broken pieces of me…

This may become a habit…

But a good one I hope.

Due to life and monetary issues at a juncture in my life I had to move home. My family opened their arms and welcomed me back, even though there was barely any room for me anymore yet they made the room to squeeze me in. I repay that by doing whatever I can to help them out whenever I can.

Anyway… to the meat of my post:

My father is usually the one I car-pool with on my way to work in the mornings because he works at the uptown hospital, St. Joseph’s (or St. Joe’s as we SJ-ers call it) as a tradesperson/maintenance guy (they really are lucky to have someone who’s willing to do whatever he can on whatever project the maintenance guys get, very stupid if the Hospital lets him slip through the cracks). Due to this fact, and the aforementioned fact in a previous post ["My father, the storyteller...] that my father LOVES to tell stories, he tends to pick up on something from the TV in the morning or on CBC in the truck and it sparks his memory of a tale and he begins to tell it. So… I thought I would share, when I can, the story he imparts on me in the morning, from memory because (stupid me) I have packed my voice recorder away in my bag instead of keeping it on my lap for just such an occasion.

The story this morning: My father was one of a few soldiers chosen from this region of Canada to travel over, on a historical trip, to Normandy & Dieppe, France not that long ago (3-4 years ago I think). Believe you me; he was so excited when it was determined that he would be one of the ones going I wish I had had my voice recorder then because he spouted off so much history to me that my head was reeling with tales and factoids.

For this morning’s tale I, myself, was the inspiration. Dad asked what I was up to this weekend and I mentioned that we were planning on going to the Highland Games in Fredericton Saturday (again, because after I said it he realized that he had heard that before… LOL), and that tonight we were hoping to go to O’Leary’s to see Signal Hill (a band from Nova Scotia that we saw once when we were visiting a friend there, and enjoyed VERY much). I told him that they are very much like a Great Big Sea band, the way they used to be with their main focus being heavy into the folk-Maritimes music, not the pop-style that they had come out with relatively recently.

Dad then began to tell me about one of the places on his trip, this Caen in France, that they visited. It, apparently, is a big college/university city and so has a lot of bars and taverns along a few stretches of streets. Dad and his fellow visitors from the Maritimes were walking along this street when they heard a very familiar sound. It was Great Big Sea music coming from one of these bars so, ears perked to the sounds of home, they followed the plucky tunes to the spot in question. Inside they found two young men at a table, songlist written on a napkin, playing a guitar and a fiddle. When they tried to speak with the lads, thinking they were also visitors to this fine city, they discovered that the young men were oh-so native. Luckily one in the visiting group knew the French language, even though it’s our version, and was able to tell the musicians that the reason the men in front of them were so excited was that the music they were playing was from our area of the world in particular. Not just Canada, but the Maritimes! My Dad and the guys he was with bought the young men some beer and enjoyed their music some more.

This was also the bar where my Dad exchanged his little Canada flag pin for a kiss from one of the waitresses. She had wanted it, and he said he’d give it to her for a kiss. What a nut!

Another tidbit of a historical fact that Dad mentioned on the same area was that it once was the residence of William the Conqueror and his castle is still there. Apparently he left Caen when he went to attempt to overtake England. Wow! My father is a fount of information!

And, as if that wasn’t enough for my excited brain, as we rounded onto the street that my work is located at Dad noticed the building on the corner for the first time. It’s called the Union Club building… or at least I think it still is… but it used to be the HQ of the ~something~ Boys (I apologize… because the name has escaped me at this moment, but I’ll edit this later when I’m home on Sunday and can ask Dad what the name was again). Dad said that, in order to become a member of that gentlemen’s club, it used to be that you had to have been wounded and carried off the battlefield. Again… WOW!

So I think I will try to make this a regular occurance. It, at least, gives me something interesting to right about. Mind you, I can only post stories that my father has shared when he shares them. I don’t want to press him for stories because they might not come out the same way. I *hope* you understand, but I really think you do.

Wow… the sky has suddenly become quite dark. I know that it poured earlier this morning (say around 4am or so) because I heard the sudden rush of it and it woke me. I do, honestly, hope it rains again and gets it out so that tomorrow will be a lovely day in F’ton.

Well… I must get ready to take apart a co-workers desk, input a bunch of invoices to go out, and work on some Flash maps. I know you’re probably thinking; “What the heck kind of job does she do???” You know where most companies would have one person, at least, doing Human Resources, one person, at least, doing Financial, one person doing Administrative, and another one person (or more) doing Flash animation… yeah… no. I do all of that and for a laughable rate. I’m really only staying because: a) I like the girls I work with, b) I’d rather not move away from my family, c) the internet isn’t censored insanely like it is in other places (which would be really stupid here since we have to create things for the web), and d) it’s right uptown, so pretty close to everything (except where I’m living currently). If I can find a place that either allows me to work from home (preferable) and/or has a wicked-awesome pay rate… I’d be out of here in blink. You wouldn’t even see my dust I’d be moving so fast!

That sounds bad… really I am loyal to a company, if they treat me right. Currently these guys treat me right, or at least as well as some men who have no clue can, but if I find an employer who would treat me better you bet I would be looking elsewhere for my meal ticket. I have plans for my life, and not being able to afford those plans is not where I want to be.

In any event… I’ve rambled. I apologize and hope that I didn’t lose anyone out there! Off I go to take apart a desk! And please put on your Sunshine Shoes for tomorrow for me!


Smile. More than one person in the world loves you and that’s the best reason ever to cause a grin.

One Response to “This may become a habit…”
Adam Wilson Says:

August 4th, 2008 at 5:29 pm edit

I really enjoy your Dad’s stories too. I think it was probably one of his stories that got me into the military, which I’m still grateful for….

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