.
And that's the test of true friendship, isn't it? The ability to pick up where you left off and be right back as if no time had passed. I'm very fortunate in that I've several friends I'd "lost" for 20-30 years and found thru social networks that were just like that: instant, back on track, together. Karen, one of the first friends I found on Facebook after years of trying to locate her, and I spent an entire Sunday evening going back and forth messaging on FB while our men watched an entire football game. Neither one of us thought to pick up the phone!! Diane, one of my oldest friends, whom I tracked down (also on FB thru her daughter)...she drove to Boston from southern NH, came to my house (now we haven't seen each other in 30 years!!) and we spent the next 6 hours sitting at my kitchen table talking....time had done absolutely nothing to erode the bond we formed all those years ago.
Sadly, I've had other so called friendships not survive the test of time and separation. I've had that one phone call where there is no connection, where there are gaps and awkward silences, and the whole thing is strained and false. Just doesn't ring true. Usually that's because the friendship is not true, its fake, based on some phony idea of friendship. I'm not real sad about that; too many real loving friends to mourn something that was never real to begin with; or never built on solid ground. But that phone call was awful. I even hate answering the phone when and if I see that number (which I never do any more as we've both realized there is nothing to say).
All this to say, this Monday morning, that I've rediscovered the magic and possibility of a phone call, of sitting down and chatting as if you are in the room with me...not really something other electronic means provide. Though don't get me wrong: I'm a lifetime fan/believer of social networks and email and texting!! But for those who are no longer geographically close to you...grab that glass of wine, dial the number....and have a nice timeout together. It was really magical. Seriously, 2.5 hours felt like 20 minutes!!!
Its true, you have to carve out the time for the phone; unlike a quick mass email or Facebook posting which lets everyone in your "world" know whats up. But what nicer way to spend a late afternoon or evening than with a friend who is miles away, talking about everything together, laughing, realizing you are still on the same page? That years and geography have done nothing to separate you, that you still finish each others' sentences, laugh before the punchline, and "get" each other even while talking at the same time. There are no uncomfortable gaps in the conversation; no trivial BS as one searches for something to say (I've had that kind of phone conversation as well...) but two friends picking up where they left off.
And that's the test of true friendship, isn't it? The ability to pick up where you left off and be right back as if no time had passed. I'm very fortunate in that I've several friends I'd "lost" for 20-30 years and found thru social networks that were just like that: instant, back on track, together. Karen, one of the first friends I found on Facebook after years of trying to locate her, and I spent an entire Sunday evening going back and forth messaging on FB while our men watched an entire football game. Neither one of us thought to pick up the phone!! Diane, one of my oldest friends, whom I tracked down (also on FB thru her daughter)...she drove to Boston from southern NH, came to my house (now we haven't seen each other in 30 years!!) and we spent the next 6 hours sitting at my kitchen table talking....time had done absolutely nothing to erode the bond we formed all those years ago.
Sadly, I've had other so called friendships not survive the test of time and separation. I've had that one phone call where there is no connection, where there are gaps and awkward silences, and the whole thing is strained and false. Just doesn't ring true. Usually that's because the friendship is not true, its fake, based on some phony idea of friendship. I'm not real sad about that; too many real loving friends to mourn something that was never real to begin with; or never built on solid ground. But that phone call was awful. I even hate answering the phone when and if I see that number (which I never do any more as we've both realized there is nothing to say).
All this to say, this Monday morning, that I've rediscovered the magic and possibility of a phone call, of sitting down and chatting as if you are in the room with me...not really something other electronic means provide. Though don't get me wrong: I'm a lifetime fan/believer of social networks and email and texting!! But for those who are no longer geographically close to you...grab that glass of wine, dial the number....and have a nice timeout together. It was really magical. Seriously, 2.5 hours felt like 20 minutes!!!
Friday, May 31, 2013
I'm Where I'm Supposed To Be
I haven't written in a year?? How'd that happen???
Just thinking last evening about how much my life has changed in 4 years. I love living in Quebec. I love speaking french all the time; and I feel like I've come home. I'm connected here...and I think my Dad must be so happy to have one of his children living in the place he loved, driving on the roads he drove on, and just sort of a continuance if you will. I summered here most of my childhood. My life was always very much a part of quebec but I lost that as I got older, during the working years.
