THE STOREY CORNER

Cavendish

2009-05-30T05:59:00.000-07:00

OCEAN BREEZE

I drift off to the sea, longing to experience the ocean breeze, knowing that it will nourish my senses. The hot sun of summer beckons me to the shore; it renews my spirit. I walk along the water’s edge and breathe in the salt-sea air. The peacefulness envelopes me and I am one with the sea. A gentle breeze caresses my face and I taste the salt on my lips. I have been here many times before as the memories engulf my soul.

The lure and fascination I have with the sea is timeless as I recall the years of my mortal self. A harmony and a sense of wonder at the greatness of the universe transcend my very core. Oh, what joy I experience in this precious moment. I acknowledge the wonder and the magnitude of this instant as I gaze out at infinity.

As a child, I swam in these waters and built sand castles along the beaches of my Island. Those carefree days filled with sunshine and happiness is captured in my in my minds eye where they are stored for safekeeping. When life becomes unbearable and pain dampens my soul, I return to the sea. I breathe deeply, once again gaze at the water, and watch as the sunbeams dance with joy at my arrival.

Time stops, peace and harmony once again begin to reign in my world, and all is well. Whatever the sorrow might have been has now been mended by sounds of the waves as they gently stroke the shore. I close my eyes and am delighted by the sounds of this wondrous place.

I am cloaked in a veil of tranquility and the sanctity of this shore; is my cathedral. The seagulls and other creatures of the sea are my fellow parishioners. The wind harmonizes with the ocean waves to become a choir whose melody resonates within my soul. I return to the ocean in the autumn, watch as the waves become more ferocious as they crest, and break. I am not afraid as I once again feel and taste the salt that permeates the air. The sounds are more accentuated as the wind grows more robust. The sand whips about my body and I revel in its embrace.

In winter, I observe my ocean as it becomes a frozen blanket with many mounds and hills. The wind whips unrelenting about me and I suffer its wrath yet I continue to stare out at this white canvass. I hear only the wind as the sea has been silenced by the carpet of white ice and snow. I hear no birds singing and the choir is absent.

It is spring, I see the ice beginning to break up, and there are patches of the blue ocean becoming visible. There is a promise of summer winds in the future and I anticipate a return of the parishioners and the choir.

Soon the summer will return, I will be back watching and listening to the sights and sounds of the ocean. I am home. I am once more in balance with nature. I have been lured back to the ocean; once more, I feel its familiar and desired breeze against my skin. Oh what I joy I feel.

Anne Storey 2007

Car Ferry

2009-05-28T15:57:00.000-07:00

Aground

February 12, 2009

The Car Ferry

I was always unable to sleep the night before a trip to Dartmouth. The excitement of seeing my grandmother and uncle, the fun things we would do, ran through my mind. On this trip, we were taking my Nanny Storey to Halifax to visit with her daughter Irene and family.

We were on our way across the straight when the boat went aground. The day was foggy and for some reason the boat-scrapped bottom in very shallow water. Fishing boats from Pictou were summoned and soon we were being transported to shore.

Mom’s sister, Aunt Bunny, now lived in Pictou and her husband, Uncle Charlie came to meet us at the dock. He drove us to their home were we awaited news of the grounded boat.

I listened as my father talked about insurance if anything should go wrong. I asked many questions about this insurance and was able to determine that I had a camera and a doll worth five dollars. That night as I slept in my aunt and uncle’s home, I prayed that the ship would sink. Of course sinking in a couple of feet of water was highly unlikely, I dreamed of ways to spend my new found fortune.

The following day dad and uncle Charlie went down to the dock to discover the fate of the ship. We watched out the window as my uncle drove like a madman across his front lawn and parked. Aunt Bun was heard to say, “If anyone else drove across Charles’s lawn that way, he’d shit his pants and die with the measles.” I was only six, but I thought it was the funniest thing I ever heard and I laughed until I hurt. The rest of the family also thought it was funny because they were laughing so hard they cried. Then Nanny said, “Here comes Gordon in his car.” Mom was overjoyed and I was disappointed because I was never going to see that five dollars. Oh well I was only six and had lots of time to get insurance.

