memories

Been busy setting up the Toronto apartment.  Keep having these weird feelings of deja-vu.  Bumping into ghosts of me and my daughter in other times past.  A street I used to wander along, pushing my baby girl, only a few months old, bundled up in her stroller, snowsuit, mittens, her sparkling eyes and rosebud face peeping out from under a pastel knit hat and her pink hood with it’s fuzzy white trim.  Being a mother was so new to me.  Loving her so much, wanting desperately to do it right, not let her down, be a good mom to her.  No manual, no instructions.  One day, you’re pregnant, the next day this tiny person is placed into your arms and you are forever changed. 

Going down the same street with her years later.  She is mostly grown, in University and I’ve come to visit and we are shopping. 

I didn’t realize this apartment we bought was the same area, but there is the store we bought our Fry boots at, and around this corner she found some great cashmere sweaters and they were on sale, and here is one of the first restaurants she took me to when I first arrived.  She had written to me about it and the woman who owned it.  I don’t remember what she had written, but it was a funny story.  There might have been a reference to a wild animal, a leopard or a tiger, I’m not sure.  The restaurant felt like it was in a time warp, could have been a hidden find somewhere in Europe.  I tried an old-fashioned raspberry soda where they mix the flavour into the soda, I can’t remember if we had loaded sandwiches, but we might have.  I think they served things like borscht, but I could be wrong. 

Yesterday, I walked past a department store where I bought some brown eye shadow.  I had been on book tour on this particular trip, and in Chicago, my old eyeshadow had decided it had had enough of resting peacefully on the counter and flung itself into the toilet, rendering it useless.  I thought I didn’t need to replace it, my daughter thought I did.  She won.  She helped me pick out a good shade and I bought it.  We ambled around a bit more and then, spur of the moment, she decided to celebrate a major scholarship win by splurging on a much coveted, very beautiful purse.

Memories.

Last night, my husband and I walked past a Japanese restaurant my daughter had taken me to more than once.  It that was always crowded and well priced and we would gorge on sushi.

“That’s supposed to be good,“ Don said, my hand tucked in the crook of his arm. 

“Yes,“ I said.  “Emily and I have eaten here.“  That was the first time I had seen a rainbow roll.  “We should eat here someday.“ 

And as we walk, memories and images of other visits flood me as well, some happy, some sad. 

The kitchen in our condo overlooks this very street that is jammed full of memories.  And when Don has headed out to do book readings and school visits, I sit at the table, with my script and tape recorder, memorizing lines and every once in a while I look up and watch the traffic snake along the road.  Watch the pedestrians.  Watch the sky shift, rain clouds come in and rain clouds go out.  I can tell, perched at this table, whether I need to put on a light sweater when I go out or whether a warmer jacket would be better.  I look to see how people are walking, if their necks are hunched down and their hands are shoved in their pockets, or if they are letting their jackets fall open and flap in the breeze. 

Life passes so fast.  Another day lived.  Another day gone.  Feel like one of those old-time books where you flip the corners of the pages real fast and you can see a short story.  A man doing a somersault or something like that.  That’s how life feels right now, sitting here, looking out the window, watching sections of my life flip by.

Posted by Meg Tilly on Friday, May 06, 2011 in Chewing the Fat