Sept 16th, 8:30 am
I am nearly overcome with anxious anticipation as I sit here waiting to board the plane. This will be the first time in my adult life flying. Even though we are traveling all the way to the east coat, it occurs to me how small MY world is. After checking our baggage, I see none other than our cottage next door neibour. The man who appears to go nowhere, always dressed for working around his property, tirelessly at the age of 86. He's nearly an uncle, sort of. He's my Grandmothers last boyfriends' nephew. My Grandpa is 90, the youngest of ten, and thats how he gets to have a nephew that is 4 years younger. In all our summers at the cottage he was always there, dressed the same, doing the same sort of thing. I have seen him no where els but at the cottage until today! it really is a small world! So, I can't wait to get to our hotel. This is our (husband and I) first time away together EVER!! here's hoping I can sit "still" for 2 hours!!
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| Running into my uncle from the cottage! |
Sept 16th, 4pm
It seems I really can't get away from painting. after checking into our gorgeous hotel, we headed to our room to find a man inside doing "paint touch-ups"! I felt right at home, where I have been constantly painting for a long time! It started when I wanted to paint a bathroom, a bedroom, than a light turquois for the art room, then "something neutral" for the up and downstairs, then my cherry tart red garden shed, then, and still the exterior of the cottage and now the boys room. hhhhhhh. Paint has become a regular part of my wardrobe, almost a daily accsesory, and has now followed me to Halifax. Good, because I left my paint at home! I love it! Id paint all day if I could. As long as it doesn't find its way onto my anthro dress for tonights Captins' Ball!
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| My anthro closet! |
we gave the painter an hour or so to finish up by heading out for something to eat. We strolled long the harbour board walk, directly behind our hotel, breathing in the salty air, taking in the sights and sunshine on a beautiful day.
Sept 17th
We were blessed by a hotel that serves starbucks! After our morning coffee and lovely convention breakfast of more coffee, eggs, bacon , muffins, muslie and so on, I ventured off while Dave was busy with meetings and speakers. Because it was a rainy morning I didn't want to venture to far as I really don't enjoy being out in the rain. I headed up the street with my umbrella and moccasins to find a used bookstore/coffe house only minutes from our hotel. PERFECT! I love the smell of old books and Coffee. I scanned the tiny shops' shelves with antisipation and intrigue, the same way I had done as a young school girl at the annual book fair. Marvelling over titles and pictures, I spent most of my visit in Childrens' Lit. I found a story book to bring home for the boys and even a childrens book for me! Sipping my chai latte inside, while the rain poured outside I began to read Apricots at Midnight by Adele Geras. If you are a lover if textiles and the way their magic cloaks our daily lives, you will love how the book begins. Ill share it with you here exactly how it is in the book, just for fun:
Apricots at Midnight
chapter 1 Aunt Pinny
Her real name was Penelope Sophia Pintle, but she had been called Pinny all her life. To me she was Aunt Pinny, even though I was not a real niece, but the daughter of her cousin, Laura. She was born in London in 1904. Her father, a fairly prosperous civil servant, had died soon after she was born. Their comfortable, pleasent life changed almost overnight, as Mrs Pintle struggled to make some money, fought to maintain at least the apperance of her former wealth. She began to work as a private dress maker, and became a very succsessful one in the end, but in those days they were poor.
Almost the only toys in their house were srtands and Skeins of silk, like shinning butterflies' wings, strange twists of bottuns, rustling leaves of tissue papre, and drifts and snippets and clippings from a thousand materials whos names were like a song. There were bits of bombazine and brocade and broadcloth; slivers of slippery silk, slub satin and sarsenet; crumplings of cashmere and cotton; trimmings of taffeta; leftovers of linen and lace, and lawn; a name like a green field of daisies when you said. Pinny loved them all.
she, too became a dress maker like her mother. My parents were often abroad during the school holidays, and sometimes I used to stay with her. The house was in a square, tucked behind Kegsington hight st, and turning the corner into that square was like stepping back into another time. Even the traffic in the High St. was only a hum in the distance. the houses stood in pairs. Each house has three staps going up to the front door, and fat, creamy yellow columns on either side of the porch. Many of the doors had rows of little buttons with name-cards beside them. the houses had been turned into Bed-sitting rooms, for the most part, but Aunt Pinny lived all alone in hers. People tried to persuade her that she was lonely, but she smiled at them, and told them politely about her many friends. they said she would become bored with her own company, and she would reply: Iv'e got to know myself well during the last nearly seventy years, and I find myself tolerably interesting. you would be surprised at the entertaining things I can tell myself. And Besides, there is the television in my bedroom. I do enjoy a late night spine-chiller!They told her she would become old and help-less. they painted horrible pictures of milk bottles lined up outside the door and herself inside, sick and feeble. 'fiddlesticks!' Aunt penny would say. 'That's a long way off yet. I'm not even seventy and that's young, nowadays. im far from being halpless as you can see.'
