This past
weekend was our first long weekend of the summer here in Ontario. On the Monday
before the 24th of May each year, we commemorate the official
birthday of Queen Victoria, who reigned Great Britain and the Commonwealth (of
which Canada is still a part) from 1837 to 1901.
When I was a
kid, "Victoria Day" was the only time when we got to enjoy large firework
displays. I guess because we had yet to embrace our own unique nationalism, this
was our big national holiday. Our National Flag at the time was the Canadian Red
Ensign with the Union Jack, the flag of Great Britain, very prominent in the
upper right corner, and one of our two national anthems was God Save the
Queen.
Years later,
when I became a young married woman, after the great flag debate and the
adoption of our current flag and the repatriation of our Constitution, a shift
in attitudes began. Some communities decided to move the date of their fireworks
from May 24th to July 1, which is Canada Day. Also at that time, we
began to refer to the weekend as May 2/4. Yes, you'd be right if you guessed
that moniker refers to what we call a case of 24 bottles of beer up
here.
Victoria Day is
similar to your Memorial Day in the U.S., in that we consider it the unofficial
beginning of our summer. Although our Elementary and High Schools here don't let
out until about the 25th of June, this weekend marks the beginning of
a new season—more than spring, less than full on summer.
Mostly, in my
neck of the woods and in my experience, this weekend was considered the
beginning of planting season. I can recall that many Victoria Day weekends found
us out planting the veggie and flower gardens. My mother had a large vegetable
garden, easily a quarter of a block long and 30 feet wide. We lived in a rural
area, and the farmer from down the road would bring his tractor each spring and
plough, and then disc it for her. She also had a large square flower bed at the
front of the house, and round ones that surrounded the flowering crab apple
trees we'd given her one Mother's Day.
Then, when my
children were young, this weekend became remarkable in that we always took them
to the park, where there were carnival games and rides, and fireworks. Many a
time, we had to bring blankets to snuggle them under, because sometimes Mother
Nature liked to make the temperature dip close to freezing. I shivered through
many an evening but counted it as good, because the kids always had such a great
time.
I'm older now,
and not necessarily missing either those shivery pyrotechnics or those
half-inebriated get-togethers. This year, once again, I'm content to just enjoy
the weather and the activities of others from a distance.
Just a couple
weeks ago, the woman who owned the house across from us on the
north-east corner of our intersection (we live on the north-west corner) moved
across the side street to the south-east corner, leaving her grown son and his
girlfriend in her former residence.
On Saturday, the
younger ones began make the place their own as they set out to take down the 40
foot tall pine tree next to their house. My husband and I watched, wondering if
this was one of those moments when we should have our video camera in
hand, while simultaneously looking up the submission instructions for America's
Funniest Videos. Fortunately, the young men managed to bring the tree down in
stages without any injuries or accidents.
We left the
house about the time they were breaking out another 24, on our way to the
grocery store. It was then I noticed the truck they used to pile some of the
tree limbs in, a truck that bore the logo of a local tree service. I made a note
of the name.
Since the young
men went about their task without any PPE – not a hard hat, work boot or pair of
safety glasses had been in sight – I decided these were not the people to call
in the future, should the need arise.
My DH and I just
looked at each other, shaking our heads. We didn't have to voice the opinion
which I knew we both shared. Once more we'd been given proof that God does
indeed look after drunks and fools.
Love,
The only dream I've ever had was to be a published author. It was a dream formed in childhood, and held on to through the business of growing up. Life intruded, as life does, and my dream was put on hold. But now, through hard work, faith, and luck dream has evolved into reality.
Romance is a wonderful genre that accommodates every other. Comedy, mystery, paranormal, suspense, or science fiction, romance embraces them all. Erotic romance gives all of that, and so much more.
For readers who want all the best traditional romance has to offer – great characters, compelling stories and a happy ending – and who crave that extra bit of heat – I invite you to read one of my novels and let me know what you think!
No comments:
Post a Comment