I'm Gonna Wash That Man Right Out Of My Hair
My cousin Cinderella's been visiting the homeland this week. She lives in California, though not in the part I'm considering moving to. Eight years ago she married an American and, as she says, allowed him to drag her kicking and screaming into the country. The things we do for love.
"But let me tell you all the great things about living in California," she said, and she did, and there were many.
On Saturday morning Cinderella was planning to stop in Toronto on her drive back to the homeland from Kingston, where she'd been visiting our mothers' other sister's daughter, Kristine. You'd never know the three of us were related. Our mothers were practically triplets, yet we all favour our fathers, physically and metaphorically. It's how girls are.
She arrived in the early afternoon and got the tour of my possibly soon to be ex-home, which she'd never seen before. It was a glorious afternoon, and the sun was shining on the tomato plants on my rooftop patio.
Downstairs, in the guest bathroom, she pointed at the wall and said, "What's this?"
It was a framed picture of the Montreal Canadiens taken during the construction of the New Forum, as it was then called. A black and white photo in a bright red frame.
It's not that Cinderella didn't recognize the Canadiens, and it's not as if she didn't remember I'd lived in Montreal for eight years. It's that she knew that it belonged to X.
The entire bathroom had been decorated around that picture. The towels hanging below it on the rack were bright yellow and bright red. The shower curtain was bright blue, with yellow and red fish, and it hung from primary coloured fish hooks. There were several smaller frames in red and neon green, holding brightly coloured postcards from our trip to Guadeloupe in 2000. The soap dispenser, candles, and assorted items on the counter top also featured fish or tropical designs, in primary colours, and the walls were painted pale yellow.
Cinderella helped me pack it all up.
I don't know whether I'll take it to the Goodwill, or to the X's mother when I see her later this week. You don't have a mother-in-law for fifteen years and then ignore her on Mother's Day; at least in my book you don't. Especially not when you have no more mother of your own.
And then instead of driving on home to her mother's place, as she'd been planning to do that afternoon, Cinderella decided to stay overnight. We went first to the hardware store, then to the beer store, and we spent the evening painting my bathroom. The walls are now light purply-grey, and I dug out my old purple and grey shower curtain and the matching towels. Then Cinderella and I hunted through the house for purple, grey, and silver accessories to finish it off.
Later, she sat at my dining room table with her Mac laptop and a beer, reading my stories while I looked at her portfolio, and her photos from India, Vietnam, and Morocco. It was the best time I've spent with my cousin Cinderella since we were little girls.
Tomorrow: California Dreamin' returns. And later, Postmodern Sass and Cinderella discuss baskets.
"But let me tell you all the great things about living in California," she said, and she did, and there were many.
On Saturday morning Cinderella was planning to stop in Toronto on her drive back to the homeland from Kingston, where she'd been visiting our mothers' other sister's daughter, Kristine. You'd never know the three of us were related. Our mothers were practically triplets, yet we all favour our fathers, physically and metaphorically. It's how girls are.
She arrived in the early afternoon and got the tour of my possibly soon to be ex-home, which she'd never seen before. It was a glorious afternoon, and the sun was shining on the tomato plants on my rooftop patio.
Downstairs, in the guest bathroom, she pointed at the wall and said, "What's this?"
It was a framed picture of the Montreal Canadiens taken during the construction of the New Forum, as it was then called. A black and white photo in a bright red frame.
It's not that Cinderella didn't recognize the Canadiens, and it's not as if she didn't remember I'd lived in Montreal for eight years. It's that she knew that it belonged to X.
The entire bathroom had been decorated around that picture. The towels hanging below it on the rack were bright yellow and bright red. The shower curtain was bright blue, with yellow and red fish, and it hung from primary coloured fish hooks. There were several smaller frames in red and neon green, holding brightly coloured postcards from our trip to Guadeloupe in 2000. The soap dispenser, candles, and assorted items on the counter top also featured fish or tropical designs, in primary colours, and the walls were painted pale yellow.
Cinderella helped me pack it all up.
I don't know whether I'll take it to the Goodwill, or to the X's mother when I see her later this week. You don't have a mother-in-law for fifteen years and then ignore her on Mother's Day; at least in my book you don't. Especially not when you have no more mother of your own.
And then instead of driving on home to her mother's place, as she'd been planning to do that afternoon, Cinderella decided to stay overnight. We went first to the hardware store, then to the beer store, and we spent the evening painting my bathroom. The walls are now light purply-grey, and I dug out my old purple and grey shower curtain and the matching towels. Then Cinderella and I hunted through the house for purple, grey, and silver accessories to finish it off.
Later, she sat at my dining room table with her Mac laptop and a beer, reading my stories while I looked at her portfolio, and her photos from India, Vietnam, and Morocco. It was the best time I've spent with my cousin Cinderella since we were little girls.
Tomorrow: California Dreamin' returns. And later, Postmodern Sass and Cinderella discuss baskets.
5 Comments:
Hey, I'll take that habs pic off your hands, if you're just going to give it away!
Right on, my friend. Out with the old, damnit.
What is that orange thing under the hand towels? Another towel? Is that some sort of weird Canadian tradition? Please don't do that when you move to California.
Why yes, Neil, it is, in fact, a Canadian tradition to place an orange towel in your bathroom immediately after you've painted it. As soon as the paint's dry, that is. Orange is our national colour, after all.
OK, I'll shut up now.
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