It was true. She was neat, and small, and smooth, and brown. Her hair was brown, done up in a plump bun at the back. She wore brown or grey skirts, with sharp pleats and straight hems, and blouses with cardigans that never looked baggy. She put a flowered overall on to work in. Her face was long and Gentle, like a pretty horse, and her mouth seemed to fall into a smile all by itself, even when Aunt Pinny was not intending to smile at all. She wore a tape measure round her neck, and the front of her overall was stuck with shoals of little silvery pins, likw fish. Before I knew her real name, I thought she was called Pinny because of those pins.
Staying with her was the greatest pleasure of my life at that time. She was always the same person: she did not have a special voice that she used for talking to children. As soon as I stepped into the hall, i became a guest. I had my own little room at the top of the house. There on the chest of drawers, was a sepia photograph in a silver frame, of Aunt Pinny when she was nine. in the photograph, she was standing tidily next to a potted plant, looking at something far away with big, dark eyes under thin eyebrows. She was wearing a white pinafore over a full-skirted dress, and black, flat shoes. Round her neck, there was a chain with a locket hanging from it. Her hair was wavy and dark to the shoulders, with a ribbon tied round it. i used to look at this photograph and think of how little she has changed.
When I was at Aunt Pinny's, I stayed up for dinner in the evening, and shared her coffee afterwards. I, too, had a small, gold rimmed cup, so that it did not matter that my coffee was nearly all milk. Naturally, Aunt Pinny put a stop to her guests carving their initials on the table, or splashing paint all over the carpet, or climbing on the fires escape at the back of the house. I suppose she knew how to be angry, but I never found anything to do that was naughty enough to make her loose her temper. I never even wanted to try.
We did exciting things together. Once, she took me to covent garden market at four o'clock in the morning, to see the lorries loading up with vegetables and fruit. Twice a week we went to the cinema, to a cowboy film if Aunt Pinny could find one, and there was no nonsense about ice cream spoiling my appetite for tea. At the theater, Aunt Pinny always knew the wardrobe mistress or the person who helped to dress the stars, and we often went back stage to the dressing rooms after the show. We went everywhere: to auction sales, and puppet shows, and street markets and parks. And of course, every night I went to bed. Going to bed was the best part of the day, because of the magic patchwork quilt.
There were no flowers on it which came to life, it did not make you invisible, and certainly it did not preform any kind of useful magic, like whisking you off to the furthest star in the sky, or granting you your dearest wish. Nevertheless, it was enchanted, and I loved to lie in the high, narrow bed, listening to Aunt Pinny's voice unroll the magic of the patchwork, as it covered me from my chin, down a long way past my toes and right off the bed..
Aunt Pinny had started making it as soon as she could hold a needle. Every little six sided shape, gad a story to go with it, and all through her life, Aunt Pinny had added more patches and more stories. The quilt was an endless pattern, coloured all the colours in the world: all the flowers, all the rainbows, all the days and nights. Each night, when I was in bed, Aunt Pinny would come in with a cup of cocoa on a tray and tell me one of the stories from the quilt. She would point at a piece of the patchwork and say: 'that's and interesting one,' or 'I remember that one well,' and then she would begin.....
Of course the story goes on, but ends here for us.
Sept 17th
It was true. She was neat, and small, and smooth, and brown. Her hair was brown, done up in a plump bun at the back. She wore brown or grey skirts, with sharp pleats and straight hems, and blouses with cardigans that never looked baggy. She put a flowered overall on to work in. Her face was long and Gentle, like a pretty horse, and her mouth seemed to fall into a smile all by itself, even when Aunt Pinny was not intending to smile at all. She wore a tape measure round her neck, and the front of her overall was stuck with shoals of little silvery pins, likw fish. Before I knew her real name, I thought she was called Pinny because of those pins.
Staying with her was the greatest pleasure of my life at that time. She was always the same person: she did not have a special voice that she used for talking to children. As soon as I stepped into the hall, i became a guest. I had my own little room at the top of the house. There on the chest of drawers, was a sepia photograph in a silver frame, of Aunt Pinny when she was nine. in the photograph, she was standing tidily next to a potted plant, looking at something far away with big, dark eyes under thin eyebrows. She was wearing a white pinafore over a full-skirted dress, and black, flat shoes. Round her neck, there was a chain with a locket hanging from it. Her hair was wavy and dark to the shoulders, with a ribbon tied round it. i used to look at this photograph and think of how little she has changed.
When I was at Aunt Pinny's, I stayed up for dinner in the evening, and shared her coffee afterwards. I, too, had a small, gold rimmed cup, so that it did not matter that my coffee was nearly all milk. Naturally, Aunt Pinny put a stop to her guests carving their initials on the table, or splashing paint all over the carpet, or climbing on the fires escape at the back of the house. I suppose she knew how to be angry, but I never found anything to do that was naughty enough to make her loose her temper. I never even wanted to try.