For instance, I went to visit my Dad in his final resting place, in the town he was born. After the visit we went across the street from the church and cemetery to get a pepsi. There were a group of 4 elderly women rocking on the porch of this general store. I started talking to them, and long story short....they knew me. One rocked me in her arms as a baby when we lived here, another was a cousin of my Dad's. I'm connected here. I'm Lucien's daughter, Anita's niece, Mario's cousin, Marcelle's daughter...it feels right.
I love this province. It took me a while to I'll admit. The people are friendly, open. They chat in bank lines, or grocery store lines. Cashiers chat to customers. It used to drive me nuts! Don't do business here if you're in a hurry. Go to Toronto!! But I get it. What's the freaking hurry??
And its home now. I've made some really good girlfriends. I love these women I workout with, ski with, and of course drink wine and dine with. We're all the same age and in the same place ...our men are becoming friends as well. We all travel and its not uncommon to meet up in south Florida or the Keys or Ogunquit. Do I miss Boston? Sometimes. I loved it there. But its part of the past. Life moves on and you have to go with the flow. I've really, really good friends there but we're still part of each other's lives. Bernie, Gina, Diane, MaryBeth, Joan, Gail.....we're still close and I love you dearly.
Just thinking last evening about how much my life has changed in 4 years. I love living in Quebec. I love speaking french all the time; and I feel like I've come home. I'm connected here...and I think my Dad must be so happy to have one of his children living in the place he loved, driving on the roads he drove on, and just sort of a continuance if you will. I summered here most of my childhood. My life was always very much a part of quebec but I lost that as I got older, during the working years.
For instance, I went to visit my Dad in his final resting place, in the town he was born. After the visit we went across the street from the church and cemetery to get a pepsi. There were a group of 4 elderly women rocking on the porch of this general store. I started talking to them, and long story short....they knew me. One rocked me in her arms as a baby when we lived here, another was a cousin of my Dad's. I'm connected here. I'm Lucien's daughter, Anita's niece, Mario's cousin, Marcelle's daughter...it feels right.
I love this province. It took me a while to I'll admit. The people are friendly, open. They chat in bank lines, or grocery store lines. Cashiers chat to customers. It used to drive me nuts! Don't do business here if you're in a hurry. Go to Toronto!! But I get it. What's the freaking hurry??
And its home now. I've made some really good girlfriends. I love these women I workout with, ski with, and of course drink wine and dine with. We're all the same age and in the same place ...our men are becoming friends as well. We all travel and its not uncommon to meet up in south Florida or the Keys or Ogunquit. Do I miss Boston? Sometimes. I loved it there. But its part of the past. Life moves on and you have to go with the flow. I've really, really good friends there but we're still part of each other's lives. Bernie, Gina, Diane, MaryBeth, Joan, Gail.....we're still close and I love you dearly.
Friday, March 30, 2012
Living in the Moment
I know this is what we're supposed to do...live in the moment, today's a gift, all that. But these days I'm finding it extremely difficult to not want to push the fast forward button on the remote of my life! Its the weather!! I can't take it any more....cold, snow flurries, boots and coats for Pete's sake. Enough already.
What happened for those of you living on the moon (or no where near the frozen North East) is that we had a taste of summer last week. Temps in the 70's and 80's. Out came the flip flops, the capris, windows and patio doors were opened; people were smiling at each other!! Imagine...in March! We all know better. This was a fluke, summer in March does not exist. Yet I couldn't put my winter sweaters away fast enough (yes, I've been freezing since in my cotton light weight stuff) and the only logical emotion after this "tease" is da blues.
So I have to ask myself, why do I live in the frozen north?? Well, to care for my Mom, number 1. But after that?? Do we really love to ski that much? One can take a ski trip, but live in summer!! Wouldn't it great to spontaneously leave one's home and not have to hunt down boots, parkas, hats, gloves, scarves....you know, just slip on a pair of flip flops. So you have to keep your legs shaved. I can do that. So you can't let that winter "5 pound" gain show up. I can do that too!! Imagine being able to take your dog out without freezing, all the while cursing his endless circling to find the perfect spot??
