Honeyanne

mother's voice monday...

What did the family living room look like when you were a child?

Well, let's see, our kitchen, boot, laundry, dining and living room all shared the same space.  Dividing the kitchen from the living room was a 4 foot high, 6 foot long wall cluttered with knick-knacks, books and what-have-yous.  We had windows on nearly every outer wall to let in the light and let out the noise. 

I remember a desk my father made and painted deep brown.  It held a collection of art books and a collection of home fix it books - not to mention a gratuitous heap of laundry that needed folding and putting away.  Hanging on the wall above this desk was a picture of a woman sketched by my Grandmother (maternal) in pencil.  She (the picture not my Grandmother) had long dark hair slicked back, her shoulders were high and bare and her sultry face oozed 1950's glamour. 

Framed and displayed were our 8x10' school photos.  A hideous collection.  Why, I questioned at the time (but totally get it now), would mom hang our pictures when we were crawling the walls on a regular basis?  Like she needed a reminder we were around? 

We had one sofa - a bit worn to say the least - which comfortably seated 3 (there were 8 of us).  We fought for a seat when it was time to watch television. We had a  little 17 inch b&w set which I accidently knocked over one morning as I grabbed my backpack running for the bus. It shattered to pieces. My father cried.

Hanging above our humble sofa was a round beveled mirror.  It was an heirloom and very precious to my mother which I accidently dropped one fateful day. It, too, shattered in pieces and yes, my mother cried.

mother's voice monday...

What did your father do for a living?

 
 

My father rose before the sun, ironed his grey dress shirt (meticulously pressing first the collar followed by a perfect crease down each sleeve - Dad taught me how to iron a mean shirt), searched wildly for his keys, grumbled bitterly how he was late and hurriedly left on his 45 minute commute to Edmonton.  He worked 12 hour shifts (some days more).  He was a city bus driver.  He was a union man.  He did that for over 30 years - he's still doing it.  And no, he doesn't love it. 

What he loves is his yearly Bowron Lake commute - a week long canoe trip in the BC mountains (He's been doing that for maybe 10 - 12 years).  That is his true love; out in the solitude of the wild away from the hoards of people dropping their coins in the bus box or wanting a clip on their transfers; out where there are no schedules to keep - just leisure and silence.  Leisure and silence are two luxuries a bus driver does not have in the big city. 

I went with him once many years ago.  I remember vividly paddling in the front of the canoe while dad sang Irish Rover songs in the back - the gentle lapping of the icy lake waters his only percussion.   

 

mother's voice monday...

What are your earliest memories of church?

I remember singing time in Primary, wishing I could follow along in a song book. Many of the teachers had song book but the children were not permitted them for practical reasons. I didn't understand those reasons at the time (Actually, I still can't decipher those practical reasons to this day).  I was expected to know the songs by heart but I didn't and so I didn't sing and coincidently singing times became a slow and tedious torture (hmmm ... is this where my aversion of musicals stems from?)

Eventually I discovered that we had a children's hymn book at home.  I took it to my room and sang sang sang to a "standing room only" audience of angels and stuffed animals.  I liked singing time much better in my room than I did in the Primary room.  Truth is, that preference has stuck.  I try to avoid most hymns at church and have been know to come in late to a few classes just to avert the opening hymn.  I prefer to sing when I am alone and only God can hear me.  When I am taking road trips on my own it is my favorite thing to do. 

 

Don't get me wrong, I have many fond memories of going to church. Especially in my youth.  There were many inspirational lessons and mentors at church.  When I turned 12 I got to go to Young Women's class.  This meant I wasn't "a baby" anymore.  I remember one Sabbath afternoon, Amber (my best friend) and I attended our first Young Women's class. There we sat with the "big girls" in a tiny box room shoulder to shoulder against the wall.   We were carefully dressed in our best Sunday skirts which hung prettily past our knees - the acceptable attire for maturing young ladies in our church  (Amber & I were very good girls and modesty was our speciality). 

However modest our attire, the Leader, Sister Orr (bless her heart) could no long overlook the scathing demeanor of our legs.  "Stacy and Amber! Please put your knees together! Young ladies spread their knees to noone."  Well! I must say, I've kept my knees together ever since! 

mother's voice mondays...

Describe the bedroom you had as a teenager.  What was the view from your bedroom window?

My bedroom was painted pink save one wall which was papered in pastel rainbows.  I loved to put up pictures, they affectionately cluttered my walls.  I recall fondly three posters in particular - one of Mikhal Baryshnikov (who I was in love with), a poster of Disney's Beauty & the Beast and my most treasured poster of  Vincent from the CBS television series   (who I was also in love with - I was in love with someone every week - I haven't really changed have I?). 

  

My window looked out onto the front lawn - not much of a view unless you like fields of alfalfa and back country roads (which I did). However, I do recall sitting in front of my window basking in the light of the full moon.  As the moon moved in the night's sky I'd shift my position staying with her shine until she no longer streamed in.  Sometimes I'd have to crouch uncomfortably in the corners of my room just to be her soft glow.  I was a silly sappy romantic writing very truly horendously bad poetry by moonlight and dreaming of a lion-man knocking at my windowpane to "dance me to the end of love"  (and yes, I was a Leonard Cohen fan too - only I didn't have his poster).

mother's voice monday...

Why were you given the name you have?  Did you have a family nickname? Why did they call you that?

 

My parents called me Stacy because they liked the name.  Everyone else in my family is named after a relative but me.  Notice I do not have an "e" in my name.  I've spent my whole life saying, "that's Stacy with no e" but that didn't bother me back then.  Most people called me Tracey anyway. 

I remember as a child being very disappointed when at the store I wanted to buy myself a personalized key chain.  There was Amy and Nicole and Angie and Michelle and Maria - there even was a Tracey but no Stacy (not even with an "e").  My name is much more popular now thanks to Barbie. 

My nickname was "Princess" but I don't remember ever being called it.  I must have been very young and it was probably something my Dad called me until I became a "rug rat". I do remember being called that when I was behaving less than a regal lady would. 

 

mother's voice monday...

What was your favorite pastime as a child?

I lived on this acreage nestled amid crop fields, pastures and woods. I loved to go exploring and I loved to do it alone.  I spent hours and hours hunting for secret spots only the deer and the bumblebee knew. 

I appreciated beauty more then than I ever have. If I found a grove of glorious green it would move me to twirling joy. I'd laugh and dance and just delight in being there.

I was teeming in daydreams. That is all I ever did.   I'd talk aloud to myself, creating story after story.  I imagined I was the caretaker of the little people.  Little people were elves who lived in tiny houses in the tops of the trees. I dreamt about their lives and our adventures together as I wandered the woods.