Posted by Anne Storey

Thomas and Sarah

2009-05-28T15:56:00.000-07:00

THOMAS AND SARAH (1902)

The passenger ferry docked at the Halifax Pier. Thomas Beazley whistled as he jumped onto the wharf. He strode quickly up the hill and when he reached Barrington Street, turned left and continued briskly toward his place of employment. He valued his position with Imperial Oil and was delighted when his employer informed him that he had a bright future with the company. He was a junior bookkeeper and had great ambition to become a success; he was only twenty-two years old, and he already had one promotion.

Thomas Henry Beazley was not a handsome man. He wore thick circular glasses. The gold wired-rimmed spectacles were a constant irritant when he played sports; however, he adapted. His face was awash with freckles that blended well with his fiery red mane of curls. This young man was a revered athlete by sports fans in Nova Scotia. He was a triple threat as he excelled in baseball, tennis, along with several aquatic sports. Thomas was an optimist and his whistling was his constant companion.

As he walked home along Barrington Street at the end of each workday, he often glanced in the various window shops he passed along the way. One day he noticed a portrait of a beautiful young maiden in one of the windows. The store was a photographer’s studio and the girl in the picture held him transfixed. He was not sure if it was a photograph or a painting. The young woman’s cheeks held a hint of pink and they appeared to have been kissed by the sun. Her long hair fell in waves down her back; it was a handsome shade of burgundy. Those were the only colors in the otherwise sepia portrait. Her almond shaped ebony eyes seemed to be looking at him and only him. He was completely enthralled. An angel he thought to himself, a perfect angel.

Each morning and evening he would stop and look at this glorious maiden and tip his hat to her. A few weeks later he noticed that there was a new portrait of this girl which was more beautiful than the last. When Thomas looked into the young woman’s eyes he felt a shift in his equilibrium. The poem by Robbie Burns flashed through his mind; My Love is like a Red Red Rose. Every day for months he would walk by the studio and smile as he glanced at this vision in the portrait.

One particular evening he worked late and when he arrived at the store it was in total darkness. He continued walking to the ferry and reached it just before he left the dock. As he walked toward a bench he thought he saw an apparition. He took off his glasses and cleaned them with his necktie then reapplied them. It was not an apparition; it was the young woman in the portrait.

He thought me might faint so he sat down on the first available seat. Thomas gasped allowed and wondered if other passengers had heard him. He could feel the heat beginning to rise up from his chest and onto his face. Oh God he thought, I’ll bet my face and hair match colors. The gasping, he realized, came because he had forgotten to breathe. I guess this is what it is like when someone takes your breath away. Her portrait was beautiful however seeing her in person was like being in the presence of angels. I can’t believe she is on this boat sitting a few yards away from me.

As he glanced in her direction he was mesmerized by her beauty. How tiny she is, he thought. Soon the ferry docked and he watched her as walked toward the gate. He jumped up and stood behind her, then quickly sat back down. He hoped he might have the courage to speak to her but he was too nervous, so he just backed away. Tom was a self-assured athlete but when it came to meeting girls his confidence waned.

Thomas found it difficult to concentrate on anything but his angel in the portrait. Every thought was of her. He was continuously planning and plotting his next move. The following day he lingered at the ferry until he saw her walking toward him. She was deep in conversation with an older woman. He observed her as the boat crossed the Halifax Harbour. Her burgundy hair was pulled off her face which allowed Thomas to study her loveliness. He never realized that God made eyes so dark or lips so full and luscious. Her powder blue dress fell softly to her ankles and her tiny feet were covered with black leather boots. Tom’s heart was pounding in his ears. He had to pinch himself to believe she was really there.

