Tag: memory

Snow Place Like Home

snowplace

Just made it in from digging out from yet another snow day, we are on day two of a marathon of bad weather.  Snow days I like, the shoveling not so much, if you have read any of my recent posts you should know by now that I am not a fan of winter and a big part of that is the shoveling.  I am one of those who still has to shovel out, no snowblower for me, it’s two legs and a heartbeat that gets me through it. This winter has been especially bad and it still seems like spring is nowhere in sight. After many weather-related conversations this week, there is a general consensus that this winter season is really wearing on us all but “hey, at least we have storm chips”.

Yeah, they’re a thing, I was at the supermarket the other day and a lady in front me was chatting with the cashier and mentioned she was on the hunt for a bag.  Now I need to back up a sec to provide some background on this newest phenomenon called “storm chips”. I live in Newfoundland and we are notorious for bad winter storms, and something else we are notorious for is preparing for one. We take our storm days seriously, there’s booze to be purchased, electronic devices that need charging and of course the “storm chips”, snacks are essential. Social media has added momentum I’ve noticed, to this pre-storm ritual, we now live in a world where something like a #STORMCHIPS hashtag can bring a community together while mother nature drops by to throw up.

It’s true, we have come a long way when it comes to how we spend our snow days. One huge example of that is technology, it allows all of us who have to endure a winter wallop to connect and share how each of us, are surviving our snowy sequester. Snow days are a much needed day off work for some, you don’t have to worry that you didn’t make it in because no one else did either. It’s now a chance to binge-watch some Netflix and make it through that next season, maybe grab some games from the closet to challenge the kids, or curl up with that book you’ve been meaning to read. Some even brave the elements and venture outside for a wintery walk hoping the coffee shop on the corner managed to open, the possibilities are endless.

There was a moment as I peeked outside while the freezing rain tapped against the window that I thought back to my youth.  I remember mornings my grandparents chatted while I laid in my bed trying to make out what they were saying, I knew it had to be because of the weather because I couldn’t see out my window-oh boy! As the morning went on my confidence grew, the fact that my grandmother, who was my alarm clock for my entire school career, was still yet to crack my door and give my bed a shake was a high probability of a snow day. No happier feeling than being a kid and being told school was canceled and the day was all mine. My snow days are enjoyed from an adult’s perspective nowadays but my inner child still enjoys the anticipation.

Shoveling is all done and the city is moving again, life is slowly getting back to normal. We received give or take, 60 centimeters of snow these last two days, two snow days in a row which is like seeing a unicorn. The rumor of bad weather hits everyone differently, kids don’t count because we all know how they feel. The palette of colors plastered on the meteorologist’s teleprompter can make some cringe, others take it as a warning to start their supply list right away at the whisper of a few flakes. Snow days aren’t going anywhere and no matter how you feel about spending a day stormbound we have no other choice but to wait it out. Take this free day to catch up on things you may not have enough time for normally like cleaning the house, doing a craft or reading a book (or this blog-shameless plug). Newfoundlanders have existed on this rock in the Atlantic for a very long time, yes we may complain, it’s our culture to always talk about the weather because it’s a big part of who we are. It doesn’t matter the forecast anyway because when it comes to a winter in Newfoundland, one thing’s for sure, there’s snow place like home.

“Forget Me Never”

(I thought I’d share this poem that was taken from a journal of mine, it was written July 26, 2006.)

Forget Me Never
by Ash

Forget me never;
Forget me not.

Times we loved;
Times we fought.

We walked alone;
We walked together.

Forget me not;
Forget me never.

 

Round Here!

I was sitting down the other night staring outside my living room window with a drink in my hand and the way it looked outdoors reminded me of what it was like at Christmas time in the small town where I grew up.  It was the second time that day that I started to think about home actually, I walked to the store earlier that evening and had the same reminiscent feeling come over me.  The snow had just fallen and the street lights had this orange tinge to it, the atmosphere was thought provoking and I began to flashback to another time.  As I trudged along I began to think how walking was a huge part of how I celebrated Christmas, one tradition that I really enjoyed was going door to door to have a few drinks and spend time with friends and neighbors.  It didn’t matter either what part of the town you lived in for everywhere was within walking distance and there was no need for a drop off or cabs like you have to accommodate for in the big city, nope it was two legs and a heartbeat that got you to where you needed to be.

I had a lot of good ol’ times at Christmas with my friends but one friend in particular was always by my side and that was Willie, he was my best friend and pretty much anything thing that I did, he was always a part of it.  Every night during the holidays the phone would ring and it would be Willie wondering if I was ready and if he should leave his house to come down to my grandparents where I lived.  I ‘d tell him to get his butt down here and within minutes of hanging up the phone he would come strolling  in all decked out in his Christmas best grinning ear to ear in the best of moods, although he knew I was there he always asked anyway – “Is Ash here?”.  My grandmother would call out to me and give him the ceremonial “sit down Willie my dear; you’re not a stranger now are ya?”  He would then slowly proceed to take a seat at the kitchen table acting like it was his first time he had ever visited; he was always his bashful self when it came to my grandmother.  Once I finished getting ready I too also took a seat at kitchen table, “my spot” as it were and all was in now in place.  My grandmother, god love her, would already have a pre-purchased six pack stored covertly under her bed for such an occasion, she seemed content when we spent time together and she especially enjoyed the fact that we were there, it was like company for her too.  Our nights always started at Nan and Pop’s place and once we felt like moving on my grandmother would make sure we had our hats and mitts (“yes nan we do”) and see us to the door where she would leave us with “stay out of trouble and be careful”.

