Tag: home

One Final Wind-Song

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.

Home.

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I’m Here

(Red Shoes Series)

Saturday Afternoon at the Cabin

Everyone snoozes.

From the far room, Dad’s snore’s whistle. When I was young Dad’s snores rolled in swells through the house. Once, while camping with my cousins, Dad’s snores woke campers two sites over.

Dad’s snores are the sounds of home, the home of the youth where I turned over at night and snuggled deeper into the covers when there was an unknown thump on the back deck or the coyote howls were nearby; I am safe, Dad is downstairs.

His snores are different since the stroke, high pitched, and far away.

(more…)

Home, Always.

storytime june 2013Last week I moved out of one school and into another.

Mostly, that’s true.

However, the stories remain. I’ve brought all of them with me.

All of the resources, exemplars and memorabilia are now packed and sitting in boxes in a different building. The packing of all those stories happened in a flurry of four days.

A week earlier, 30 moving boxes had arrived. The division had said they would be able to move my things in early August; upon overhearing that news, my boys had said they would show up the last day of school and that they would bring their half-tons.

So, the pack was on.

It went rather smoothly, except that it was final exam time, report card time and the most difficult part, I really had to leave!

I had readied myself for the oncoming rush of emotion. I had steeled myself.

I was ready!

I cried every moment.

Packing consisted of simply stuffing my dearest and best treasures into boxes. I cried every moment; the kids didn’t fit into boxes, or not voluntarily!team pic june 2013

I discovered a few things during the pack that I didn’t know about or had forgotten: a parachute, 80 bouncy balls and 7 machetes. Somewhere during my focus on packing those last few boxes it seems I had come to have already wrapped-up my magic wand long before it was time to pack it away as well. Oh, our stories that had once belonged only here to our family classroom-space, now belonged too to our shared adventures and our stories, and live long in our collective memory.

Last week, I said goodbye to our graduates. Students in our cozy little K-12 family school kept stopping by for hugs and to share stories.

I cried every moment.

Soon, all 30 boxes began to brim.

That final Wednesday, the boys backed a half-ton up to the school’s front doors and we loaded the graffittied out-of-tune piano, andpiano move hauled it into the city to its new space. Sure, I had heard the well meaning words of some, “Cori, do you really need to take the piano?”

However, I’ve come to listen to different stories too. One of the students at my new space, upon seeing the piano, rested his fingers atop the keys; the piano fitting perfectly in its new smaller home.

After that move, the five members of the moving crew went for slushies before heading back. After all, we needed more time, and I suppose, I still had year-end final Language Learning conversations that afternoon.

Friday arrived and I was panicked. The staff had offered to set aside their own work and venture into my class to help pack. However, at 10:00 am a team of grade 9 & 10 students arrived. “We’re here to help.” And they set to work, without my direction and because they wanted to be there, to help me, to honour our family. A few had been there all week helping, even though there had moring team june 2013been no classes.

Silently, solemnly, as family, we packed boxes.

Around 11:30 am a community member also suddenly arrived. She and the morning team loaded her SUV. She suggested she’d meet us around 3:30 pm, saving me a return trip later that night.

I realized I was surrounded with love. I was surrounded by family.

Then, the boys arrived. I had taken to wearing my sunglasses indoors.

We loaded our vehicles. I cried every moment.afternoon team june 2013

We stuffed my SUV full. We loaded the half-ton to overflowing.

I hugged the staff who had been so profoundly supportive, and then the kids and I pulled away.

I remember several years ago having moved from my previous school to this one. I was having such a heart-missing difficult time loving this space, these kids. I really had loved my previous home. It took me a long time to love my current kids that much. Yet, I did and then, something different happened along the way. Stories. We shared stories. We listened to each other share our stories. And they became ready for me to go. Now, we are both ready.

As I pulled onto the highway and headed east, I knew that all the moments we have listened to each other, shared with each other, we have been learning to honour our own stories. These story spaces will continue! We have come to understand some of the complexities of telling, living, retelling & reliving our own narratives. We have come to understand the beauty of a trusting space that supports our sharings.

So I pulled into the new school-yard-space and we unloaded the boxes.all in one home room june 2013

Okay, I drank the iced cap that the boys had stopped and picked up for me. I slurped, wore my sunglasses as a hair band while the boys filed past me, unloading boxes from three different vehicles. Then, we headed to my house to unload bookshelves. Afterwards, they drove away, leaving my daughter and I sitting on our front steps a little before 5:00 pm on the final day of school.

They drove away, but were not gone. That’s family. That’s what it’s like when family changes homes. Sad, but we take our stories along with us. Some can be boxed, most travel with us, staying perched for hours on our front stoops, tears streaming down faces.

Home, always.

From Home: Wondering

I am wondering how experiences shape our collective narrative. I am wondering how sharing experiences shifts our stories. I am wondering if you will wonder along with me. I’ll be wondering aloud for the next few years, join me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

317 km from home

And nowhere near centre

He walks with her

She walks with him

He listens

317 km from home

Nowhere near centre

She is my Brown-eyed Bunny-Rabbit, girl in green, three and a bit

He is my Dad, Albert, story-teller, Grandpa with sage tucked behind his ear

I hear them

I hear her

He listens

I smile. I hear the gravel beneath their feet

I pause

And snap this photo

Someday today will matter

Someday she will ask questions about

Yesterday

Questions that I cannot answer

317 km from home

And no idea of centre