Sunday 16 September 2012
Friday 14 September 2012
early autumn,calgary
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Thursday 13 September 2012
memoir chapter one-continued
When you are small,your mind works very differently.My sister says I have a great memory for things of long ago,but it's not true.All that I recall about those very earliest days I've written down,save one which I will soon reveal.I've held it back for a purpose.Those things that I've related are all that I recall and really,they seem such a small handful.Though more memory might indeed come,I fear that my memory fades with age.
Memory.It's such a strange thing.What is a memory?I can recall chickens in the yard,and cows and Mormon children and old Dodge pickup trucks,but really there must have been much more.We lived at that farmhouse for about a year and every day would have held new experiances.So why do so many of them just drift away.What is a memory anyway?Where does a remembered thing go until it is recalled?And where do the ones that are never recalled live?
My mind worked very differently in those days than it does today.I've studied developmental psychology in school,and why I mention it is that,in looking back,I can see that children are far from being small adults.I can see it in the recalling of things.For one thing,I had no real idea of anything in the world except what was happening in the moment.Recalling it is something like standing in the same river twice,but not exactly.For me,as a child,the world seemed to emerge a little bit at a time,as though I were swimming in the ocean and then a reef appeared,then another,then perhaps an island,an archepeligo,then a continent.
Most of my world at that time was inhabited by people larger than myself.I had a little sister,whom I viewed as a baby.We were not so far apart in age,but months make a huge difference when you are very young.It was almost as though my sister were not a part of my life at all,young children being rather self centered.Today when I look at children,it seems as babies have nearly no interest in other babies,and that confirms a reality of my very youngest days.
Things in those days didn't make a lot of sense to me.they just happened.Such was the nature of the very first thing I remember and know for certain that my memory about it is reliable.In talking to other people,especially other writers,I've often heard them say that they can recall being born.I'm sure that we recall that on some level,that it's submerged somewhere in our minds,but I have to say,I really don't recall it.I think that it's very difficult to recall anything without a certain level of language development.Memory that cannot be expressed is lost,or so it seems to me.But in Redmondville,I was able to speak and respond to speach.And so I experianced my first detailed memory.
Many people recall where they were on the day John F. Kennedy was assinated.I'm not among those people.Ironically,though,that first detailed memory must have occured around the same time.The weather was fine but cool and I was out playing in the driveway.Cars rushed from north to south and from south to north on the road in front of our house.It must have been afternoon.A panel truck approached from the south,a bright blue one.I recognized it,even then as belonging to the phone company.There were chickens behind me and the barn door was open and squeeked on it's hinges.There were some crows in the sky too.The truck came nearer and nearer until it seemed to almost stop,really,more of a pause than a stop.It paused.Then it went across onto the wrong side of the road.It went into the ditch and it rolled over.And I stood there among the chickens and watched,having no idea of the signifigance of the event.I had no experiance at that time that would have told me what to do.I don't think it had ever occured to me that cars could have accidents much less that anyone could be hurt.
I don't recall how anyone found out about the accident,but I'm sure it was not from me.As I say,it must have been afternoon,likely around four o'clock.The next thing that I really remember is being at the accident scene with my father.I wasn't standing on the ground-he was holding me.There was a small.thin man there,with a balding head and a dark complexion.He had a bandage around his head and his ear was bleeding.It was his right ear and the cut must have been very bad.He was walking about though.We stayed and watched a tow truck pull the truck upright,and as it did I remember pink and yellow invoices covered with blood fluttering about inside the truck.
And that is the first memory I have that I know is reliable.It amazes me though,how I thought about it at the time.I hope I was not the cause of that man laying in the ditch for longer than he had to.To me.then,it was just something that happened,like a blue van going past on it's way to Chatham or New Castle,or like a pig rooting up the garden,or a kite flying in the sky.It points out to me now how very different we are as small children.
Memory.It's such a strange thing.What is a memory?I can recall chickens in the yard,and cows and Mormon children and old Dodge pickup trucks,but really there must have been much more.We lived at that farmhouse for about a year and every day would have held new experiances.So why do so many of them just drift away.What is a memory anyway?Where does a remembered thing go until it is recalled?And where do the ones that are never recalled live?
My mind worked very differently in those days than it does today.I've studied developmental psychology in school,and why I mention it is that,in looking back,I can see that children are far from being small adults.I can see it in the recalling of things.For one thing,I had no real idea of anything in the world except what was happening in the moment.Recalling it is something like standing in the same river twice,but not exactly.For me,as a child,the world seemed to emerge a little bit at a time,as though I were swimming in the ocean and then a reef appeared,then another,then perhaps an island,an archepeligo,then a continent.
Most of my world at that time was inhabited by people larger than myself.I had a little sister,whom I viewed as a baby.We were not so far apart in age,but months make a huge difference when you are very young.It was almost as though my sister were not a part of my life at all,young children being rather self centered.Today when I look at children,it seems as babies have nearly no interest in other babies,and that confirms a reality of my very youngest days.
Things in those days didn't make a lot of sense to me.they just happened.Such was the nature of the very first thing I remember and know for certain that my memory about it is reliable.In talking to other people,especially other writers,I've often heard them say that they can recall being born.I'm sure that we recall that on some level,that it's submerged somewhere in our minds,but I have to say,I really don't recall it.I think that it's very difficult to recall anything without a certain level of language development.Memory that cannot be expressed is lost,or so it seems to me.But in Redmondville,I was able to speak and respond to speach.And so I experianced my first detailed memory.
Many people recall where they were on the day John F. Kennedy was assinated.I'm not among those people.Ironically,though,that first detailed memory must have occured around the same time.The weather was fine but cool and I was out playing in the driveway.Cars rushed from north to south and from south to north on the road in front of our house.It must have been afternoon.A panel truck approached from the south,a bright blue one.I recognized it,even then as belonging to the phone company.There were chickens behind me and the barn door was open and squeeked on it's hinges.There were some crows in the sky too.The truck came nearer and nearer until it seemed to almost stop,really,more of a pause than a stop.It paused.Then it went across onto the wrong side of the road.It went into the ditch and it rolled over.And I stood there among the chickens and watched,having no idea of the signifigance of the event.I had no experiance at that time that would have told me what to do.I don't think it had ever occured to me that cars could have accidents much less that anyone could be hurt.
I don't recall how anyone found out about the accident,but I'm sure it was not from me.As I say,it must have been afternoon,likely around four o'clock.The next thing that I really remember is being at the accident scene with my father.I wasn't standing on the ground-he was holding me.There was a small.thin man there,with a balding head and a dark complexion.He had a bandage around his head and his ear was bleeding.It was his right ear and the cut must have been very bad.He was walking about though.We stayed and watched a tow truck pull the truck upright,and as it did I remember pink and yellow invoices covered with blood fluttering about inside the truck.
And that is the first memory I have that I know is reliable.It amazes me though,how I thought about it at the time.I hope I was not the cause of that man laying in the ditch for longer than he had to.To me.then,it was just something that happened,like a blue van going past on it's way to Chatham or New Castle,or like a pig rooting up the garden,or a kite flying in the sky.It points out to me now how very different we are as small children.
Wednesday 12 September 2012
memoir writer homework/the grass is greener
Just a note before I begin.The memoir writers group that I belonged to while living in Toronto is back in business after takeing off some of the summer.They meet each Monday at the Lillian Smith Library and are an interesting and talanted group of writers.So,once again I will be posting entries based on the topics selected for writing assignments by this group,starting with one of Monday's topics,"the grass is greener."
The grass is greener.It seems I'e heard that since I was very small.When I was a small boy,what the saying brought to my mind was cows.My father would sometimes stop along the roadway when we were out driving to look at the cows.I don't know what his fascination with cows was.I suppose it was just an appreciation of the pastoral scene,something he associated with peace and well being.But I always remember the cows that would graze by the fence and how one or two of them would stick their heads through the fence wire to munch on the grass on the other side.For some reason,they were very determined to get the grass at the farthest edge of their reach,even though they were standing in an ocean of grass.Some of the fences were electric and some of the cows would even brave the current for the grass on the other side.I have no idea if it was just such a scene that brought this saying into being,or if I just took things very literally as a child.
The disturbing thought is that we humans may just be as dumb as cows.At least we seem to behave so much like them.I've come to the conclusion that living in Canada is all about the grass being greener someplace else.When I came of age there was very little work for young people in my hometown.So I got in my car and drove over 3000 miles to Alberta where I could make a living.It wasn't easy and those first few years had their trials.I wondered many times if I was really better off there and gave a lot of thought to going back.There were after all some people who seemed to be munching contentedly on New Brunswick grass.But I never returned for any length of time until 2009,when I thought maybe I could make it there.Times were a bit busier and my life in Alberta had stopped being especially satisfying.Really the grass never was greener here.But I still seem to be as dumb as a cow about some things.I've lived in Toronto,Edmonton and now I'm back in Calgary where I wake up many mornings thinking"damn,I hate this city"as I look around at it's familiar sights.Maybe someplace else would be better.
The grass is greener.It seems I'e heard that since I was very small.When I was a small boy,what the saying brought to my mind was cows.My father would sometimes stop along the roadway when we were out driving to look at the cows.I don't know what his fascination with cows was.I suppose it was just an appreciation of the pastoral scene,something he associated with peace and well being.But I always remember the cows that would graze by the fence and how one or two of them would stick their heads through the fence wire to munch on the grass on the other side.For some reason,they were very determined to get the grass at the farthest edge of their reach,even though they were standing in an ocean of grass.Some of the fences were electric and some of the cows would even brave the current for the grass on the other side.I have no idea if it was just such a scene that brought this saying into being,or if I just took things very literally as a child.
