Family Lines

stories for you

Month: March 2017

Okay

I went to Ryerson University in Toronto for my journalism degree. I was taking a course on non-fiction writing and one of our assignments was to write about a recent experience. The following is a story I wrote about an evening in 1995.

 Okay

I was sitting on the subway. Feeling fat, loveless and cranky. On Feb.14.

It was late at night, around 10:30. A woman and a little girl got on the train. I wondered what the girl was doing up so late on a school night.

People were scattered everywhere in the car. There was a man with big glasses sitting across from me. My roommate reading a book beside me. The mom and girl sitting a couple of rows down. But I didn’t turn to look at anyone. I didn’t want to see them.

I was drowning in the hum of the subway and the problems of the world. With me in it. How the ozone layer is dying. How children are starving. How humans are killing each other. How Valentine’s Day is just one more day to make money out of something that I can’t even get for free. How far away I feel from home. My real home in Nova Scotia with a dog and cats and warmth and family and friends. How cold the bright lights of the underground are. Making everything harsh. Making the blemishes stand out clearly. The red pimple on my roommate’s nose, the greasiness of that guy’s big glasses, dirt and grime and grossness.

Then I heard someone singing. And I turned around.

All I could see was the top of a beret further down the train. I stood up. Looked.

A woman, sitting alone, was singing. She was singing “Everything’s going to be okay. Everything’s going to be all right.”

I recognized the tune; a Bob Marley song. Other heads turned. The woman with the child smiled. The man with the glasses picked up his head. My roommate put down her book.

For a moment, the world stood still and I actually believed the minstrel. For moment, I believed everything was okay. Everything was all right. For a moment, everybody listened and everyone heard.

Heading south – to Nashville

Trying on cowpoke boots and hats in Nashville.

Trying on cowpoke boots and hats in Nashville.

I headed south last week with a group of Calgary friends. We didn’t go to Mexico or Florida or the Caribbean. We went to Nashville, Tennessee — the first time for all of us — where we listened to some music, did some dancing and heard some interesting stories from the past (and created some new ones too).

Nashville is known as the capital of country music and it’s also the birthplace of its country cousin, bluegrass. Bill Monroe, Earl Scruggs, Lester Flatt, Chubby Wise and Howard Watts popularized the American roots music in the mid-1940s. The genre supposedly got the name from the four musicians who formed a band called Blue Grass Boys.

One bluegrass song I know is Cripple Creek. We had to sing it in music class while at Gaspereau Elementary in Nova Scotia. I don’t remember the following verse being included in the lyrics.History of blue grass sign.

I went down to Cripple Creek
To see what them girls had to eat
I got drunk and fell against the wall
Old corn likker was the cause of it all 

Things weren’t as strict in school in the 1980s but I don’t think any parent wants his/her child trilling about being half-cut.

Printers Alley is a little side street in downtown Nashville. It doesn’t look like much but it’s full of alcoves with doors set in them that lead to adventure. In the 1800s, the area was home to newspapers, print shops and publishers. When the printing presses weren’t in use, the workers would meet in the street and the alley became a meeting place.

Printers Alley sign. In the 1940s, Printers Alley turned into a mecca for liquor (when the sale of booze was prohibited) and entertainment. Today you can buy wine or vodka or have a pop and catch up with friends, like I did with a buddy from Nova Scotia who lives in Tennessee. He filled me in on what’s happening with his family as well as former university schoolmates who I haven’t thought about in years.

Food is always a big part of a trip. I tried grits for the first time. Gone with the Wind is one of my favourite books and Scarlett and co. ate a lot of stuff I had never heard of before. Collards, salt pork, hominy and grits are part of Southern Cuisine. Before having grits at Biscuit Love (where we had to stand in line for about 45 minutes), I thought grits were fried lumps of dough. They are not. They’re like porridge made from cornmeal. I think the fried lumps would have been tastier. My grits had cheese in them and I didn’t like the slightly salty flavour and the coarse texture. The biscuits, however, were amazing.

Haunted bar?

The Honky Tonk Pub Crawl took us to historical spots with historical stories (as well as a shot or two). We were regaled with tales about musical legends, pioneers, brothels and visited a haunted bar where a man (it might have been a woman) may have been pushed out of a top floor window by a ghost (or rum vapours?) Nobody knows.

I know that my time in Nashville is now the stuff of legends. My friends and I have good memories of the place and will laugh about the good and the bad and the Southern for years to come.

Flight path

This is the first page of The Raven named Flight and How She Learned to Fly.

This is the first page of The Raven named Flight and How She Learned to Fly. Click on the photo for a better view.

Flight has flown all the way to Yellowknife! The Raven named Flight and How She Learned to Fly is available at the Northern Frontier Visitors Centre. On her way, she stopped in Enterprise and copies of her book can be found at Winnie’s Dene Art Gallery and Gift Shop.

The Raven named Flight and How She Learned to Fly

Flight is a young raven born in Fort Smith in the Northwest Territories, Canada. She loves her family and hanging out in their comfy, cozy nest. When it comes time for Flight to spread her wings, she first has to overcome her fear of flying.

Ebook: http://bit.ly/2hCFIxI

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