The kind of beach you explore

The dirt road to the beach isn’t so much a road anymore. The grass has grown, the trees fuller. The tractor impressions which once defined a path have vanished. But I still know where this road leads.

The beginning of the journey is marked by a rickety, rusting ‘No trespassing’ sign hanging off a chain link rope.  I wonder why it’s even there because a sign that old, speaks more to abandonment than trespassing. However, I hop over the rope and continue on my journey. I feel calm. The path is flanked by open fields. My favorite part about the walk is glancing back at the old farmhouse in the distance; my grandfather’s old homestead, our current family gathering spot.

My cousins surround me on this walk and the many family dogs run free all around us. This is their special place, too. As we walk, I notice the cranberry bushes, or lack thereof, that we used to pick until our fingers were red. You can smell mud in the air.  Mud in the country has a different smell (the animal influence). The road is full of mud puddles. Half the fun of the journey is finding the safest way to get around them. Until one of the dogs comes barging through and it doesn’t matter how clever you thought you were; you are now covered in mud splatter.

There’s a specific turn in the road, one where the water becomes visible, through an opening. I get a feeling of anticipation. We’re getting close to our beach. It’s not the kind of beach where you’re excited to set up camp for the day and run crashing into the waves. It’s the kind of beach where you roll up your pant legs and explore. Poke the dead jellyfish with stray pieces of drift wood. Find sea glass, which are majorly softened pieces of beer bottles. Pick up the odd shell and realize it’s not that pretty. Skip rocks along the water. Dig holes in the sand until you reach clay.

And if you dare…you’ll test the water. You’ll make it as far as your ankles, look at the ocean floor littered with seaweed and other extremities and change your mind. But at least you tried.

The walk home from the beach is longer than the walk there…or so it seems. You brought half the beach home in your shoes; there's no longer an anticipation. However, the walk home has an opening too; one where you can see an old farmhouse in the distance and suddenly, the walk home becomes a little sweeter.

What's in a job?

It was a brief stint but undoubtedly my most interesting place of work: a car dealership. Confined to working within a 4 by 4 radius, I was the main receptionist.  This meant, among other things, that I was the gatekeeper of sales calls; to provide some context; car salesmen don’t make money unless they sell cars. Men who don’t make money, for the most part, are not happy. So needless to say, these calls were important.

I think people have pre-conceived notions about car salesmen, and I will be honest when I say they are right about every single one of them. But on the contrary, they represent some of the most honest, hardworking people out there.

It is also worthwhile knowing that as a female, I represented a very small portion of the staff. Very small. On a staff of about 60, there were about 6 of us. We were a minority; there is no doubt about that.

It was not uncommon to be complimented on your appearance or to have conversations most workplaces would frown upon. I decided pretty quickly that as long as I wasn’t offended, I would take the whole, “If you can’t beat em’, join em’!” approach.

As I mentioned, my job was important but not hard. Tasks included media monitoring, organizing part-slips and retrieving keys for the car salesmen. On Saturdays, my biggest task was ordering lunch for the whole office; easier than it sounds. It didn’t matter where I wanted to order from because as I was once told, “The smallest person doesn’t get to choose.”

No matter what the drama (because there always was some) or the gossip (because someone was always talking) I couldn’t help but realize the ease of conversation between me and my colleagues. Some might say it was my PR personality, but I wouldn’t because I know it was their car salesman personality. Their ability to talk someone into or out of a car was mind boggling. And whether they know it or not, their ability to win me over was pretty special too.

Sometimes opportunities present themselves and you’re not sure why. This was one of them. I never envisioned working in a car dealership, and to be quite frank, I don’t ever see it happening again. However, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t better for it.  As I said, I met some of the most honest, hardworking people out there. Bill, 74, married – 30 years in the business. Terry, 45, married, two kids, ex Casino manager – 2 years in the business. Bobby Lee, 33, high school dropout – 10 years in the business. Pat H, 25, followed in his father’s footsteps – 4 years in the business. It’s human nature to judge. It would’ve been very easy to take their crude jokes and in some cases, harsh outer layer and give up. I guess I just chose not to.

Okie Dokie

“Okie-dokie?” he asked. “Okie-dokie,” I would respond every time. It’s a simple phrase, but one that resonates deeply.  Funnily enough, it’s not even the phrase that is significant. It’s the fact that it was asked every time.  Some people crave spontaneity.  I am not one of them. In fact, I am quite the opposite; I seek consistency.

 My dad had a method. If my brother or I misbehaved he would first remove us from the situation and secondly, explain what we had done wrong. “Okie-dokie,” simply put, was the question my dad would ask to know that we understood the conversation that had just taken place. Not that I was a misbehaved child, but my father and I had many of these conversations. It was perhaps, my first encounter with consistency.  

When I was 11 years old, my parents told my brother and me that we needed to have a family talk. An interesting choice of words, I immediately thought divorce…sickness…the worst. Turns out it was a little less dramatic, but my dad had lost his job. In my naivety I thought, “Phewph! He’ll just get a new one.” Easily fixable.

They say you remember emotional situations more thoroughly than others. It was a few months later, when I was sitting around the table with my family and we had a decision to make: Montreal or Toronto. Our house was dark; the only light on was the one over the kitchen table. Seinfeld was on the TV in the background, I remember looking at it through blurry eyes. We were moving to Montreal.

Trust me, I’m a very realistic person and I know there are situations far worse than the one I was in at that moment. But as a kid, I felt pretty safe. My family owned a modest house in Dartmouth, Nova Scotia (next to a park!), I went to a nice school, had a good group of friends…as far as childhoods go, I was ‘living the dream’. But as far as my 11 year-old mind went – this ‘new’ situation was very inconsistent.

Now this ‘new’ situation could’ve ruined my picture of consistency. However, it did something else for me. It showed me that in the most inconsistent of situations, you can find consistency. Everything else around me changed: new house (no park), new school, and new friends. But my family didn’t change.  

In the years to come, I would realize that it’s not where you are, but who you’re with that really matters. So that’s it. That’s what matters most to me – the people I choose to surround myself with, whoever that may be. You can look back through life and see how much has changed. Or you can look back and find all of the things that haven’t. I know that change is inevitable, but I guess, more often than not, I’m more comfortable looking at all of the things that haven’t. It may make me boring, but I’d just say it makes me consistent.