Anne: Marrila don’t you ever imagine things different from the way they are?
Marrila: No, never.
-Anne of Green Gables
Oh Anne, Anne, Anne- I have always, and will always identify with you.
I have spent the last 2 days watching Ann with an E on Netflix and now I am watching the PBS movie that came out in December that I DVRd but never had time for.
Watching Anne reminds me of my childhood, I loved reading her books, watching the mini-series, everything about Anne of Green Gables was intoxicating. And I find now, I still feel that pang of imagination in my heart, that innocence and wonder.
I felt a lot like Anne growing up. A child mistreated and forced to grow up too soon, but hanging on to dear life to the imaginary childhood she had. An outcast among her peers except for one “bosom friend”. I had one friend most all of my childhood. And you know, looking back she was all I needed, I didn’t need a gaggle of girls surrounding me, I had Q. She and I met in the bus line one day when I was in 3rd grade and she was in 2nd. We were inseparable. I spent many many nights at her house. So many that I used to pretend it was my house. Other than her pesky and sometimes downright mean older brother her house was perfect. Her mom was home when she got home from school – while mine was not. Her father looked at her with eyes of a man who had won the lottery of daughters. While mine called me fool, numb, zero. Her house was where I learned about things like Anne of Green Gables, Saturday Night Live, Shirley Valentine, and the meaning of home.
I remember one day after I got my license her father thought we had been off “joy riding” and he gave us both a stern talking to. I treasured that talking to my whole life. It was full of love and concern, not screaming and profanity. And while at the time I thought he was wrong, after all I don’t think we were out joy-riding though maybe we were, I treasure that memory above all of my memories of him. Of her mother watching her hand quilt. Adoring and running my fingers over the quilts she had made, feeling each stitch, I can still remember the feeling of the taught threads beneath my fingers.
I still have never had a handmade quilt, but someday I will learn. And I will remember the nights sleeping over there, watching J quilt with fondness.
I think the whole point of this post goes back to the first part I posted, which was also my Facebook status. Like Anne, I have always and may always wish things were different than they are. I was contacted today by Q out of the blue, and it brought up a lot of good memories, which is a good thing, it’s been a hard day emotionally.
I have been crying a lot. Hubby is outside building a shed to put all the contents of his shop in. I don’t know if that’s why I am crying or something else, or nothing in particular, you never can tell with depression. But I do know, that next Friday is move out day, and I will probably be crying a lot. I am actually thankful I am unable to help, I am not sure I can handle the thought of packing up all his stuff from the business. Even now, the tears run so full from my eyes I can barely see to type. My heart is so broken for him. It was his dream, and it’s ripped away.
It’s why I am trying so hard to lose the Anne in me. I don’t want to dream anymore. Not when it seems every dream you have is either ripped away, doesn’t come true, or doesn’t come without a price. Maybe I will explain that last line another day, it’s a longer, more selfish story, and I am not ready to talk about it today.
Until next time.