Monday, July 16, 2012

The NEST in NS: Where Jordan becomes a legendary stripper.


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. 


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. 


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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