Sunday 30 September 2012

memoir writers homework-moving day.

Most people,I think hate moving.I'm no exception.Most people,I think find it hard to change,even when they want to.I've moved many times,sometimes from coast to coast and sometimes just a few blocks away.Sometimes I had a lot of things to move with me,and at other times, just what I was wearing plus a few clothes and maybe some books.A paperback copy of "East Of Eden" made several moves with me,until it became so tattered from all the moving that I eventually refused to carry it further.My reasons for moving were various:a separation,an eviction,moving to better accommodations,a fire,moving in with a new room mate.Twice I moved to Alberta,to find better employment opportunities.Once was in 1979,and once earlier this year.Both times I didn't have a lot with me.In 1979,it was just what I could take in my car,and earlier this year,just what I could carry in a backpack,a black hockey bag and the case carrying my new guitar.The train was leaving on a Tuesday night,so I spent all day Tuesday running about,trying to return library books and find a new pair of boots in Kensington Market.They could be purchased for far less there than they could in prosperous Alberta.It was hot,that moving day,and I found it sweaty and uncomfortable walking around.It was the first day of spring and already in the mid 20sC.At home I winnowed out the few items of clothing I planned to take,gave away some canned food and some bottles of spices to my room mate,then packed up the hockey bag for the first time and took all those clothes to the laundry,so that I would have enough clean clothing for a couple of weeks.I packed up the coil notebooks in which I had been doing all of my writing while I lived in Toronto,then returned my key to Mr.Sharma,my landlord,who was sorry to see me go and said if I was ever in Toronto I should come see him about a place to live.Then,with everything gathered together and packed into my bags I called a cab and the Jamaican driver drove me to Union Station.As we passed Kensington Market,I thought about asking him to let me out there so I could walk around for a bit,not knowing when or even if I would ever be able to walk there again.There was enough time,but my bags were too awkward,so I went directly to the station.Nearly two hours later I was seated in the observation car of a Via train as it drifted slowly away from downtown Toronto towards the west.For the second time in my life I was moving to Alberta,I thought as we crossed Dupont street near the place I'd lived until just a few hours before.I caught a quick glimpse of the graffiti on the railway overpass as we crossed,then all the surrounding became unfamiliar as we rolled along through the night.

No comments:

Post a Comment