Where do we want to live when we grow up? That's the question. I'm fairly certain I want to live in the US; not a third world country or island, even if one is in a gated compound. I am uncomfortable with that, seeing poverty and tent cities all around you, while you live in what the locals consider a mansion with your American dollars. (Which maybe don't buy or rent mansions any longer...hmmmm....) So you end up backing into South Florida...or Florida. I tend to favor South Florida vs. the west coast; just chalk that up to personal preference. I've spent enough time in the Caribbean to know I like the perks of state side living...being able to go the store and buy what I want, when I want. Also the world is getting weird...not so safe...maybe its an illusion this feeing safer at home, but I just do.
My friends are mostly still in the Boston area...but they'll be retiring soon as well. Will they all stay up north? Doubtful. We are the last of the skiers, and we're tempted to give up winter!! Of course, I'm just rambling, figuring out options...being up North to ski February and March is ok, when there's snow. But after that...I've no need for this weather. I think we'll figure it out...but for now, how do I fast forward these last couple days so that I can step off that plane into instant summer???
What happened for those of you living on the moon (or no where near the frozen North East) is that we had a taste of summer last week. Temps in the 70's and 80's. Out came the flip flops, the capris, windows and patio doors were opened; people were smiling at each other!! Imagine...in March! We all know better. This was a fluke, summer in March does not exist. Yet I couldn't put my winter sweaters away fast enough (yes, I've been freezing since in my cotton light weight stuff) and the only logical emotion after this "tease" is da blues.
So I have to ask myself, why do I live in the frozen north?? Well, to care for my Mom, number 1. But after that?? Do we really love to ski that much? One can take a ski trip, but live in summer!! Wouldn't it great to spontaneously leave one's home and not have to hunt down boots, parkas, hats, gloves, scarves....you know, just slip on a pair of flip flops. So you have to keep your legs shaved. I can do that. So you can't let that winter "5 pound" gain show up. I can do that too!! Imagine being able to take your dog out without freezing, all the while cursing his endless circling to find the perfect spot??
Where do we want to live when we grow up? That's the question. I'm fairly certain I want to live in the US; not a third world country or island, even if one is in a gated compound. I am uncomfortable with that, seeing poverty and tent cities all around you, while you live in what the locals consider a mansion with your American dollars. (Which maybe don't buy or rent mansions any longer...hmmmm....) So you end up backing into South Florida...or Florida. I tend to favor South Florida vs. the west coast; just chalk that up to personal preference. I've spent enough time in the Caribbean to know I like the perks of state side living...being able to go the store and buy what I want, when I want. Also the world is getting weird...not so safe...maybe its an illusion this feeing safer at home, but I just do.
My friends are mostly still in the Boston area...but they'll be retiring soon as well. Will they all stay up north? Doubtful. We are the last of the skiers, and we're tempted to give up winter!! Of course, I'm just rambling, figuring out options...being up North to ski February and March is ok, when there's snow. But after that...I've no need for this weather. I think we'll figure it out...but for now, how do I fast forward these last couple days so that I can step off that plane into instant summer???
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Its a Wonderful Life!
I am so happy with my life lately I sometimes think uh oh....whats going to happen next to spoil this. I wonder why we do that, accept the black clouds as normal, yet question happiness as if we're not deserving. It must be my Catholic upbringing!
Like I've written previously, it hasn't been an easy road to this. Leaving Boston, my home of 30 years, and relocating to Quebec was never in my wildest plans. I liked my life, the pace, my beautiful home in Andover. I still miss it. But I am acclimating to this town in the Eastern Townships of Quebec, a 4 season resort on Lake Memphremagog. If I had to move to Quebec, at least this is a gorgeous town...very European with its Bistros, Patisseries, Boulangeries...the Lake front area reminds me of the Esplanade...a place to ice skate, walk, blade, bike, or just sit. When skiing in winter, I look down on the Lake and wish for summer. Naturally, in summer I look up at the Mountain and wish I were skiing. Ah...the ficklness of being human!