It took us no time before we were sat at another kitchen table being poured a drink of our choice and being ushered to take off our coats and stay awhile.  All the homes were nestled together on the hillside so once we ventured on from one place there would be someone else bellowing from their patios for us to join them; this would go on all night.  Yarns were spun and good times were had by all, Christmas spirit was in abundance and no doubt our glasses stay filled the night through.  Small town life has a different feel to it; everybody knows who you are and what family you came from and after twenty minute of drilling you with questions regarding your upbringing you could pretty much clue up your family tree in one sitting.  There was no traffic in site, the houses had Christmas lights which illuminated the pathways just enough to show us the way.  We were always met with a Merry Christmas or a Happy New Year by all whom passed by and we would often pick up a strangler or two nowhere near done with their night of festivities, the more the merrier we’d say.  There was a sense of belonging no matter where you went, everyone felt like family and would make sure to offer a spare room or the couch if things got a little too fuzzy.

Every year for many years Willie and I would do this and it was a tradition that we kept alive for much of our young adult lives.  When I think back today it makes me feel good that I had to the chance to spend some quality moments with someone who was very near and dear to my heart, someone like Willie.   Looking back in hind sight and especially now that he has passed on I’m very thankful that I had gotten the chance to be friends with such a wonderful guy who I miss every day.

Willie was also good friends with my uncles as well, so whenever we were together there was a good chance that one if not all my uncles were there too (I had five).  Never a dull moment with them around trust me, they would torment us and call us light weights when it came to drinking and every now and again we would get body slammed into a snow bank for no apparent reason at all.  There was no point in retaliation either because it only came back worst then the first time around but it was all in good fun and that was the genuine theme when we were all together was to “have fun”.  They ‘re all a good bunch of guys who have created beautiful families of their own and I miss hanging out with them like that, it seems like it was a lifetime ago but the memories are just as vivid as if it had happened only yesterday.  Stop and think about that someone that you miss spending time with and if they are still reachable and a part of your life then call them up and go spend time with them, it’s the perfect opportunity this time of  year to do it.

As Willie and I got older we migrated from just going door to door to visiting the local watering hole, the “Hook N’ Line”, which at the time was owned by my parents so most nights we’d wind up there.  A huge congregation of familiar faces filled the room as we escaped a cold winter’s night; it was like walking into Cheers on TV where everyone knew your name.  There was always an energized atmosphere about the place with people laughing, carrying on and a game of pool usually took center stage as people young and old alike would try for bragging rights in an impromptu on the spot Christmas tournament.  The pub was all decorated, music was festive, the place was packed to its capacity, a prime opportunity to see some of your old friends and catch up.  There were some good times that we had back then at that quaint little bar, for the most part it seemed like the whole community was there all coming together to celebrate the holidays by sharing stories and drinks until the wee hours in the morning only to do it all over again the very next evening.

So the other night as I looked outside it was no different than most nights but for some reason it struck me differently, I was gifted with memories of Christmases past, it was nice.  I remember those days fondly and in retrospect I’m grateful to have been asked to be a part of so many peoples’ lives in celebrating Christmas in small town Newfoundland.  I was welcomed into their homes to share in their joy which I sometimes miss but we all have to move on which may mean leaving home behind to find a life for ourselves somewhere’s else.  No matter where that journey takes us we can always look back, we may not be able to recreate the past but the past is a big part of who we are today and how we continue to celebrate the holidays.

It’s true, we all have loved ones that are no longer with us, for me they include some that I have mentioned in this post.  It makes me sad yeah, but it also makes me feel good that I have memories that they will always be a part of, that night while I walked to the store or while I looked from my window might have been a gesture from above that they too are missing me.  Just take inventory of what makes you happy and use that to celebrate who you still have in your lives, eat good food and share great stories while keeping their spirits alive and those traditions going.  If you feel lonely during the holidays maybe it’s an indication that you need to get back in touch with someone or somewhere, the solution may be just as simple as picking up the phone or knocking on that that door and I bet there’s a friendly face waiting on the other side maybe thinking the very same thing.  I leave you with a simple thought that whether it’s a kitchen party, a drink with a best friend or a pub full of friendly faces, the only thing that should be on anyone’s mind during Christmas is “who’s got the next round?”