He wanted desperately to speak to this enchanting young woman yet he lacked confidence. He realized that he could not let her go without at least trying to introduce himself. Garnering all his courage, he decided it was now or never. He jumped up from his seat, walked over to her and asked if she was the girl in the photographer’s window. She whispered softly that she was indeed one and the same. That was the extent of the first meeting but over the months, they began speaking to one another. He discovered that this beautiful lass was called Sarah and her companion was her sister Min.

Due to his easy nature and happy disposition, Sarah and her sister began to look forward to talking with Thomas on the ferry. Before long he would walk with them to their boarding house. Sarah Boutilier, he discovered, came from Glen Margaret. She was an uncomplicated wholesome girl who was brought up on the family farm who had been encouraged to leave home to work in the city. Her family were not prosperous so once the children were old enough, they were expected to support themselves. Sarah had no marketable vocational skills so she went to live with her sister Minerva. She located employment at Moss’s Photography Studio. They needed someone to help around the studio but when the owner saw Sarah’s natural beauty, he began taking pictures of her and his wife would hand paint some of the photographs.

Sarah never met anyone as happy and full of life as Thomas. He asked her if she would like to accompany him to church on Sunday, she told him that she would like that. Their first date was at the Dartmouth Methodist Church. Tom sang in the choir and he was able to watch over Sarah during the service. Soon Sarah was joining Thomas when he played baseball. She would cheer from the stands

He was so proud of her and more they got to know each other the deeper their love. One particular Sunday he told Sarah that the organist was sick and they didn't know who would play for Sunday’s service. Sarah told Thomas that she played by ear but she might not know all the hymns. That Sunday Thomas kneeled down by the organ and hummed the hymns and once Sarah heard the melody, she began playing.

During the next year Thomas and Sarah spent all their free time together. It wasn't long before Thomas asked Sarah to be his wife. She quickly said yes. They went to the local courthouse and on October 1904 they were married. He always called her his little angel and she delighted in his love.

In the early days they rented an apartment and after a few years their first child, Dorothy was born. They would go on to have three more daughters and a son.

December 6, 1917

Thomas was at work in Halifax while Sarah was at home in Dartmouth with the children. The windows in the apartment began to shake and then shatter. The round stove top cover from the oil stove hurdled across the kitchen and landed in the carriage of the sleeping baby. Fortunately the cover landed at the bottom of the carriage so no one was injured. Sarah thought maybe the war in Europe had found its way to the Nova Scotia shores.

Panic-stricken Sarah held her children close. She had no idea what was happening but before long, Thomas came running into their apartment. He had no shoes on his feet, his clothes were torn to shreds, and his face was cut. When Sarah asked him what had happened, he was unsure. He had no recollection of how he been transported from his place of employment to his home. He only knew that there had been some kind of a disaster; and his only thought was of his angel Sarah and his children.

Tom went outside and was able to talk to some of the soldiers who were home on leave and they informed him of the explosion in the Halifax Harbour. A few of the soldiers had seen two ships collide in the harbour and had witnessed a horrific explosion. Everywhere Thomas went he saw buildings collapsed, windows shattered, fires, bodies, and people in a state of hysteria. Together Tom and the soldiers worked tirelessly trying to find and rescue the injured. Sarah was also helping to bandage some of the injured who Thomas brought to their apartment.

The Halifax Explosion was a horrific time for all Nova Scotians, especially those who living in or near Halifax and Dartmouth. Many families’ lives would be forever altered as well the cities infrastructure. Thousands of innocent men, women, and children were injured, and killed.

It was shortly after this terrible time that Tom bought their home on Prince Albert Road.