I'm making friends too. And for those of you who have not relocated recently, this takes time!! Its different if one is working, there are always lets go out for a drink after work outings going on. But being retired...everyone has their friends and their lives. It was a very solitary couple of years. But that's changing. People retire younger here; its not uncommon to retire in your mid-fifties, or early sixties. I remember this from my years in the Dominican...how Europeans & Canadians would be retired so young. I digress...so the women at my gym are not working, and I finally have girlfriends again. If this were like Florida, everyone would be transcient if you will,. thus its alot easier to make friends. What's nice is we are all in the same place...with similar tastes...we are all physically fit, outdoor and physical activies are very important to us...as are manicures, pedicures, facials, and shopping!! I dare dream: will my phone ring again?? Maybe I'll even have to invest in a Quebec cell!!
No one will ever replace my lifelong women friends...you know who you are...but I'm happy today that I, that we, have carved out a life for ourselves here and are able to look after my Mom. Sometimes I feel my dad's presence...and I know he would be pleased. And I am humbled yet again at how God has a plan, and if you listen and trust it, your life can only get better. It gives let go and let God true meaning (but this is not license to do nothing and think you will be rewarded!) and reinforces my belief that everything happens for a reason.
So I'm happy, completely happy...and want to take a picture of this early Spring day where temps will be almost 80 and save it for a rainy day, a day when things do not seem so bright, to remind me that life is good!!
Like I've written previously, it hasn't been an easy road to this. Leaving Boston, my home of 30 years, and relocating to Quebec was never in my wildest plans. I liked my life, the pace, my beautiful home in Andover. I still miss it. But I am acclimating to this town in the Eastern Townships of Quebec, a 4 season resort on Lake Memphremagog. If I had to move to Quebec, at least this is a gorgeous town...very European with its Bistros, Patisseries, Boulangeries...the Lake front area reminds me of the Esplanade...a place to ice skate, walk, blade, bike, or just sit. When skiing in winter, I look down on the Lake and wish for summer. Naturally, in summer I look up at the Mountain and wish I were skiing. Ah...the ficklness of being human!
I'm making friends too. And for those of you who have not relocated recently, this takes time!! Its different if one is working, there are always lets go out for a drink after work outings going on. But being retired...everyone has their friends and their lives. It was a very solitary couple of years. But that's changing. People retire younger here; its not uncommon to retire in your mid-fifties, or early sixties. I remember this from my years in the Dominican...how Europeans & Canadians would be retired so young. I digress...so the women at my gym are not working, and I finally have girlfriends again. If this were like Florida, everyone would be transcient if you will,. thus its alot easier to make friends. What's nice is we are all in the same place...with similar tastes...we are all physically fit, outdoor and physical activies are very important to us...as are manicures, pedicures, facials, and shopping!! I dare dream: will my phone ring again?? Maybe I'll even have to invest in a Quebec cell!!
No one will ever replace my lifelong women friends...you know who you are...but I'm happy today that I, that we, have carved out a life for ourselves here and are able to look after my Mom. Sometimes I feel my dad's presence...and I know he would be pleased. And I am humbled yet again at how God has a plan, and if you listen and trust it, your life can only get better. It gives let go and let God true meaning (but this is not license to do nothing and think you will be rewarded!) and reinforces my belief that everything happens for a reason.
So I'm happy, completely happy...and want to take a picture of this early Spring day where temps will be almost 80 and save it for a rainy day, a day when things do not seem so bright, to remind me that life is good!!
Monday, February 6, 2012
The Sexes
I never liked the book Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus. I think we, men and women, have enough differences and obstacles to overcome without adding a sensationalized money maker to the list. I prefer to find common ground, areas where we compliment each other. Yet, I have to admit, sometimes the different perspectives are so much in my face I want to run, screaming in defeat and hormonally charged, to the other side!
All this to say I miss my girlfriends. Big time. You just can't confide, have a lengthy heart to heart with your mate. Its takes us girls time...time and repetition and affirmation to get it. Well, not get it, but feel like we're comfortable with the conclusion. Seriously, we can talk about the same subject giving different views for hours. Men? Everything is black and white...and short! Please don't take longer than the commercial break! But I need to beat it to death...look at it from every possible angle, play it forwards and then backwards. Am I right??