Cheers

 

“Hold Me Clothes and Never Let Go”

I’m not sure why but the other day I thought about this jacket that I use to wear all the time when I was in my twenties, it was brown leather with a seventies style to it, very Donnie Brascoish.  I swear it felt like it was made specifically just for me, I loved it and only got rid of it a couple of years ago.  A brief history about this coat, back in the day my best friend Danny and I would visit the local thrift store on a weekly basis, it was a part of our roommate routine.  We’d both spend hours combing through old vintage clothing hoping to score some new digs, well…new to us at least.  Sifting through racks upon racks meticulously choosing what we liked, there were some hits and even more misses, the harder we looked the more gems we’d find.   One day we were both determined to score what we thought was the pinnacle of all university student thrift shopping and that was the “vintage jacket”.  It was our main objective and it wasn’t going to be easy because at the time retro jackets were a trend (we totally started it by the way).  After trying on what seemed to be every jacket they had for sale and on the verge of giving up there it was, in perfect condition, not a blemish on it and even had all the buttons still intact.  I quickly called dibs and as soon as I put the coat on I knew it was mine, fit like a glove in a very jackety way, best find ever.

(Crazy fact about the coat is that in the inside pocket there was a movie ticket stub that was issued in 1977, the same year as I was born and only 10 days off my birthday.)

Like I mentioned it was just a couple of years ago that I had to say goodbye to the old potential heirloom for it could not just hang there anymore serving no purpose.  Finally the jacket had run its course for any need that I had for it,…it was a very sad day, I said goodbye to an old friend.   I relinquished it back to the realm of thrift store purgatory where someday it might catch the eye of another retro jacket connoisseur and give someone else as much use as it did me.  That coat saw me through some of the best years of my life and when I think about it, it brings back a slew of memories.  I held on to it for as long as I could, I’d try to convince myself over and over that someday I would wear it again, someday, no seriously it still fit.  Who was I kidding?   The jacket made me look like a baby in a two sizes too small sleeper, I was clearly in denial, after a few moments alone with the coat I said a few words and placed the jacket in the goodwill bag then ran to my room crying.  No I didn’t cry, well maybe a little, it was dusty in the room.  No I was actually very happy that I donated the jacket back to where I had gotten it from some years ago, it had gone full circle and who knows where it might turn up next.

I bet as you’re reading this you too can recall some item of clothing that you held on to maybe a smidge too long and well past its closet expiry date.  I remember pairs of sneakers where my pinky toe holes gave away the colour of my socks and ball caps having sweat stain rings but it didn’t matter because of the perfect curved peek.  Looking back at my jacket, that cap and those shoes, it kind of, in a way acts like a synthetic journal quickly flashing up thoughts and memories which are forever attached to them.  There are chapters of my life that can be chronologically profiled with the help of some of my wardrobe, stages of my life that can be cat-walked down a ramp as my voice narrates in the background.  If you were to look through your closet now, is there anything that you just can’t throw away?  Are there items that have stood the test of time because you couldn’t bare parting ways with it or maybe the emotional attachment that it may hold?

Clothing can carry sentimental value for some of us, I still have to this day a dress shirt, t-shirt and suspenders combo that my grandfather use to wear.  It hangs in my closet and from time to time when I’m digging out something on a daily basis to wear I pass it on the hanger and instantly start to think about him.  My grandfather must have had twenty of the same combination of that dress shirt, t-shirt, and suspenders trifecta.  He certainly loved to rock the flannel, and  when I pass by it at the end of my shirt rack each morning I’m glad in this case I held on to the past.  I kept my grandfather’s ensemble because when I look at it, it makes me happy and when I think of him that’s how I picture him and he’s rocking the flannel as only he could.  We get these emotional attachments to the clothes that we wear because quite frankly and as funny as it may seem the clothes has been there with us the whole way.  That one suit we had straight out of college that helped us make it to interview after interview, that dress that has seen itself go from maid of honour duties to a night on the town, how something as simple as what we wore on a certain day can have so many emotions attached to it.

Emotions are one thing but people also care about their identity when we decide to put something on.  Clothing can also become synonymous with who we are, I knew a guy in high school who always wore a ball cap and he just became known for the cap, then there was the parachute pants girl, turtleneck guy…the list goes on.   I’m sure most of you can remember someone based solely on some item of clothing that they wore all the time or maybe there’s someone who you know now.  I was briefly known in political science class as the guy in the green puffy vest, yes I said “puffy”…moment of silence for the  90’s puffy vests .  Ok let’s forget the puffy green vest but my point is that certain clothing can define who we are or who we were.  I grew up playing sports and every time I put on a jersey as a kid it felt like something I would be doing for the rest of my life.   That phase came and went just as many did after, but when I see a jersey now or even get to try one on it takes me right back to the good ol’ high school days where sports consumed my life.  If you take a look at who you are today as compared to whom you were there may be similarities and I’m positive a lot of differences.  How has you’re style changed?  Has it changed at all?  Were you once a t-shirt and jeans guy and now it’s nothing only suits or maybe you’re a girl who wore nothing but black in college but now anything else is the new black.

I hope I was able to make you think a little bit with this post, sometimes when I think about something stuff just pours out.  The jacket meant a lot to me sure, but realistically it was more like a time capsule that took me right back to then and there.  So trust me, go through that closet or clean out your dressers, there may be some stories waiting for you to recreate all over again.  That coat that I bought and the day we spent at the thrift store was a day I will never forget, and a memory like that will always be worth more than the clothes on my back.