When I was young I learned that snow berry are sacred plants. I learned that their berries hold the spirits of our ancestors. I learned that to sit among snow … Continue reading Among Snow Berry
17 years ago this spring my daughter, Jessy Lee, and I moved into our home in the Avenues.
Tomorrow she comes home from university for what may likely be her final summer at home. And, two weeks from now, my partner, Alan, and his dog Felix, move in.
My home/world changing forever. I could not be more happy.
Tonight though, my final night alone, in many ways, and certainly in this home, I remember the past 17 years.
Jessy Lee and I arrived here when she was 4 1/2 years old. I looked at homes while she was at preschool. I looked at 27 homes before this home chose us. Here, standing in the back yard, surrounded by five giant evergreens, the trees sang to me. Then, I had felt so lost. Still only 6 months separated, scared of everything, and certainly change, the wind in the trees sang me home.
Oh, The Song of The Avenues.
Here, Jessy Lee and I grew up. Here, she was surrounded by friends. For many years, five houses in a row with kids the same age, same grade, same school down the way. For a few years, Dad puttered, when Mom allowed days in town, I wrote and shuffled between school and soccer, and wrapped my healing tightly around being the best mom.
We grew up here. I remember my first day of orientation for my undergraduate degree, my peers brought their parents; someone asked if I had brought someone. I remember thinking that Jess had school.
I remember that I only missed one soccer game in all the years. I remember the Sukanen hauntings, and years of halloween decorating that ran 70 plus carved pumpkins strong. I remember my sister and I hosting birthday party-sleepovers for 30 eight year olds, and later, for 20 teenagers.
I remember scavenger hunts, murder parties, tent forts, movie weekends, lego adventures, clue weekends, games days, kick the can, man tracker, open mic, soccer games, practices, tournaments, playoffs, fundraisers, coaching; I remember friends and late nights, and fondu, and dill dip, and musicals, and rope curling hair, and speeches, stories and poems and slide shows, and late night reading, and patio coffee sharing, and card making, much laughter and endless love.
We grew up here. And I am not sad. Neither is Jess. The House Down the Street with the Large Mailbox has cared for us well. We grew up here. Jess and I both became independent here.
Here, we learned to know our roots. Here, we learned to know ourselves.
The trees have taught us their Home Lessons.
Thank you my whispering friends. Thank you for keeping us safe. Thank you for seventeen years of fine friendship.
Tonight I honour your twinkle-light-Avenue-porch-listening-evergreen-wind-song one final time.
~ for Alan
When I figured things
Out, I could buy red
I have a pair of nearly pink
Flats. I bought them
Years ago. They pinch
I found red runners that I wore
When I sat my ethics
The runners are candy
New, and they have no
Grip on my soul.
A year ago, I sipped coffee wrapped
In warm morning
Light and my heart
The feel of Adirondack
Chair, well worn
Home, and sand
We are a fine fit.
Late last week, a grade twelve student wandered into my room. He was smiling. He had his term one report card. Graduation looked promising. “Miss Saas. I want you to … Continue reading Love Loud
Here. I took a step over the property line and stood on the driveway a while. I heard the radio tuned to CBC, the static from the old machine offering … Continue reading Home Stories
The students I live alongside set a challenge, to write about the past/future. They set the challenge so I would finish a piece, put pen to paper, stop sitting in conversation so long with each of them, and step up to the mic. After all, we headline in a month.
The future. The past. The future. Tricky business these places.