To be uncomplicated

"For the first time in a long time, then, it felt uncomplicated. It was just love, after all, that I felt for my father, and that wasn't so hard." p 166, The Sentimentalists by Johanna Skibsrud.

There is something inside of me that wants so desperately to let go and find some peace. But I can't. I don't know how to yet. It all feels so complicated. But one day, I hope, I will get there. It will be a beautiful place. And then I can continue on the path that is just around the bend.

 

Searching

One of the nights when I was back home my brother took Big Love and I up to my Dad's house. I hadn't ever been in it, didn't even know where it was because he had moved there some time after my last visit.

It was located just a mile or two from town and the view was beautiful. He showed me the land that had finally become his six months previous after renting it for a year or two and the shop where 'it all happened'. Seeing the shop made me happy. Because I could tell he was happy in it building the beautiful things that he did. There was so much space for my Dad to build his things and lots of light coming in. My brother had bought him some cushioned squares to put in the places where he spent most of his time standing and from what he said, my Dad couldn't get over how much more comfortable it was to stand on them rather than the hard concrete floor.

When I walked into the house I was surprised. The cabinets looked similar to what mine did when I moved into this house 6 months ago. I can honestly say that I was a little sad at the state of things considering he had built beautiful cabinets for everyone else but couldn't afford to build them for himself. (He did build gorgeous cherry wood cabinets for the house we grew up in.) The rest of the house needs a lot of work, too. But it will get that work done just before my sister and her family move into it. I can totally understand why they want to move in.

On a cabinet just when you walk into the house there was a small tape recorder. Those old ones with the itty bitty tapes. I took it and started fast forwarding and playing, forwarding and playing, forwarding and playing. In my head I started getting frantic. "What the fuck do I think I'm going to find?" I said out loud. His voice. I know I wanted to hear his voice one more time. And if I'm really honest I wanted to hear him talking to me, telling me he was sorry that he wasn't able to be more of the father and build a bridge for us to meet on. Dad, why was it so hard for you to listen to me and talk to me? I only wanted to be heard and loved.

My sister found Wally Lamb's book The Hour I First Believed in my Dad's house even before I got there. I loved his other books and since my sister kept my Dad's copy I ordered my own shortly after getting back from our trip. (She would have sent it to me but I wanted to get reading it as soon as possible.) For the most part I spent the kid's nap/quiet time in the afternoon reading it a chapter or so at a time with coffee that my sister had sent with me in a cup she had given me clasped in my hand. I read every page carefully and here again I found myself looking for something. My Dad hadn't gotten very far in the book, maybe only a chapter or two, but there was part of me that hoped I would find something on the pages that would speak to me, that would help all of this hurt go away and leave only peace in its wake. And miraculously give me some answers as to why our relationship had to be so damn hard. I know part of it was my fault, but I got so sick and tired of being hurt, Dad, that I just had to stop. And I'm sorry for that, but it was all I knew how to do. Now I hurt in such a different way and it won't stop either.

Everywhere I turn these days I'm hoping something will help all of this make sense. If it could come all at once and make everything crystal clear... well, it won't and if I'm lucky I'll get little pieces here and there that will eventually show me a bigger picture. For now nothing makes any sense. And I'm trying to be ok with that.

Call me Alexander

A few moments after Sweet One went down for a nap she had a dirty diaper and so I changed her and put her back in her bed but it took another twenty minutes for her to finally go to sleep. I was so tired and knew that the afternoon was turning out to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad afternoon.

The alarm didn't go off because I set it for 1:55 am so I didn't get to have my latte and Sweet One only napped for 55 minutes after being up very early in the morning. This was turning out to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad afternoon.

We hopped in the car to do a few errands and as I was driving down the hill with two cars parked on my right side I heard a bang. I looked over and noticed that I no longer had a passenger rear view mirror so I did a u-turn and checked on the the vehicles but there were no marks on them and there was no mark on my car. This pregnant fog was making it even harder to have a good afternoon. I think I should move to Nova Scotia.

We drove to the dealership and they were closed. I'll have to go to on Monday. We went to the giant store and got the few things we needed. Sweet One was good for most of the time except when we were leaving because she didn't want to put her mittens back on. I told her it was cold. I told her the wind would make her hands very cold. She wouldn't listen. So she cried all the way to the car. This was continuing to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad afternoon!

I put Sweet One in the car and she cried for her mittens so I put them on. Then we drove about half a mile to stop at the nearest Tim Horton's because I needed coffee and I decided to get some Timbits for us. When we were pulling out of the drive thru I looked into my rear view mirror at Sweet One and realized that I had forgotten to finish buckling her in when she freaked out and wanted her mittens. I was beside myself. What a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad afternoon!

Sweet One enjoyed eating a few Timbits and we managed to get to Big Love's workplace without any more problems. When we got home things were a little better so I think I'll worry about moving to Nova Scotia another day.

