Goodbye

These last days have just been one big blur… home to Kingston, cleaning, packing, a visit from the Shulists, Canada Day at Grass Creek park, Meaghan and Nami… They stayed over, we kept cleaning, time downtown on Thursday, home, more cleaning, more packing, then gone again, the night at Nami’s, home, the last part of packing, then goodbye. There’s a stranger living in my house and I’m in Ottawa, and I can’t be around my family or I start to cry. I cry anyway.

The moments with Nami stand out the most… lying on the bed and talking… watching a movie on the armchair… watching the fireworks… our last night together. Saying goodbye felt like I was cutting away my roots. If she’d asked me to stay, I wouldn’t have been able to say no. Lucky for me, she’s not selfish – although it’s hard to see the good side of it now. I miss her.

As of 4:30 this afternoon, I’m officially homeless, in transit, and leaving behind everything I know.

Going to the Fair

The classic fairground centrepiece.

This evening we went to the church fair just down the road from my aunt and uncle’s place. It was held in the building’s parking lot, with your classic portable small-fair rides and carnival stands. It wasn’t big, but the kids were sure excited; I don’t know that they’ve ever been to a fair like this before.

It was an interesting experience for me, who has been to many similar carnivals in Canada. There was something different about this one; a distinctly American flavour, from the candy stand lady with the Southern drawl who called me honey to the colours of the American flag adorning everything. And there really were American flags everywhere – even splashed across the wristbands we bought to guarantee us entrance to every ride. You wouldn’t see anything like this in Canada, except maybe on Canada day; even then, it wouldn’t be held in a church parking lot with rented carnies.

The carnies, too, were a wonderfully mixed group: a portly gentleman who smiled when I thanked him, a guy with a shaved head and what looked like prison tattoos on his face, an African-American man with the Rastafari colours embroidered on the pockets of his capris. This isn’t something you’d see just anywhere; typically, they wouldn’t be in a church parking lot, either. As I was walking home, I saw that the people in the house across from my aunt and uncle’s had set up a pavilion to host a party in their backyard. This is the real East Coast American heartland, and I can’t imagine a better place for my cousins to grow up.

On the Road

Well, today the vacations begin in earnest. Yesterday was graduation – I’m still not over it, by the way – and then I went out to dinner with my family, my grandparents, my girlfriend, Nami, and my best buddy, Meaghan. I got a camera for a graduation present, so as of now you can expect pictures to start showing up in my blog posts. Meaghan cut out for a while to go to another friend’s grad, but then she and Nami and I all crashed in my room. This morning we got up at eight, Meaghan and Nami left, and the family headed off to Connecticut to visit with Aunt Zed (short for Elizabeth), Uncle Colin, and our new fostered/adopted cousins.

The drive itself was not particularly exciting. In fact, I’d say the highlight of the ride would have been listening to the Tonight: Franz Ferdinand album for the first time – which was excellent, by the way, and I heartily recommend it. I took a few photos, but not much in the way of excitement.

My aunt and uncle's house: supremely New English.

I could tell we were getting close when the scenery started to take on a decidedly “New English” feel. You may not really recognize the term, but I feel like you’ll know the look. The houses are square and flat-fronted, with shutters, windowsills and window boxes, front porches, and American flags; it’s the sort of place where the roads wind, the village fire halls are more often than not contained in a barn, turkeys walk by the side of the roads, and the signs are hand painted. I always feel like the people who live here are the sort who bake apple pies and leave them to cool on their windowsills, take picnics in manicured parks, still borrow eggs and sugar from their neighbours, and are intensely – but politely – proud to be American. It’s a foreign environment, but a homey and welcoming one.

We arrived at my aunt and uncle’s house to excited young children shouting and were introduced to our new cousins. The oldest, Isaiah, is four; he is followed by Keanah (Kiki) and Aniah, three year-old identical twins; and baby Tatiannah, one and a half – yes, that’s right, the baby has my name. They’re very sweet kids and were very happy to meet their new big cousins.

Everyone is reading.

After bouncing off the walls for a while, we settled down to dinner, and then the kids went up to have their baths and go to bed. Now we’ve settled in to a thoroughly calming, comfortable atmosphere. For the first time in quite a while, I feel peaceful. The future holds many unknowns, but for now, there is no need to worry. It’s slow and sleepy around here, with a bit of an old world feel; whatever may come, I’ll be looked after.