When I first read this week's writing prompt--do I have a favorite season and if so, why--the song "If Ever I Would Leave You" started swirling in my head. Sung by Robert Goulet of course. Robert Goulet was big in our house in the early 1960s. He was Canadian, classically handsome with a gorgeous voice.
Anyway, why would I associate that song with this week's writing prompt? Well the song is about love and seasons--Lancelot singing to Guinevere about how he could never leave her at any time. And that goes along with my musings about seasons because my feelings around the changing seasons had so very much to do with love.
Montreal, my hometown, has very distinct seasons. Spring is green and softly warm, Summer is humid and hot, Fall is a riot of reds and golds and greens and nippy and Winter is freeze your face off cold. I enjoyed all of the seasons because each held something that I loved. The photo below is of my home for the first 17 years of my life--6797 34th Avenue.
Spring had Easter with a new Spring coat and hat and dress (even if I still had to wear ear muffs under the hat) and the Easter bunny. Laura Secord chocolate eggs, lavishly decorated and sickenly sweet. A special Easter lunch out at the Cafe at the Queen Elizabeth Hotel. My birthday in May. Family occasions where we came together and played happy family.
The "official" beginning of Summer coincided with the last day of school. The 24th of June, St Jean Baptiste Day, with fireworks and parades. Unfortunately as I entered my teens the political issues in Quebec brought sadness and strife to that holiday. Exactly a week later came Canada Day, July 1st, with more fireworks. And, again, more politics. But when I was young politics didn't matter. Summer was here, with long hot days spent lounging in the backyard reading books and going to the local swimming pool. The highlight of my summers was my father's two-week vacation where we would drive down to Brome Lake or to Ripplecove Inn in the Eastern Townships and swim in the lake, water ski, meet up with summer friends. Summer romances. And summer heartbreak too. Although those days are long ago and I now live in southern Arizona, I can conjure up those memories whenever I read Louise Penny's novels about Three Pines.
Labor Day weekend meant the end of Summer. The family would usually take a weekend car ride to New Hampshire or to Vermont, visiting family friends. I would be excited, thinking about a new school year ahead, hoping for good things to happen. The heat of summer usually quickly gave way to chillier nights although we often would have Indian Summer in October, right around Canadian Thanksgiving, which happens on the second Monday in October. And it was a very rare year when Montreal wasn't ablaze with the Fall colors. Walking on Mount Royal with the brightly colored leaves swirling around was such fun, especially in my later teens, when I had a special someone to walk with.
But Fall is a short season as well, lasting from September to end October. November comes and the skies turn grey. The temperatures drop lower and lower and the snow arrives. And stays until March or sometimes even to May. I well remember in my first decade being layered up in snowsuit and mittens, a scarf tied around my mouth, and sent out to play on the snow mountains that surrounded our bungalow. We built forts, snowmen, cleared the snow from the backyard to make an ice rink. Battled the icy blasts to walk the six blocks to school. Mount Royal became the place to go tobogganing and skating on Beaver Lake. December came with all of its Christmas magic. Going downtown with my mother and grandmother to Ste Catherine Street to see the decorations in the department store windows. Having lunch on the 9th floor of Eatons and seeing the magical place there that was Toyland. Watching the Santa Claus Parade in early December, freezing my toes off. The big party that was held on Christmas Eve--Reveillon--and midnight Mass.
Another song that comes to mind is "It Was a Very Good Year," sung by Frank Sinatra. He sings "But now the days grow short, I'm in the autumn of my years...." I am in the autumn of my years and the seasons pass without the excitement I once felt. Part of that could be because I live in an area where there is no real Winter or Spring or Fall. Oh, the desert DOES bloom and then turn brown in the colder weather. And I found this morning that instead of my usual thin t-shirt, I had to shrug on a hoodie to take the dog for a walk. But there are no seasons like I remember as a child. And those loved ones who were so much a part of those past seasons are all gone. And I miss them.
Anyway, why would I associate that song with this week's writing prompt? Well the song is about love and seasons--Lancelot singing to Guinevere about how he could never leave her at any time. And that goes along with my musings about seasons because my feelings around the changing seasons had so very much to do with love.
Montreal, my hometown, has very distinct seasons. Spring is green and softly warm, Summer is humid and hot, Fall is a riot of reds and golds and greens and nippy and Winter is freeze your face off cold. I enjoyed all of the seasons because each held something that I loved. The photo below is of my home for the first 17 years of my life--6797 34th Avenue.
Spring had Easter with a new Spring coat and hat and dress (even if I still had to wear ear muffs under the hat) and the Easter bunny. Laura Secord chocolate eggs, lavishly decorated and sickenly sweet. A special Easter lunch out at the Cafe at the Queen Elizabeth Hotel. My birthday in May. Family occasions where we came together and played happy family.
The "official" beginning of Summer coincided with the last day of school. The 24th of June, St Jean Baptiste Day, with fireworks and parades. Unfortunately as I entered my teens the political issues in Quebec brought sadness and strife to that holiday. Exactly a week later came Canada Day, July 1st, with more fireworks. And, again, more politics. But when I was young politics didn't matter. Summer was here, with long hot days spent lounging in the backyard reading books and going to the local swimming pool. The highlight of my summers was my father's two-week vacation where we would drive down to Brome Lake or to Ripplecove Inn in the Eastern Townships and swim in the lake, water ski, meet up with summer friends. Summer romances. And summer heartbreak too. Although those days are long ago and I now live in southern Arizona, I can conjure up those memories whenever I read Louise Penny's novels about Three Pines.
Labor Day weekend meant the end of Summer. The family would usually take a weekend car ride to New Hampshire or to Vermont, visiting family friends. I would be excited, thinking about a new school year ahead, hoping for good things to happen. The heat of summer usually quickly gave way to chillier nights although we often would have Indian Summer in October, right around Canadian Thanksgiving, which happens on the second Monday in October. And it was a very rare year when Montreal wasn't ablaze with the Fall colors. Walking on Mount Royal with the brightly colored leaves swirling around was such fun, especially in my later teens, when I had a special someone to walk with.
But Fall is a short season as well, lasting from September to end October. November comes and the skies turn grey. The temperatures drop lower and lower and the snow arrives. And stays until March or sometimes even to May. I well remember in my first decade being layered up in snowsuit and mittens, a scarf tied around my mouth, and sent out to play on the snow mountains that surrounded our bungalow. We built forts, snowmen, cleared the snow from the backyard to make an ice rink. Battled the icy blasts to walk the six blocks to school. Mount Royal became the place to go tobogganing and skating on Beaver Lake. December came with all of its Christmas magic. Going downtown with my mother and grandmother to Ste Catherine Street to see the decorations in the department store windows. Having lunch on the 9th floor of Eatons and seeing the magical place there that was Toyland. Watching the Santa Claus Parade in early December, freezing my toes off. The big party that was held on Christmas Eve--Reveillon--and midnight Mass.
Another song that comes to mind is "It Was a Very Good Year," sung by Frank Sinatra. He sings "But now the days grow short, I'm in the autumn of my years...." I am in the autumn of my years and the seasons pass without the excitement I once felt. Part of that could be because I live in an area where there is no real Winter or Spring or Fall. Oh, the desert DOES bloom and then turn brown in the colder weather. And I found this morning that instead of my usual thin t-shirt, I had to shrug on a hoodie to take the dog for a walk. But there are no seasons like I remember as a child. And those loved ones who were so much a part of those past seasons are all gone. And I miss them.
That is the hardest part, the memories of those who are gone.
ReplyDelete