March 28, 2020
I can tell by the lack of traffic outside that you are mostly in your homes now, and while it may seem unsettling at first,
there is comfort in knowing you are all being safe. I know, some people
are still hurrying, trying to get all they need to settle in, but for
those of you already tucked in, I thought I'd post another blog here. I
was thinking about something I said earlier, about waiting for a storm.
It reminded me of one of our great family stories - the stuff of
legends, really. To appreciate this story, you need to know some things
about my older sister. 1. She is fearless in a crisis (at least on the
outside, where it counts!) 2. She does not suffer fools easily (me,
being one of the biggest fools in her life). 3. She would probably give
her own life for those she loves; certainly, her own comfort. Now, when
we were very young, a great blizzard struck Waterloo Region without
warning. It was 1978, and I was just six years old; my sister only
eight. We had trudged to school as usual, over freshly fallen and frozen
snow pack. I remember this so clearly, this little flash of memory on
that extraordinary day. The snow looked as though it had been scattered
with diamonds. I was gleefully walking over top of it, and she, being
older and a little bigger, was falling in, almost to her chest as we
walked across the frozen field to get to school. I kept having to turn
around and pull her up, laughing. I loved that I could walk unencumbered
while she fell in! Finally, we reached our school and got out of our
soaked snow suits. She went off to her classroom and I squished off to
mine, having stepped in a puddle and soaked my socks. At some point,
around noon, our teacher stopped talking and just stared at the wall of
white outside our classroom windows. Snow was working its way in around
the windowsills, and the sound of the wind was overwhelming. The walls
shook. I know, it seems odd that I would remember that so clearly, but I
think it was the fear on her face that got through to me. It was
nothing I had seen before. Adults were always supposed to know what to
do, and she was afraid. Now, I don't remember this next part, but my
parents have told me that the school principal closed the school and
sent us all home, as soon as the sky cleared a little. Before setting
out, my sister made sure my galoshes were tightly buckled over my shoes,
pants tucked in and snow pants secured over top. She pulled my hat over
my head, covering my eyes, and I shoved it back up with a mittened hand
and peered out at her. “You need a scarf. Where’s your scarf?” “ I
dunno”. I always had great answers for the things I lost. And I was
always losing things. She sighed and wrapped her own scarf around my
head, coiling it like a turtleneck and a shroud, all in one. And we
left, together, in the bright sunshine. I can remember looking up, and
seeing sun dogs around the sun. “Rainbows!”, I said. She looked at them
and frowned a little. “Lets go.” And so, we headed out in the cold for
home, which was almost a mile away. It was hard going, since the
sidewalks weren’t shovelled. I wanted to walk in the street, but she
wouldn’t let me. I can remember the ache in my legs, and how I wanted to
stop, but she wouldn’t let me. About half way home, the wind struck
again, disorienting, in its white fury. I could hardly catch my breath,
and the scarf which had been soaked with my breath froze until it was
crunchy and rasped against my lips. I started to cry, and she turned and
pulled the scarf right over my eyes. She had to yell, so I could hear
her, and said, “Hold onto my coat. Don’t let go! Stay close.” I grabbed
the hem of her coat with both hands and we continued through the snow,
me following in the path she made. At one point, she stopped, and I
remember banging into her. She yelled in my ear, “We have to go up the
hill now!” I pulled my scarf down and saw only blinding white. She
pulled it back up and, holding onto each other, we climbed and crawled
through the deep and drifting snow, until we got to the top of the hill
where our house was. My mother cried when she saw us. My father had gone
out looking for us, and I remember her pressing her dishtowel to her
eyes when he came in, safe at last. If I close my eyes, I can still feel
the ferocity of his hug as he pulled us into his arms. Safe at home, is
a big theme for me in my songwriting, and in the way I try to keep my
family together in these uncertain times. Together, apart. My parents
are safe in their home. My sisters are safe at their homes. And I am
safe as well. Aside from going between my empty shop and home, and being
with those closest to me - my family, my parents, I know I can weather
this storm, too. And I will see my sisters when this is over. The storm
we are weathering will pass. The skies will clear. And we will, once
again, be able to hold the ones we love. Take comfort in that. When I
think about what could have happened, it frightens me. The house we
turned at was the very last one before a vast and frozen field. But
somehow, she led the way. I will never know how she knew where to turn.
Was it her inner compass, or was she able to catch a glimpse of the
house we turned at? I do know, that if it were not for her sense of calm
and purpose, we wouldn’t have made it. I do know, in my heart of
hearts, that it was her faith that we would be alright, that led us
home. -Carla
March 29, 2020
I have a little update for you about our great
adventure in the snow. I just called my mom, to read her my post, and
she filled in the rest of my story. Our house sat on a circle at the top
of a hill, and the street our house was on wound down the hill to the
bottom, where my classmate lived. We had often taken the shortcut
straight up the hill from his house to ours when walking home from
school, and it was this route that my sister intended to take that day,
once she realized we had missed the street. The snow was so deep on the
sidewalk winding up the hill, my mother doubts we could have walked that
way anyway. It seems there was another child walking with us, named
Daniel, who was in my class, and my sister wasn't just leading me home. I
find it funny that I can remember certain moments so clearly, but not
this. Apparently, when we reached the bottom of the hill (that I
couldn't see), she did stop, and we started to climb the snowbank
together (this is the great hill I remember?). It was then that Daniel's
father called to us. He was standing in the snow with their door open,
keeping watch. Theirs was, indeed, the last house before that field, and
he was worried his son might go too far and be lost. He was waiting for
his son and he saved all of us. He brought us into his house and called
our mother. She had tried to walk out during that lull in the storm, to
meet us, coming down the street side of our houses. She had been forced
to turn back because the snow there was up to her thighs and when the
wind struck up again, visibility was too poor to continue. She thought
it impossible that our principal would have sent us out alone in that
storm. So, she called my father at work to go and get us from school.
When he found the school almost deserted, and that we had been sent out
in the storm, I can only imagine what he must have said to our principal
(Dad wouldn't tell me, exactly - but I'm sure it was good!) Somehow,
Dad learned that we were at Daniel's house and he came to get us. That was where he hugged us. And then we went home.
