Toronto, Port Hope

“For the heart cannot live without something to sorrow and be curious over.” — Eudora Welty

Life, family, work. The aging process and the ongoing challenge of trying to stay healthy in an undisciplined world.

I am writing this after a cold spring, in the town of Port Hope. Here, I am challenged to learn to love all the members of my dispersed family even though they frighten me because they remind me of my own undisciplined youth. I like to think I’m getting smarter and more disciplined. So will they. I hope.

Five years ago, I moved further away from them. The majority of my time had been lived in Toronto. I think this is the crux of the problem. I moved not because I didn’t love them or wanted to get away, but because I wanted to achieve solace and peace of mind after many years of tending to so many people. I had scrambled to solve all their difficulties for a long time. I’m still here if they really need me, but I find they don’t always, and are not always willing to come visit.

Recently, this became an argument with my sister. I had attended two family celebrations within a few weeks and could not make the third. The phone call came with a litany of disappointments, some going back twenty-five years. I did not hear that I was missed at the function, only that I had let the entire family down, especially my seven-year-old grandnephew, who I had just seen. There was much bottled-up anger on my sister’s part and perplexity and hurt on mine. I was sorry, said so, and hoped for reconciliation. For logic. Forgiveness.

In a favourite children’s book, Wee Gillis, an orphan who lives in Scotland spends half his year with his mother’s people in the Lowlands and the other half with his father’s people in the Highlands. Both sides would like Wee to adapt to their ways. One day, he has to decide once and for all whether the Highlands or Lowlands will be his home. In the end, he decides he will happily play his bagpipes in the middle.

I am playing my bagpipes out here in the country.

The balancing of personal and artistic pursuits, children, aging, and family requires a certain detachment at times, not only to remain sane, but to maintain a positive self-image. To stay true to oneself is a lifetime discipline. To steer the ship can be a worrisome solo occupation. Worry itself is a losing battle, yet we do it whether it’s wise or not. The brighter and more creative you are, the harder you worry.

The human race is troublesome. I realize I can’t fix everything. I suppose we’re all neither better nor worse than each other. I also know that I am not that interesting. I feel like a cliché inside a self-fulfilling prophecy inside a stereotype. I can’t fight my family or fight anything. I have to let things happen and let them play out.

I am a logical positivist. “For the heart cannot live without something to sorrow over.” I’m trying to let Eudora Welty’s words guide me whenever I find myself anxious.

There has been a cold front coming from the south and plenty of rain. Today happens to be sunny and pleasant. There will be another relentless winter, and more cold winds will push down on Port Hope next spring.

But I’ve got my parents’ genes, work ethic, and survival skills to get me through.

Besides, I’m too busy being alive.