lines can haunt you

2006-07-05

Saturdays in the fall

Home is the place we need to leave in order to grow up, to become ourselves.
~ Michael Ignatieff, The Needs of Strangers

If that is true, then this is where my home was, or is; anyway, it's the place I left:

Not exactly accurate, this country scene, as I grew up in a city 50 km from there, but the scene pictured, and the truck, these made up my Saturdays for a long time when my Dad and I (and my brother, before he too left home) used to go hunting. Shooting birds, shooting the shit, eating roast turkey sandwiches and steaming Campbell's Tomato Soup - that was Saturdays in the fall. That's where I learned to drive, back when I was about 12 - that exact truck, actually - good ol' Big Blue, with the "Saskatchewan Tough" lettering down the side. How could you not love it? Just about everything we did was illegal - or at least, 'not strictly legal' - and that was rebellion, that was living. That was my Dad telling me I never had to tell anyone my name, not ever, not even the police, though it would probably be better if I did. That was lying on our backs and watching the V's of geese fly overhead; that was driving along the Moose Jaw River - the place my Dad grew up, the place he wants his ashes scattered when the time comes.

It was fun, and I'll always cherish those memories so long as I have them. And shooting things, at least inanimate things, is still fun. See:

Looking back, in many ways I see that 'home' is a place I never really left. I mean, I ran from it, I wanted to get away from it, but there's not really any getting away from the place that shaped the first 18 years of your existence. As I've said before, context is everything, and the context of Saskatchewan (and my family) made me the make-do artist I am today. You've got to make-do, you've always got to make-do, and that's all there is to it. You do what you can while you can and you try and pick out the important from the unimportant - and you know what is within your control and what isn't. You can't rely on the weather in Saskatchewan (and I'm sure a lot of other places - though Vancouver isn't one of them), so instead you change your plans as you need. And now I romanticize it, this home from the past, and so it shapes me still.

We need words to keep us human. Being human is an accomplishment like playing an instrument. It takes practice. The keys must be mastered. The old scores must be committed to memory. It is a skill we can forget.
~ Michael Ignatieff, The Needs of Strangers


Navigation previous entry next entry latest entry archives profile notes e-mail How lines can haunt you... Recent Forays 2009-03-10: The names 2008-05-21: in medias res 2007-11-14: The things I meant to write about: 2007-07-29: More than meets the eye 2007-04-13: Where the words have gone. Links Abroad in medias res Modern Drunkard Ftrain The Onion Exploding Dog McSweeney's Internet Tendency The National Pist Higher Blogs Palinode's Palace Schmutzie Friday Films Luvabeans Sprigs Fairlywell Dirty Laundry Boombasticat f-i-n jonquill Stray Sparrow Swordfern Pablo Ashahands Erasing		2006-07-05 Saturdays in the fall Home is the place we need to leave in order to grow up, to become ourselves. ~ Michael Ignatieff, The Needs of Strangers If that is true, then this is where my home was, or is; anyway, it's the place I left: Not exactly accurate, this country scene, as I grew up in a city 50 km from there, but the scene pictured, and the truck, these made up my Saturdays for a long time when my Dad and I (and my brother, before he too left home) used to go hunting. Shooting birds, shooting the shit, eating roast turkey sandwiches and steaming Campbell's Tomato Soup - that was Saturdays in the fall. That's where I learned to drive, back when I was about 12 - that exact truck, actually - good ol' Big Blue, with the "Saskatchewan Tough" lettering down the side. How could you not love it? Just about everything we did was illegal - or at least, 'not strictly legal' - and that was rebellion, that was living. That was my Dad telling me I never had to tell anyone my name, not ever, not even the police, though it would probably be better if I did. That was lying on our backs and watching the V's of geese fly overhead; that was driving along the Moose Jaw River - the place my Dad grew up, the place he wants his ashes scattered when the time comes. It was fun, and I'll always cherish those memories so long as I have them. And shooting things, at least inanimate things, is still fun. See: Looking back, in many ways I see that 'home' is a place I never really left. I mean, I ran from it, I wanted to get away from it, but there's not really any getting away from the place that shaped the first 18 years of your existence. As I've said before, context is everything, and the context of Saskatchewan (and my family) made me the make-do artist I am today. You've got to make-do, you've always got to make-do, and that's all there is to it. You do what you can while you can and you try and pick out the important from the unimportant - and you know what is within your control and what isn't. You can't rely on the weather in Saskatchewan (and I'm sure a lot of other places - though Vancouver isn't one of them), so instead you change your plans as you need. And now I romanticize it, this home from the past, and so it shapes me still. We need words to keep us human. Being human is an accomplishment like playing an instrument. It takes practice. The keys must be mastered. The old scores must be committed to memory. It is a skill we can forget. ~ Michael Ignatieff, The Needs of Strangers Tell me when this blog is updated email: