MORTALITY AND SEARS

Preoccupations change over time.  

I tend to think that the thoughts I had as a child were always lighthearted. They weren't of course, but my mind has a way of glossing over the bad bits.  

Most are solitary memories, a state of mind. 

• Skipping rope; leaping so high I could almost fly!  
• Zooming on roller skates (4 wheelers); avoiding humongous cracks on the sidewalk.  
• Concentrating and frantically swinging my hips to keep the hoola hoop spinning.  
• Picking and eating wild bitter cherries off the trees on a nearby wooded path.
• Smelling ponds, admiring lily pads, and thinking that frogs swam like my dad.
• Slicing up old Sears catalogues, spreading cutouts across my bed, sitting yoga-style near the pillows, creating pretend homes inhabited by perfect pretend people.
• Staring at ugly motifs on the living room curtains and discovering monster faces.
• Roaring down nearby hills on my wooden toboggan, scratching my face in powder snow clouds.
• Charging anywhere on my bike, no hands on bars.

Kids live a lot in their heads. 

My parents bought me a cheap string instrument from...wait for it...the good old Sears catalogue. I managed to make it through to young adulthood by plucking on my guitar and singing the blues on our front porch. I didn't know how to play so I instinctively tuned it to a chord and slid up and down the frets to create a relatively decent accompaniment to my voice. I remember reading somewhere that Richie Havens did the same thing but he managed to earn a living doing it, I didn't.  


I was motivated to learn real chords following my move to a women's residence in Montreal. Sister Patenaude, one of the nuns who ran the place, played guitar "correctly" and was totally perplexed at my unusual approach. I quickly realised that if I aimed to entertain the masses with a singing nun at the Sisters of Service Residential Club, it would be a plus to learn to play properly. I picked up the basics. 

Singing the blues

We put on a play at the residence, The Glass Menagerie by Tennessee Williams.  I was  fragile Laura and my performance surprised the audience because they had no idea I was capable of introversion. After years of relative invisibility in my home town, I ripped through my chrysalis with flair and bravado.  

Preoccupations of young adulthood? Getting an education and hunting for a mate. 

Criteria? Smart and tall, or tall and smart. The people in the small town I came from tended to be short. I towered over most as I paced the main drag with my friends on Friday nights. To my delight, Montreal had bigger people. It felt nice to feel delicate for a change. I had overheard surreptitious comments made to my parents over the years...was she an Olympic swimmer? Did she ever play football? Wide square shoulders were not the epitome of femininity but I looked great in a jacket. Never needed shoulder pads. I learnt that by shopping at Sears.

The rest is a blur really. Raised kids, make sure they were safe, healthy, and through it all, produced as much art as I possibly could. Each decade brought new preoccupations. A graph of highs and lows plotted many more realignments including periods of singular living, new jobs, another degree, and always more art making. Through it all I ordered stuff in my Sears catalogue.

A few weeks ago, I told my sister of a new preoccupation that I have. There is nary a day that goes by without my reflecting on mortality and my eventual demise. She promptly responding with the word "depressing", but it's not really. My brief musings invariably lead to a couple of positive affirmations: 

"FLY NOW!"

...and since it seems to be permanently woven into the tapestry of my life... 

"May Sears stay in business for a very long time!!!"

NEWS UPDATE!

This appeared in the Financial Post on May 14th, a few days after I published this post....Twilight Zone!!!