Here are all of the submissions 19131 has submitted to DownhomeLife.com
My Minke Summer In the early 80s, we lived in Trinity, a small coastal community in Newfoundland. A few years previously, the Village Inn had been purchased by a marine biologist and turned into a successful whale watching tour business.
The Inn, which was near our little house, became a gathering point for both locals, or as one American so lovingly called us, natives (as in, "The Natives sure love baloney"), and CFAs, which was short ... click to read moreIn the early 80s, we lived in Trinity, a small coastal community in Newfoundland. A few years previously, the Village Inn had been purchased by a marine biologist and turned into a successful whale watching tour business.
The Inn, which was near our little house, became a gathering point for both locals, or as one American so lovingly called us, natives (as in, "The Natives sure love baloney"), and CFAs, which was short for "Come From Aways." These guests came from all corners of the world, and it was probably the first time in 500 years the town had harboured so many different accents and cultures.
Fran came as a guest in the early 1980s, with her kind, sun-weathered face, two short Pippi Longstocking pigtails, and the desire to study the minke whale. Minkes are as hard to track as mosquitoes. When they breach you can only see the tips of their dorsal fins. On a choppy sea, they look just like another wave, same colour, same height, and same variety. However, Fran chartered a 16' wooden boat, christened it the SS Merry Open Bottom, and hired its owner, Ephraim, to be the skipper. She offered me a place on the crew, taking notes of sightings as she scanned the waves looking for that elusive fin. The other member of the crew was Bob from Holland, who was smart and kind, and usually remembered to put film in the camera.
If our days were sunny and calm, we would drift with the waves, playing hide and seek with the minkes. Other beauties of nature would amaze us - schools of dolphins playing alongside our little boat, puffins bobbing on the waves, or underwater masses of tiny white jellyfish, puffing and panting their way through the clear blue water. Rainy or windy days would find us high on the bluffs above rocky coves, waiting for the humpbacks to follow the schools of tiny silver fish that would become their lunch.
Now I live in a city, where the street in front of our house sometimes overflows with screeching tires, honking horns, and wailing sirens, and our neighbours cannot seem to tear themselves away from their lawnmowers and weed-whackers in the evenings. However, we can hop in our car and within ten minutes, be at a beach, breathing salt air and listening to seagulls, the realities of our new life mingling with the memories of the old.
It seems every day we live, we are making memories for the future.
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The Story of my Life....in Six Decades The fifties were my first decade
when my first memories were made
our little home with walls of stone
and now, like lots of things, it's gone
my daddy's horse, our big white cat
and other little things like that.
The sixties brought us overseas
where I made brand new memories
living by the sea in bliss
learning to swim with jellyfish
skating till dark with my dog at my side
mostly alone, but ... click to read moreThe fifties were my first decade
when my first memories were made
our little home with walls of stone
and now, like lots of things, it's gone
my daddy's horse, our big white cat
and other little things like that.
The sixties brought us overseas
where I made brand new memories
living by the sea in bliss
learning to swim with jellyfish
skating till dark with my dog at my side
mostly alone, but I didn't mind.
The seventies brought me lots of things
oversized coats and wedding rings
kisses on Gun Hill, a tiny wee house
a bouncing wee baby for me and my spouse
co-workers and friends I held close to my heart
and they'd hold me together when I'd fall apart.
The eighties brought treasures of friendships and love
and the me that I was, came back into my soul
and the bad times were eased by the waves and the sun
and the cries of the gulls when the morning begun
two babies came crying and brought me more joys
and my life had a purpose, my three little boys.
The nineties brought change in a mindblowing way
when we packed up our stuff and moved so far away
new ocean, new city, new jobs and new friends
a brand new experience round every bend
no regrets, except family and friends left behind,
our memories keeping them all in our minds.
Those decades add up, and no longer we feel
middle aged, and that's scary - the grey hair is real
and our little boys are all finally grown
with true loves and dear little kids of their own
we continue the journey, no matter what comes,
for beginnings are not only made for the young.
The Orange Sock On this cloudy gray and chilly day, I took a chance at sunshine and hung my laundry outdoors. As I pegged my husband's socks in a row like soft white soldiers, I noticed I was hanging them with their heels all facing the same direction. This brought me back to a time when I was young and single, living free and trying so hard to make a mark on life.
I turned 20 the ... click to read moreOn this cloudy gray and chilly day, I took a chance at sunshine and hung my laundry outdoors. As I pegged my husband's socks in a row like soft white soldiers, I noticed I was hanging them with their heels all facing the same direction. This brought me back to a time when I was young and single, living free and trying so hard to make a mark on life.
I turned 20 the year I moved to Trinity, and became the middle teacher in a three-room school on the hill. The School Board had found me a boarding house in the community, and I got the biggest bedroom of the three, since I was paying the most rent - $50 per month. I moved in with my Herman Hermits and Monkees records, my What, Me Worry? poster, and my hopes and dreams of teaching all the little 8- and 9-year-olds of the town their multiplication tables and world geography.
I soon settled in my new home. The couple who were my landlords would become, in the future, my aunt and uncle by marriage, but long before then Evelyn became my friend. We would play scat for pennies, and she would drag me to bingo, which I soon learned to hate. And every now and then, I guess I would help a little around the house.
My sister would probably never believe this, as she knew I would hide in the bathroom whenever there was a chore to be done. (At least that is how she remembers it. I think I may have been a little bit lactose intolerant.) However, I remember one sunny, warm day when Evelyn was doing laundry, I ended up hanging it out for her, and I remember pegging a row of her family's little white soldiers on the line. However, when I came to the bottom of the basket, I found one lonely single orange sock, all by its lonesome.
I counted the socks on the line, and moved the middle one to an end, so I could peg that little orange sock in the middle. When Evelyn came out, she started to laugh, to see that bright exclamation point surrounded by white. I had no idea which way the heels were pointing. That didn't matter to me back then. What mattered was the single little stocking dancing in the breeze.
At that time in my life, the orange stocking and I were very much alike. We were both independent and bright. We didn't care what anyone said, as long as we could dance and enjoy the dance. In fact, if I remember, I enjoyed being a bit different, pushing the boundaries, and meeting new adventures head on.
The years have passed quickly, bracketed by a married life, and my babies are now adults with their own babies. I hope they find their own adventures to bring them smiles as they grow older. I hope at least once in their lives, they punctuate their clotheslines with an orange sock.