The disturbing thought is that we humans may just be as dumb as cows.At least we seem to behave so much like them.I've come to the conclusion that living in Canada is all about the grass being greener someplace else.When I came of age there was very little work for young people in my hometown.So I got in my car and drove over 3000 miles to Alberta where I could make a living.It wasn't easy and those first few years had their trials.I wondered many times if I was really better off there and gave a lot of thought to going back.There were after all some people who seemed to be munching contentedly on New Brunswick grass.But I never returned for any length of time until 2009,when I thought maybe I could make it there.Times were a bit busier and my life in Alberta had stopped being especially satisfying.Really the grass never was greener here.But I still seem to be as dumb as a cow about some things.I've lived in Toronto,Edmonton and now I'm back in Calgary where I wake up many mornings thinking"damn,I hate this city"as I look around at it's familiar sights.Maybe someplace else would be better.
memoir chapter one-continued
My sister seemed very small when we were living in that house in northern New Brunswick.my mother would put her outside in a little pen that was built beside our house,for fear that she would run out on the road.I'm not certain if that was because she actually had strayed near the road,or just because she was so much smaller than me,but I was allowed to wander about in the yard.At the age that we both were at the time,sixteen months difference seemed a huge difference even to me.I veiwed my little sister as a baby,even though I myself must have been very small.She was small enough that she didn't talk much while I could carry on a conversation,at least with older children and adults.But I'm certain that ability was not so well developed as I imagine today,and thus,the quality of memory is somehow different because of it.More on memory later.While I could dress myself with minimal help from one of my parents,my little sister was dressed by my mother.I can still recall her slipping a little baby into a snow suit,and that is why she seemed so small though she was only slightly more than a year younger than myself.
My sister never did stray out onto the road,at least when we lived in Redmondville.And that is a good thing as ,surely there would have been no hope with the way cars went speeding by our house.But that is not to say she was never in any danger from the misadventures of early childhood.At some point during the year or so we lived there,she found and swallowed a screw.Actually,what she swallowed I would call a bolt-long and thin with a square end.I saw it a few years later when my mother was showing us both our baby books and I was amazed not just that such a thing could pass through a small child,but that it could be swallowed in the first place.At the time,as I recall my father was away to a funeral,likely in Springhill.I don't recall how we got to the hospital,but I do remember being there.The halls there were wide and the room was very cool as we waited.The doctors had taken my sister and I didn't know where she was.I don't recall being concerned or having any appreciation of danger associated with this event.Mostly I sent my time trying to escape and explore the hospital,which was unlike any place I'd ever been before.My mother certainly seemed uptight as we waited for what seemed like a long time.Every time I would try to wander off she would herd me back into the waiting room and make me sit down on one of the seats until I would try to sneak off again.Eventually we went home and left my sister at the hospital.She wasn't there long.It was simply a matter of waiting for the screw to do what food does naturally.But in those days you weren't allowed or encouraged to stay overnight at the hospital.Back at home I remember my mother calling several people on the phone.One was most likely my father,and the other my grandmother who lived on the other side of the province.She explained how we were waiting for the screw to pass through my sister,and as I listened,I tried to imagine what this would look like,how it was accomplished.It was simply a concept that my mind could not accomodate at the time.We went back to the hospital and after a couple of times,we brought my sister home with us.My father returned too,after a few days and we were all together and safe again.It must have been a very stressful time for my family,though I didn't seem to have much grasp of any danger related to the incident.I guess when you are small,your mind works very differently than when you're grown.
My sister never did stray out onto the road,at least when we lived in Redmondville.And that is a good thing as ,surely there would have been no hope with the way cars went speeding by our house.But that is not to say she was never in any danger from the misadventures of early childhood.At some point during the year or so we lived there,she found and swallowed a screw.Actually,what she swallowed I would call a bolt-long and thin with a square end.I saw it a few years later when my mother was showing us both our baby books and I was amazed not just that such a thing could pass through a small child,but that it could be swallowed in the first place.At the time,as I recall my father was away to a funeral,likely in Springhill.I don't recall how we got to the hospital,but I do remember being there.The halls there were wide and the room was very cool as we waited.The doctors had taken my sister and I didn't know where she was.I don't recall being concerned or having any appreciation of danger associated with this event.Mostly I sent my time trying to escape and explore the hospital,which was unlike any place I'd ever been before.My mother certainly seemed uptight as we waited for what seemed like a long time.Every time I would try to wander off she would herd me back into the waiting room and make me sit down on one of the seats until I would try to sneak off again.Eventually we went home and left my sister at the hospital.She wasn't there long.It was simply a matter of waiting for the screw to do what food does naturally.But in those days you weren't allowed or encouraged to stay overnight at the hospital.Back at home I remember my mother calling several people on the phone.One was most likely my father,and the other my grandmother who lived on the other side of the province.She explained how we were waiting for the screw to pass through my sister,and as I listened,I tried to imagine what this would look like,how it was accomplished.It was simply a concept that my mind could not accomodate at the time.We went back to the hospital and after a couple of times,we brought my sister home with us.My father returned too,after a few days and we were all together and safe again.It must have been a very stressful time for my family,though I didn't seem to have much grasp of any danger related to the incident.I guess when you are small,your mind works very differently than when you're grown.
Sunday 9 September 2012
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