Submitted by megan on Sat, 05/09/2009 - 20:50
You've heard me say this before, but my brother got pretty much all the maternal instinct in my family. I would say all, but man, you put a little kid, or my brand new three month nephew, in the same room and I'm all let me just give you the biggest hug ever, it's my turn now, he smells so good, can I give you a kiss. They sit on your chest or in your lap just so warmly and loverly.
But then, I like my silence too, and there's not a lot of that with wee ones. And I would not want a daughter as ungrateful and irritable as I am myself.
It's been a busy day. Up and running fairly early this morning, and then a drive to Wychwood Park with my mom to take a million pictures for a story I need to write, and fast. Like next weekend fast.
The worst 10 months of my life I spent living around the corner from Wychwood, where the story I need to write started. My ex and I used to takes walks in there sometimes, or I'd hit it when I was pacing the neighbourhood, waiting for him to come home.
The last time I was back in the area, all that old anxiety bubbled up again. This time, I just remembered. Time is nice.
We drove by the building where he lived when we first met, the one he got kicked out of for not paying his rent, though I didn't find out about that part till later. I'm surprised I remembered it, but the railing - it had three steps up from the sidewalk to the long front walk. The railing, unnecessary for the shallow steps, ungainly spindles, legs of a two-legged beetle trapped on its back.
Then further along Bathurst, past the No Frills where I worked for three months, past the corner where the Michael Jackson look-a-like goosestepped, past the Open Window bakery, the Hemingway, the bridge Ondaatje wrote about.
And then St. Clair.
The outdoor flower shop across the street from our window is gone. The people who live in our apartment hung lacy curtains. The owners have enclosed the front stoop where we used to smoke.
Blogging is a funny thing. I opened this up to write about my Gran's 95th birthday party and what you got was half-dead memories.