And we love details. Its the little things. Guys? They don't notice details! Or intonation, or eye and/or body language, all those clues they don't even know exist let alone notice them. Haven't you been in a room, next to him, and its time to go. So you shift your eyes, pointing to the door with your eyes, indicating its time to leave. And you get a completely blank stare back. Clueless! He's just as liable to ask, out loud, "what?"... Or, have you ever tried a light tap under the table when a subject has gone on long enough? Still clueless.
How can that be?? They go to college, get good paying jobs, earn a good living...and can't take a hint about anything. You have to hit them with it, loud, clear, direct. So ladies this applies to everything with your honey. Don't leave a thing to chance, don't hint, don't leave clues. He won't get it! Spell it out. Or forever hold your grudge!! And be very very specific!
I think not being able to find anything in the fridge is also a male trait. How many minutes do you have to have the refrigerator door open, most of your body stuck inside the freaking thing, to find the mustard?? Its always in the door! The big yellow bottle?? Or how about being asked how so 'n so is when not 5 minutes ago you told him you'd just heard from her? And the ultimate insult? I do listen, but you talk all the time!!
I hope you all realize this is said in jest. Mostly. Poking fun of our differences is just that: fun! I mean, he pokes fun of me, how many times I change outfits when I'm only going to the Home where my Mom is. He really had a hay day when we were preparing for a month in Bermuda...I tried to tell him its normal to try stuff on, put it in the suitcase, change your mind and remove it...then try it on again days later. He even had a term for it: Pretend Packing! And its normal to end up with more stuff than I wore...but I was prepared! My footwear and skincare alone required a good sized suitcase. He had flipflops, docksiders, and sneakers! (He did appreciate the fact that I now have an ipad and he's not schlepping a 5 lb. new release hardback around from beach to beach like the year we were in Jamaica! I'd been saving that book for beach reading!!)
And if the auto industry wants to pump life back into a dying city? Invent a car with different thermostat controls, one for the drivers' side and one for the passengers! (I know some cars have it but its not real efficient yet.) I'm wrapped in layers normally designated to outdoor winter activities, and he's in a t-shirt. I'm still freezing. (Although its the opposite with my brother...his wife keeps the bedroom window open all winter! He claims he draws the line at brushing snow off his shoulder whilst in bed...)
How about when you spend hours prepping a meal, a new recipe...you serve the man, he eats and eats...and finally you say well? do you like it? You couldn't just tell me after the first taste???
Now a girlfriend get all of the above effortlessly!!
Just to be clear, I'm not dissing. I'm just amazed at how differently we function. And that we are able to live together at all! So....vivre la difference! You can't change it...so go with the flow! Humor helps. And that little thing called love too! (And no Sweetie....I'm not picking on you!!!)
I think not being able to find anything in the fridge is also a male trait. How many minutes do you have to have the refrigerator door open, most of your body stuck inside the freaking thing, to find the mustard?? Its always in the door! The big yellow bottle?? Or how about being asked how so 'n so is when not 5 minutes ago you told him you'd just heard from her? And the ultimate insult? I do listen, but you talk all the time!!
I hope you all realize this is said in jest. Mostly. Poking fun of our differences is just that: fun! I mean, he pokes fun of me, how many times I change outfits when I'm only going to the Home where my Mom is. He really had a hay day when we were preparing for a month in Bermuda...I tried to tell him its normal to try stuff on, put it in the suitcase, change your mind and remove it...then try it on again days later. He even had a term for it: Pretend Packing! And its normal to end up with more stuff than I wore...but I was prepared! My footwear and skincare alone required a good sized suitcase. He had flipflops, docksiders, and sneakers! (He did appreciate the fact that I now have an ipad and he's not schlepping a 5 lb. new release hardback around from beach to beach like the year we were in Jamaica! I'd been saving that book for beach reading!!)
And if the auto industry wants to pump life back into a dying city? Invent a car with different thermostat controls, one for the drivers' side and one for the passengers! (I know some cars have it but its not real efficient yet.) I'm wrapped in layers normally designated to outdoor winter activities, and he's in a t-shirt. I'm still freezing. (Although its the opposite with my brother...his wife keeps the bedroom window open all winter! He claims he draws the line at brushing snow off his shoulder whilst in bed...)