Sweet One's Interpretations

Lately I have been captivated by how much Sweet One seems to be interpreting. I put Elmo in Grounchland on for her to see if it would scare her as it did a number of months ago and I am happy to say that it doesn't. (Part of me is gauging whether it may be possible to take her to the movie theater since I absolutely love going to movies myself!) She is definitely understanding what is going on in the story as she shouts "Find Elmo!" and tries to dance with the same motions that Vanessa Williams does. A few moments ago she shouted out words that I didn't understand but with an expression that clearly showed her concern for Elmo.

She is also expressing her understand when reading books. I recently took a book called But No Elephants out of the library because I loved it as a kid. Sweet One will 'help' me read spots where she knows what is going to be happening after only having it at home for five days. When we read You Are Special she imitates the poses she sees some of the characters doing. Another book that she was addicted to for a week or so was The Giving Tree. The last time we read it she started calling out "Apples!" and then "House!.....Boat!" etc, identifying the correct order of what the boy/man demands from the tree before I was even reading the words myself.

In the car we've been listening to the third volume of the Glee soundtrack and over the past few days Sweet One has been singing the chorus to Lady Gaga's Poker Face. I am constantly amazed at this and think it is the cutest thing in the world. She's not just singing one small part but is singing out one line after the other.

Oh how this little girl of mine never ceases to amaze me! Bit by bit she is telling us what is going on in her mind and I love every minute of it. Now if only she could do more of that when a tantrum is upon us.

This is what happens when Sweet One sleeps for more than 45 mins in the afternoon, without me.

After more obsessing I finally decided to order the bag once I realized that it was actually larger than my diaper bag. Sweet One and I are going to Montreal Oct 1 and with the goal of avoiding the need for a pack horse to help me getting things onto the train, I'll attempt a small suitcase and therefore actually have genuine need for a larger bag! Yes. Still ridiculous, I know. For the first time ever I don't have any guilt about this somewhat superfluous purchase and it is on its way. So enough of that, I can shut the fukk up already! To top it off, I got a message from my sister on facebook:

I packed up a giant box of clothes for [Sweet One]. I'm not sure what size she is but this should be good from now until next fall. There's a winter coat but not a snow suit or anything, but i've probably got more stuff to add I just didn't want to dig around in [the boy's] closet when he was sleeping. I can probably get [my crazy husband] to send it off while I'm here but it's also missing the robeez boots and a few things like that, but I can send those off seperately. So there's probably a few hundred bucks saved on clothes right there, definitely way more saved than the cost of a Puddle Jumper, if you see where I'm going with that.....

She's funny. And I was about to go shopping for a fleece sleeper and long sleeved diaper shirts because it seems as if October temperatures are here already. I must admit. I'm completely jealous of my sister right now and it is not because she has four lug bags but because she is in the one part of the world I'd give anything to live in - Halifax. And after stalking her on Facebook I realized she'll be in PEI which is even better than Halifax! Truly. I want to live there more than anything in the world. I'd start packing now. Who cares if this house doesn't sell. It's the one place in the world I wouldn't have to think about. My main love of all things Canadian maritime is from Lucy Maud Montgomery. Her fiction books and even the Selected Journals of hers that were published make me know I could belong there. I visited it once and felt it in my bones. The idea of living somewhere I could actually belong is very appealing.

Sweet One sleeps and I'm at a loss of what to do since I've already watched last night's Army Wives. The result? One post that is boring and not much more than a stream of consciousness that is a little too close to what actually goes on in this brain of mine! But isn't Cavendish Beach beautiful?

Interpreting Time

You will never hear me say "the book was SO much better than the movie" or vice versa because when it comes down to it they are two completely different mediums and each have their own abilities. I adored the Time Traveler's Wife. I've read it twice. The second time I read it I saw a name in it and knew I would one day have a child by that name. (It wasn't a wish or a hope, it was something being struck within me that revealed a truth.)

Today Big Love took the afternoon off because he will be at work in the evening and I decided that it was about time I took a few hours off. I have not left Sweet One for that long before but knew that it was time. I saw the movie and in my opinion the movie was absolutely beautiful! I am not a critic and nor do I pretend to be but I really think that the movie was able to interpret the important parts of the book and make something wonderful.

When I got home it was clear that Sweet One was excited to have me back. When I held her she rested her head on my shoulder for the first time. It was great to go and have some time for myself and to come home to a baby who was both fully content with her Dad but ecstatic to have me home. (And it was good for Big Love to get some confidence in his ability to care for his daughter when I'm not reachable!)

"And once, a long time ago and during very difficult circumstances, my Mr. Dickens had taught every one of us kids that our voice was special, and we should remember this whenever we used it, and remember that whatever else happened to us in our lives our voice could never be taken away from us."

from Mister Pip
by Lloyd Jones