Dog for Sale

2009-05-28T15:41:00.000-07:00

Wanna buy a Dog

As the storm howls relentlessly, my windows shake in fear, and
snow fills in my driveway, I contemplate the things I enjoy about
a winters’ storm. The sounds are what I love best. Last night,
with my window ajar, I listened as the wind whipped around the
half-house. Of course I could only hear the wind on my side of
the half-house, but it was loud and wild. As it lulled me to sleep,
the hound sauntered down the hall as his nails clicked on the
hardwood. Soon he jumped onto the bed and buried deep
beneath the blanket. Soon I awoke, not to the soothing sounds of
the winds but the snorting and choking of the Fraz as he found it
difficult to breathe. That’s when I should have smothered him.
Damn dog, I’m goin’ buy me a turtle.
Now the morning light appears and the sounds are inescapable.
The storm is fierce and I jump to look outside. Of course the
windows are blocked with snow and seeing is difficult but my
tactile faculties are working as I walk into a puddle on the floor
where some had landed. Damn snow. Bloody storm.
Now my precious canine wants to take his morning
constitutional. So I lug on my knee high boots, cap, gloves, and
coat to brace myself against elements. I open the door and the
dog refuses to step outside. Damn dog. I pick up the damn dog
and carry him outside and he runs back into the house. Damn
dog. I pick him up again and he wiggles and falls to the floor.
Now I have to chase him down the hall. I win! I pick him up and
outside we go. This time I close the door and put him on the one
patch of frozen earth that is not covered in snow. He high-tails it
back to the step. He begins to shiver and look at me. Well look
in my direction as he sees nothing. I am determined this
creature is going to pee or we will both be found frozen in the
yard of the half-house on Rosemount. I pick him up again and
put him back on the same spot where he squats like a little girl
and has the shortest pee on record and then literately jumpsfrom the patch of earth to the door.

Now he is curled up on the sofa like the King of Canines. My day
promises to be filled with unpleasant aromas coming from the
Damn dog as he will not stay outside long enough to do his
business. I think gold fish are pretty. Kids had hamsters once; I
will never go down that road again.
So at least three more times during this storm I will dress in my
combat outfit, not to beat the storm but to wrestle with 26
pounds of my Fair-weather Dog! So how’s your day so far???

Memtamorphsis

2008-09-26T05:57:00.000-07:00

Junior High

Elementary school was a time of wonderment and joy however Junior High would be my demise. Excitement coursed through my veins at the thought of beginning Queen Charlotte; it was soon replaced with fear.

I enjoyed my friends, made new ones and had fun, unfortunately it was not my forte`. I loved discovering new things; however the structure of the school and how we learned was, for me, dismal.

I was a passionate reader and that would be my escape. Why does a twelve year old need to escape? High School and all the convoluted facets of this institution were daunting and intimidating. I spent more time trying to fit in and have my peers like me than I ever spent studying. What to wear, how to talk to boys, whom to be friends with and whom to avoid were the social norms.

My Junior High School experience was a time of confliction. My body was going through several changes, as my hormones began a new and unfamiliar dance. I discovered, to my horror, that my parents were not perfect. I also realized that most adults were fallible and that was a colossal disappointment. I had no voice. Parents and teachers believed in the old axiom, ‘children should be seen and not heard.’ I felt as if the cosmos had played a horrific joke on me. My precious innocence was forever lost and the acute ache was unending.

There was a shift in my equilibrium and for a long time a sadness washed over me. I was not able to understand or articulate my melancholy during those years but it was always just below the surface. Sometimes the sorrow was replaced with indignation, how dare the universe play such a cruel joke on me. These things were never discussed so they just simmered in my soul for many years and dimmed my spirit.

How many parts can one twelve year old play? The real me or the one my parents wanted me to be? The student the teachers expected me to be? Was I good enough, pretty enough, nice enough, funny enough, the actor in me emerged as I tried to be all. Often I got lost in the various performances. How long can this drama last? Will the real me please stand up? It is hard to concentrate on learning while my mind is trying to remember which character I’m playing.

The extraordinary thing about high school is that the feelings can last a life time. It can take several years and a lot of study to realize how indelible and deep seeded those fears really are.

Friends and humour assisted me on my journey through the murky corridors of high school while books whisked me away to magical kingdoms. When life became difficult, I flew to distant shores and soared over the oceans and mountains of the universe. I donned ruby red slippers and danced with munchkins.