How about when you spend hours prepping a meal, a new recipe...you serve the man, he eats and eats...and finally you say well? do you like it? You couldn't just tell me after the first taste???
Now a girlfriend get all of the above effortlessly!!
Just to be clear, I'm not dissing. I'm just amazed at how differently we function. And that we are able to live together at all! So....vivre la difference! You can't change it...so go with the flow! Humor helps. And that little thing called love too! (And no Sweetie....I'm not picking on you!!!)
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
The Early Years
I was thinking about my boarding school years during my 3 a.m. jaunt the other day... as in Catholic boarding school, like the old Hayley Mills movies back in the 60's. I was 6 the first time my mother dropped me off there. The campus itself was beautiful, picture a turn of the century hotel (not unlike the Balsams or the Mt. Washington Hotel) turned into a private school for girls. The front door opened to a huge double lobby/living room complete with a winding staircase. Lush oriental rugs covered the hardwood floors, very tall ceilings befitting such a grande dame; a dining room behind french doors (it had to seat at least 200--tables of 10 all with a head seat for the Sister in charge of that particular table) and kitchens behind that. And the chapel...with its dim lighting, stained glass windows, and residue smell of incense all contributing to the magic in my 6 year old eyes.
The second and third floors were mostly made up of bedrooms; 2nd floor the nuns, 3rd for us boarders. At 6, I was the youngest there and the immediate favorite, thus the privilege of a private room right next door to the Sister who's duty was the care of the "little girls". (One became a "big" girl in 7th grade.) The basement was designated to our lockers, playrooms, one piano suite for those of us taking lessons (there was also another piano station on the ground floor). We had a black and white tv for occasional nightly viewing, and a movie projector big screen for Sunday afternoons, a weekly treat. I've lost count of how many times we saw The Wizard of Oz. One school I was in had an indoor roller skating rink and we spent fun afternoons going round and round to the sound of Elvis and Herman's Hermits, early Stones and Beatles.
Oh, and most important (how could I forget?), I didn't speak English. Not a word. As if being dropped there wasn't traumatic enough, I had to add completely not understanding a freaking thing anyone said. I learned to say grace before meals phoenetically, not getting the actual words for years! A bit like a monk swimming instead of amongst women...I remember thinking, the first time I saw the elevator with all the buttons, that this was how God worked. He wanted rain, he pressed a button, and so on. Remember, I was barely 6!
The nuns were not without love and kindness; they just weren't my Mom. I remember being pretty lost most of the time. It wasn't until years later that I grew to rebellion. I'd cry myself to sleep and go into a major funk the Sunday nights I was brought back after a weekend with my parents. I became a bit of a loner...as outgoing as I am, I was an outsider those early years. How socially equipped can a foreign 6 year old be?? I eventually learned to speak and read and write English. I also started piano lessons and spent many hours adrift in the classics. This saved me I think.
Ispent all of my grade school years in private boarding school, not attending public school until my freshman year in high school. Try as I might, I can't think of one good thing to say about those years. Yet it was expensive, a good education and it defintely contributed to making me an independent person. I guess it got better as I got older; nothing was as drastic as that first few years.
But sometimes I wonder what possessed my parents to place me there? I know they thought it was a good thing, a sign of success even to be able to afford private boarding school for your children. I know my Mom was busy helping my Dad with his business. She was the bookeeper for the 200-300 men working for my Dad those early years when he owned and operated huge lumber camps. And I know she cried as much as I did those Sunday nights.
This isn't something I think about alot; in fact, the other night (morning?) is the first time I've revisited these early years in a long time. But I remember being sent to bed right after dinner as punishment for not "cleaning my plate". I soon learned to take the undesired food and dispose of it by throwing it under the table. In time, the Sisters learned to look under the table and pity the poor girl who's feet the disposed food landed at! We all then progressed to hiding the food we didn't like in our apron pockets, aware we had to find a way to get it out of our pockets before our aprons went to the laundry! All our clothes were ticketed with our names and the good laundry Sisters learned to hunt through pockets before doing the wash!!