We did exciting things together. Once, she took me to covent garden market at four o'clock in the morning, to see the lorries loading up with vegetables and fruit. Twice a week we went to the cinema, to a cowboy film if Aunt Pinny could find one, and there was no nonsense about ice cream spoiling my appetite for tea. At the theater, Aunt Pinny always knew the wardrobe mistress or the person who helped to dress the stars, and we often went back stage to the dressing rooms after the show. We went everywhere: to auction sales, and puppet shows, and street markets and parks. And of course, every night I went to bed. Going to bed was the best part of the day, because of the magic patchwork quilt.
There were no flowers on it which came to life, it did not make you invisible, and certainly it did not preform any kind of useful magic, like whisking you off to the furthest star in the sky, or granting you your dearest wish. Nevertheless, it was enchanted, and I loved to lie in the high, narrow bed, listening to Aunt Pinny's voice unroll the magic of the patchwork, as it covered me from my chin, down a long way past my toes and right off the bed..
Aunt Pinny had started making it as soon as she could hold a needle. Every little six sided shape, gad a story to go with it, and all through her life, Aunt Pinny had added more patches and more stories. The quilt was an endless pattern, coloured all the colours in the world: all the flowers, all the rainbows, all the days and nights. Each night, when I was in bed, Aunt Pinny would come in with a cup of cocoa on a tray and tell me one of the stories from the quilt. She would point at a piece of the patchwork and say: 'that's and interesting one,' or 'I remember that one well,' and then she would begin.....
Of course the story goes on, but ends here for us.
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| The little bookstore/coffee house that I spent a rainy morning in. |
Sept 17th
In attempt to look our best for last nights "Captains Ball", a little ironing was a high priority! So while Dave set up his display table, I set up the ironing board and iron, and found the local country music station. Did I mention that I am a closet country music fan?! So, there I was ironing and listening away while the announcer anounces that Dean Brody, singer of my favorite summer love song, wildflower, is playing at the casino just up the street from our hotel. There was no information to folllow about show times and ticket sales, but I knew I HAD to see him. During our dinner, sitting with a friendly group of business men, I happened to mention what I had heard on the radio. A very kind man slid a piece of paper and pen across our well set table and asked that I write down the preformers name. I did, he left the room and returned moments later with news that there was only an hour left of the show and that there were still tickets available! Well, our creme brulee had just been set in front of us and I never miss a good desert. So we finished up our evenings obligations, quickly got changed, jumped in a cab and saw Dean Brody preform in an intimate, candlelight, acoustic song circle with three other amazing performers, All of them taking turns singing, sharing stories and drinking wine. Dean was as cute as ever in his beat up jeans and cow boy hat. I tried to get some good pics, most of them blurry, but all of them memorable! They even closed with "may the circle be un-broken." An amazing night, followed by a hand in hand stroll along the boardwalk back to our hotel.
Tonight, we have cocktails and dinner at the Pier 21, the port of immigration in Canada, and thanks to a good friend at home.....Zavier Rudd!
Saturday, Sept 18th Market Day!
The farmers market market was located behind our hotel, and this morning we awoke to the sound of fiddlers and guitar players summing us to this huge, weekly gathering place for farmers, bakers, makers and artists. Although it was nice for a change, it made me home sick for our local market with our farmer friends, potter, good green river coffee and community. after all I am a small town girl!!
I had the pleasure of seeing family that I haven't seen in way too many years. I have 2 cousins, an Uncle and a Grandfather in Halifax and Peggys cove. We spent most of saturday together and it was wonderful.
All in all, an amazing weekend for sights, good food, live music, time with my love and a deeper appreciation for business men whom at break spoke proudly about their children at home and how much they missed, and couldn't wait to see them! awww!!
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| Dean Brody and Friends |
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| I love anchors! |
Tonight, we have cocktails and dinner at the Pier 21, the port of immigration in Canada, and thanks to a good friend at home.....Zavier Rudd!
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| Zavier Rudd |
Saturday, Sept 18th Market Day!
The farmers market market was located behind our hotel, and this morning we awoke to the sound of fiddlers and guitar players summing us to this huge, weekly gathering place for farmers, bakers, makers and artists. Although it was nice for a change, it made me home sick for our local market with our farmer friends, potter, good green river coffee and community. after all I am a small town girl!!
I had the pleasure of seeing family that I haven't seen in way too many years. I have 2 cousins, an Uncle and a Grandfather in Halifax and Peggys cove. We spent most of saturday together and it was wonderful.
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| Peggy's cove |
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| Dave at work (this ones for the Boss!) |
All in all, an amazing weekend for sights, good food, live music, time with my love and a deeper appreciation for business men whom at break spoke proudly about their children at home and how much they missed, and couldn't wait to see them! awww!!
Beautiful!!!! Thanks for sharing your memories!
ReplyDeleteJuli :)