Sophie

Yesterday was my ninth anniversary of living on Gabiola day.  The day dawned bright and sunny. I was thrilled because I loathe going to the big island on cloudy or rainy days. My condition makes highway driving very uncomfortable. When it is raining or dark due to a thick cloud cover, it’s even worse for me on the highway.

However, on the plus side, I was going to the vet’s office on my own time. I just had to drop of Sheba’s stool and urine samples and pick up her liver medication. I did not have an appointment; I just had to turn up at my convenience, so that meant fall less anxiety for this trip. Plus, there was sushi for lunch to look forward to, and lots of delicious groceries that I can’t get here.

Doug’s visit last weekend, followed a week later by Dianne, Beverly and Jane’s visit this coming weekend, and then, four days after Di and the gals depart, I go to Vancouver for the SPACE event. It’s all too much too close together for me to feel comfortable. I am going to be very happy when the SPACE event is over because I will be living my easy solitary life again until Christmas when Paula comes to visit.

I left very happy. I’d been worried about getting urine and stool samples before leaving, but I was successful at getting both. I didn’t care about timing, I had no deadlines, so I just left the house with Her Highness when I was ready, and when I got to the terminal, I was waved onto the ferry. I was the last car on. It was the first time I have arrived and driven directly onto the vessel.

Everything went quickly at the vet’s office, so then we went shopping. I love Thrifty Foods, it feels so rich compared to our store. Every shelf is full to bulging, and there are so many delicious looking pre-made foods and baking. I got sushi to have on the ferry on the way home, and I got a turkey for thanksgiving and lots of veggies.

Then we went to the ferry and had to wait a while because every Wednesday there is a ‘dangerous goods’ sailing at 10:15, but I was home before noon. And on the way home, I stopped at the pharmacy, picked up my pills from St. Paul’s in Vancouver, and I booked an appointment in November for my RSV vaccine. Sheba and I were both extremely happy to be back home.

The highlight of my trip happened as soon as I was loaded onto the ferry to go to the big island. No sooner had I parked, thana woman came by on my passenger side, and she saw Sheba and melted. She came round to my door, and in her first words, I heard a French (not Québecois) accent, so I responded in French because I know no English would come out of me.

Her name is Sophie. She’s a lovely woman. She’s also very esoteric, she’s ethereal and she talks a lot about destiny. What brought you to Gabriola, I asked. Destiny was her reply. Then came a need for a word I didn’t know in French, and then came am English name, so my stutter became the subject our conversation. She asked me why I spoke French; I told her proudly that my birth mother was Québecoise.

Then I told her about believing I was French very early in my life. I was young enough to need a babysitter, and I met a girl bus who lived near-by and was French. I told Don about this girl and asked that she be my babysitter.

My sensibility to things French began early and there are other things I could tell you that seem like scenes from Twilight Zone; it was things I did that made me believe I might be French. And it boggles me to believe that my behaviour gave me correct insight into the language of my birth mother.

I had no birth story and grew up disconnected from my adoptees. The sense of having some kind of link to my origins was profoundly meaningful. I went to France to learn French for a year, ten years before I met Françoise, my birth mother.

The social worker told me about finding Françoise, and the moment I heard that name, I knew. When I started speaking in French, she cried. Of course she did, she’s an actor! I went to. Montreal to meet her. Steve came with me. Our friend, Briam, arranged for his parents to billet us in their home.

I get up early every day, no matter where I go. I was up long before Steve and our hosts. I got up, I picked up a keychain I’d purchased that had a flag of Québec inside a thick plastic tab, and I sat on the landing of our floor, with my feet on the next step down of the stairs, and I sobbed, as quietly as I could, rubbing the tab all over my face.

You must have nothing to have that as the most emotional moment of a long life. But French is HUGE in my identity because it is the thing that is more true than any other truth. I call the day I became conscious of perhaps being, probably being, French, my Fatima moment. That girl saw a saint; I saw une mére Québecoise.

I lacked confidence through my teenage years and as a young adult. Having a satisfying and successful career in the arts gave me something to be proud of and it boosted my self-esteem. But the thing I’m most proud of, is sensing I was French.

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This morning has dawned bright, sunny and the temperature is 12°. I could not speak to the animals this morning, and when David called to chat, I could not get any words out. I got quite depressed and worried about DI and Beverly’s visit starting on Saturday, and about my performance next week. However, by the end of my call with David, I was speaking well enough to not worry anymore.

I shall bake today. I want to bake a cake for my guests. And we’ll walk and I may start a new book.