I remember getting my ears pierced at age 12, secretly, in the middle of the night, by one of the "big" girls, in a bathroom with very dimmed light, afraid we'd wake the Sister in charge, but determined to have pierced ears by morning. This entailed a bar of soap placed behind the ear whilst a sanitzed needle (well, we'd washed it with rubbing alcohol!) was pushed through the lobe. After icing said ear of course! Several of us got our ears pierced this way!! Then the problem of hiding the newly pierced ears!! Of course we got found out, and doncha know if God wanted you to have holes in your ears, you'd have been born with holes in your ears! That was tame compared to the reaction of Sister Mary Irene when she discovered we'd been circulating a dogeared copy of Peyton Place for reading after lights out, hiding the forbidden book in a place where we felt sure she wouldn't look. Wrong again!! Or the rap on the knuckles if I'd missed a note during a piano lesson. One nun in particular declared it was sure proof I'd be divorced one day as I couldn't manage to practice my scales!! (So that's the reason!) Another claimed I was going to "Pur-gaah-tory" as punishment. She pronounced it just like this: pur-GA-tory. Instead of Purgatory! Did they really believe this stuff??
By the end of 8th grade, I'd had quite enough and my parents were finally living in town full time so I could attend normal high school, and live at home. I promptly announced to them that I was not going to Sunday mass, that in fact I was 'on credit' as far as God and mass were concerned with all the Holy Days, Sundays, and evening Benedictions we'd had to attend! Its amazing that I did find my way back to God given how much I disliked most of these nuns. Instead of teaching us about the love of Jesus, they taught us about the fear of God. I'm not at all surprised about the drop in attendance for this church even before the recent scandals.
There were a few good nuns, a handful that seemed more human, alive, connected to us even. One such nun used to have us gather on the floor before bed as she read us from various childhood books. They sent her off to be a missionary quickly enough if my memory serves me. When I came back for 3rd grade, she was no longer at the convent.
It was a lonely time. I'm trying to find a good note to end this reflection on and I can't. The care was good, the physical care. Home made meals 3 times a day, home made snack after school...great hermit bars, and whoppe pies come fondly to mind. But I also remember liver, and egg whites which I don't eat to this day, and the pure misery (no other word for it) of trying to get rid of the food without ingesting it! And the skin that forms on hot chocolate if it isn't poured and consumed immediately. How I dreaded hot chocolate mornings!
I don't mean for this to sound depressing. Alot of children were sent to boarding school. Especially Quebec and UK kids. I just saw a post of a Bermudian friend who is currently in the UK on Facebook where he fondly shared pictures of his boarding school. It was just the "done" thing. In any case, I survived. I know my parents did the best they could with the knowledge they had. And quite possibly these early years served to make me resilient to what life swings at us...easier to survive if you can switch courses mid-stream!
The second and third floors were mostly made up of bedrooms; 2nd floor the nuns, 3rd for us boarders. At 6, I was the youngest there and the immediate favorite, thus the privilege of a private room right next door to the Sister who's duty was the care of the "little girls". (One became a "big" girl in 7th grade.) The basement was designated to our lockers, playrooms, one piano suite for those of us taking lessons (there was also another piano station on the ground floor). We had a black and white tv for occasional nightly viewing, and a movie projector big screen for Sunday afternoons, a weekly treat. I've lost count of how many times we saw The Wizard of Oz. One school I was in had an indoor roller skating rink and we spent fun afternoons going round and round to the sound of Elvis and Herman's Hermits, early Stones and Beatles.
Oh, and most important (how could I forget?), I didn't speak English. Not a word. As if being dropped there wasn't traumatic enough, I had to add completely not understanding a freaking thing anyone said. I learned to say grace before meals phoenetically, not getting the actual words for years! A bit like a monk swimming instead of amongst women...I remember thinking, the first time I saw the elevator with all the buttons, that this was how God worked. He wanted rain, he pressed a button, and so on. Remember, I was barely 6!
The nuns were not without love and kindness; they just weren't my Mom. I remember being pretty lost most of the time. It wasn't until years later that I grew to rebellion. I'd cry myself to sleep and go into a major funk the Sunday nights I was brought back after a weekend with my parents. I became a bit of a loner...as outgoing as I am, I was an outsider those early years. How socially equipped can a foreign 6 year old be?? I eventually learned to speak and read and write English. I also started piano lessons and spent many hours adrift in the classics. This saved me I think.
