The puzzle pieces of my life

I wrote this while I was in Grand Bruit this past fall, but I didn't have internet at home, just my blackberry, so wrote it in Word to post later...then promptly forgot. I came across this today.  This was written on October 9th, 2009.

As I revisit my old house in the tiny Newfoundland outport, I have come to realize that there are pieces of me everywhere. I have called more than 30 places “home”. By places I mean the physical structure I lived in. I have lived in a trailer, a high-rise apartment, a few three-storey walk-ups, a number of houses, duplexes, row housing, cabins, a hotel, and at one point in my life, my car. I wasn’t particularly homeless, as I was moving back to the east coast, and staying with my parents until I found a job and an apartment. In each of these places, I had taken the time to settle in. I’m not fond of living out of boxes. As a child, our basement always had a pile of boxes that we walked around, moved from one place to another, and rooted through from time to time. They were never unpacked fully, and often were repacked for the next move. Once I moved out on my own, I tried my best to rid the home of boxes in an effort to feel at home, somewhat more settled. It doesn’t take much to make the starkness of an empty place feel a little more homey. Photos, posters, paintings, wall hangings and clocks are big for making the walls look less bare. I enjoy comfortable furniture, and creating a nestlike environment in the living room. I learned over the years that I enjoyed having certain things around me, and while my tastes have changed over the years, as taste does, I have discarded what doesn’t work and hung onto some things that never lose their charm, adding new things as life goes on. Most things in my home come with a story of some sort, as I refine my decision making regarding what comes into the home. I’ve become more discriminate with my acquisitions as the years roll on, and I’m in my thirtysomething move. I really have to NEED/WANT it before it comes through the door.


Pieces that I don’t have are bits of history I share with people. There are many people that I have some terrific memories with, and it is often only with those individuals I can reminisce. No one else shares that memory. As more of them fade from my life, be it through death, disengagement, or physical separation because I’ve moved YET again, I feel a certain loss. One example is that I won’t ever be able to talk about the many experiences my father and I shared, just the two of us. Camping trips, road trips, building his house together, going out in the boat, or down to his cabin. He and I shared many conversations that no one else was privy to, and now I’m left alone with those thoughts. Other losses are those of my childhood years. I was in 2 Kindergartens, 3 elementary schools, and 4 high schools. No one person went through school with me. No one. My graduating class was not a group of people I grew up with. I had only attended that school for the final year. My friends from my elementary school years remember me just as I last saw them, as an undersized 8 year old. And then I never saw them again.


There is something to be said about growing up in the same house, in the same town. Of course, there is also something to be said about not doing so. As apt as your neighbors might be in remembering the fun times, those same people who continue to circulate around you everyday life have very long memories, and don’t hesitate to share some of the more embarrassing history they have shared with you. When I have managed to pitch in one place for more than a year at a time, I have been reminded often of some of those chosen moments…like the time I drove my skidoo across the flooded pond and the engine flooded in the deep water. I ended up standing on the skidoo screaming for help, and my ex-husband’s uncle was the first to hear me wailing. They later rowed an aluminum boat out to get my dumb ass, and then returned to tow in my skidoo, which is still in circulation today.


Land and Sea was filming here in Grand Bruit this week, and yours truly found herself in front of the lens. They asked me to provide some historical context given that my father and I had worked together on a genealogy project for years. We began in the graveyard with the headstone of what my father referred to as “the mother of all Billards” as we know them. From there we crossed the breakwater, and stopped outside my mother’s house for an outdoor interview about what drew me to Grand Bruit for all these years. From there we walked up towards the school, where we talked about my father attending school there, as well as helping to build the school that still stands in Grand Bruit. We also talked about my own child attending school there. We walked on over to the museum and ended my portion there. It will air sometime after Christmas and she promised to send me a copy. As well, they are interested in some of the clips I had recorded with my father a couple of years ago, about the old houses here.


Last night the crew of Land and Sea encouraged everyone to stop by the Cramalott Inn where they filmed some of our foolishness. I brought over an assortment of alcohol from my father’s liquor cabinet, and shared with anyone who wanted. I partook of that assortment of alcohol, and proceeded to get pretty drunk. About 4am, I was on my knees beside the toilet bowl...it has been quite some time since I drank that much vodka. But I had a wonderful time, was given a Land and Sea hat for my time, and took lots of photos.

It appears that I didn't finish the post, so I'm not sure where I was going with this at the time.  The Land and Sea episode will be airing sometime in the new year.