A FAMILY REUNION
On
our last day in Nova Scotia, we went to Heather Beach, near Pugwash, to
meet my extended family. I find these types of reunions to be
stressful: there's a lot of expectation that you're going to get along
really well simply because you're related. There's also the strange
awkwardness that comes when someone says, "I met you when you were
knee-high to a grasshopper!" but all you remember from that trip was that someone gave you a Carebear.
My
worries were for nothing, however. We arrived, were introduced to
everyone, and then my second-cousin Rob took us all for a walk on the
beach. Heather Beach (and the surrounding beach coastline) is called a
sandbar beach--when the tide is low, it stretches endlessly out in
either direction, and the water is shallow and warm. We had a great
walk, even spying some hermit crabs and starfish. Finally on a beach
with temperate waters and no jellyfish, I waded out and enjoyed standing
in my beloved ocean.
THE LIVING ARCHIVES
We
headed back to my great-aunt's cottage, where the family shared stories
from fifty years past. I couldn't believe the types of tiny details
people remembered: my grandfather cheating at cards, my Uncle Larry
hitchhiking from Ottawa about forty years back, and even the type of
icebox my great-grandma had in her cottage. Tucked away here at the end
of the country was all my family's history, preserved better than any
history book or photo album could ever do.
SO FAR, SO...OOPS.
We
chatted through dinner and into the evening, and at one point my BFF,
MJ, sent me a text checking in. I wrote back that, despite my sometimes
crippling social anxiety, I was managing to converse with ease, and
everything had gone splendidly. My worries had been for nothing: I had
lots to talk about with my second-cousin, and everyone else was
chatting, too. Even my concerns about cultural differences (my dad is a
conservative, for example, while my cousin Rob works in addictions...a
minefield there for sure) turned out to be for nothing. As we prepared
to leave for the ride back home, I breathed a sigh of relief: the
evening had gone off without a hitch.
A
few minutes later, someone hollered out that they'd found a cell phone
on a table, and I recognized it as Brian's. I claimed it, and loudly
proclaimed that anything else found lying about was likely Brian's,
too...
...and that's when I looked down, and discovered that my skirt was on the floor.
 |
| My artist's representation...just a quick one on my iPad. |
The
zipper must have come undone, and because I was wearing tights, I
didn't even feel the breeze on my backside. I had stood up, walked a
couple steps, and only because other people were staring with open
mouths at my feet did I, too, look down.
"Well," I said, "Anything lying around is Brian's, except my
skirt," Everyone laughed goodnaturedly, and even I had a chuckle,
though there was a voice in my head screaming that this would never be
forgotten. At the same moment I told my brain that wouldn't happen, my
great-aunt said between guffaws, "This will be the new Kent family
story!"
So
my official entry into the indelible memories of the family history
keepers is that I stood up, proclaimed my husband's ownership of
everything on the floor, then dropped my skirt. Wonderful.
It
was a lovely day, and a great way to spend our last day in Nova Scotia.
And I certainly left with a perfectly Jordan-esque 'bang'.
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