Ispent all of my grade school years in private boarding school, not attending public school until my freshman year in high school. Try as I might, I can't think of one good thing to say about those years. Yet it was expensive, a good education and it defintely contributed to making me an independent person. I guess it got better as I got older; nothing was as drastic as that first few years.
But sometimes I wonder what possessed my parents to place me there? I know they thought it was a good thing, a sign of success even to be able to afford private boarding school for your children. I know my Mom was busy helping my Dad with his business. She was the bookeeper for the 200-300 men working for my Dad those early years when he owned and operated huge lumber camps. And I know she cried as much as I did those Sunday nights.
This isn't something I think about alot; in fact, the other night (morning?) is the first time I've revisited these early years in a long time. But I remember being sent to bed right after dinner as punishment for not "cleaning my plate". I soon learned to take the undesired food and dispose of it by throwing it under the table. In time, the Sisters learned to look under the table and pity the poor girl who's feet the disposed food landed at! We all then progressed to hiding the food we didn't like in our apron pockets, aware we had to find a way to get it out of our pockets before our aprons went to the laundry! All our clothes were ticketed with our names and the good laundry Sisters learned to hunt through pockets before doing the wash!!
I remember getting my ears pierced at age 12, secretly, in the middle of the night, by one of the "big" girls, in a bathroom with very dimmed light, afraid we'd wake the Sister in charge, but determined to have pierced ears by morning. This entailed a bar of soap placed behind the ear whilst a sanitzed needle (well, we'd washed it with rubbing alcohol!) was pushed through the lobe. After icing said ear of course! Several of us got our ears pierced this way!! Then the problem of hiding the newly pierced ears!! Of course we got found out, and doncha know if God wanted you to have holes in your ears, you'd have been born with holes in your ears! That was tame compared to the reaction of Sister Mary Irene when she discovered we'd been circulating a dogeared copy of Peyton Place for reading after lights out, hiding the forbidden book in a place where we felt sure she wouldn't look. Wrong again!! Or the rap on the knuckles if I'd missed a note during a piano lesson. One nun in particular declared it was sure proof I'd be divorced one day as I couldn't manage to practice my scales!! (So that's the reason!) Another claimed I was going to "Pur-gaah-tory" as punishment. She pronounced it just like this: pur-GA-tory. Instead of Purgatory! Did they really believe this stuff??
By the end of 8th grade, I'd had quite enough and my parents were finally living in town full time so I could attend normal high school, and live at home. I promptly announced to them that I was not going to Sunday mass, that in fact I was 'on credit' as far as God and mass were concerned with all the Holy Days, Sundays, and evening Benedictions we'd had to attend! Its amazing that I did find my way back to God given how much I disliked most of these nuns. Instead of teaching us about the love of Jesus, they taught us about the fear of God. I'm not at all surprised about the drop in attendance for this church even before the recent scandals.
There were a few good nuns, a handful that seemed more human, alive, connected to us even. One such nun used to have us gather on the floor before bed as she read us from various childhood books. They sent her off to be a missionary quickly enough if my memory serves me. When I came back for 3rd grade, she was no longer at the convent.
It was a lonely time. I'm trying to find a good note to end this reflection on and I can't. The care was good, the physical care. Home made meals 3 times a day, home made snack after school...great hermit bars, and whoppe pies come fondly to mind. But I also remember liver, and egg whites which I don't eat to this day, and the pure misery (no other word for it) of trying to get rid of the food without ingesting it! And the skin that forms on hot chocolate if it isn't poured and consumed immediately. How I dreaded hot chocolate mornings!
I don't mean for this to sound depressing. Alot of children were sent to boarding school. Especially Quebec and UK kids. I just saw a post of a Bermudian friend who is currently in the UK on Facebook where he fondly shared pictures of his boarding school. It was just the "done" thing. In any case, I survived. I know my parents did the best they could with the knowledge they had. And quite possibly these early years served to make me resilient to what life swings at us...easier to survive if you can switch courses mid-stream!
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