Micro Climates, Discount Stores, and Memories of Mothering

This neighbourhood is wonderful to walk in. Even very modest homes are often fronted by luxuriant English country gardens. Roses spill onto the sidewalks. Masses of lavender are juxtaposed against stands of hollyhocks. I have seen very few tough plants like the day lilies or cedar hedges I am used to back home. These hedges are filled right now with sweet smelling blossoms. One house front is almost completely hidden by lilacs that must be wonderful in early June. And there is an absolutely magnificent tree with enormous leaves. It has delicate white orchid-like flowers with purple-etched centres. Clouds of delicate fragrance emanate from it and the blossoms fall with soft plops onto the white carpet below . I come back from my walks with Kenya feeling happy.

Yesterday I went with Kerry and Sam to the massage therapy centre. I looked after Sam while Kerry got a massage. Sam emits a shriek that rivals a raptor’s scream whenever he is unhappy. He was not happy when Kerry disappeared. It was pouring rain and we were in a tiny shopping mall with massage and osteopathic centres, a consignment store, a video rental place and a store that sold stoves and bikes. We visited them all, stopping to play with used toys, read flyers, and see what new movies were available. Sam cried off and on. Finally he began to doze off and I returned to the waiting room. As soon as Sam caught a whiff of the aromatic oils used in the place he remembered that his mother had abandoned him and began to wail again. We made another tour and I picked up a couple of tourist brochures, settled myself down on the floor with my back against the wall and rocked him back to sleep. Eventually my legs, which have been stiff and cranky ever since the drive without cruise control, began to ache. I moved them, one at a time with my free hand, careful not to disturb Sam. The hour was broken up by a vist from a chubby red haired girl who cooed in a most maternal way at Sam and found me another brochure to read, by waves from the owner of the consignment store and the occasional word of greeting or comment on the weather from her customers. Feeling as though my bum were numb I managed to get myself off the floor and into the waiting room without waking Sam, settled myself on the couch and read the Halifax Chronicle Herald. The main feature story on the front page was about an eleven year old boy who won a math competition. I was relieved when Kerry emerged and Sam, instantly awake and wailing, became her charge again.

Then we went to the famous Frenchies. Almost everyone I met before I left told me how lucky I was to be going to Nova Scotia ... because they had Frenchies. So now I was about to experience the joy of second hand shopping raised to a fine art. I got two skirts for under $10. Kerry got lots of stuff for herself and the children. It was fun. Sam played in the bins of clothing and amused the women shoppers by talking to them and grinning happily.

Before coming home we stopped at the liquor store and I had my first taste of Nova Scotia wine. I bought a bottle of Jost’s Prima Rosa and was surprised by how much it tasted like a good Nouveau Beaujolais. After a great Asian pork dinner we settled in to watch Juno. I cried. Memories of being sixteen and pregnant, I guess, though Juno had a lot more attitude than I remember having at that age. It was a good day.