Saturday, December 30

Saturday's Old Photo

Over the Christmas holidays, oldest daughter visited us from Vancouver for the first time in a year and a half, although we've made trips out to see her. Last Thursday, the day she left, was her thirtieth birthday.

In this old photo, she is two years old. The photo is taken in the early spring, after the snow melted, but before the leaves sprouted. The road, I think, is the road to Carcross. That road is a lovely paved road now, but it used to be gravel most of the way, and more narrow and windy, so back then, even a trip to Carcross was a bit of an adventure.

We used to go to Carcross regularly to have ice cream in the Caribou Hotel and see the parrots in the lobby. The famous parrot, Polly, had died by then, but the hotel owner had replaced Polly with several other parrots. None of them had Polly's ability to speak--perhaps a good thing, since Polly, I'm told, had a rather shocking sailor sort of vocabulary--so we had to be satisfied with a lot of very loud screeching.

But enough of Carcross, and Polly and the Caribou Hotel*, and more of oldest daughter. She's sitting still in that photo, but that's not how she usually was. Or is. She's a whirlwind of activity, except when she's reading. Always has been, and probably always will be.

As a side line to her regular job, she designs, sews, and sells clothing. She also developed her own selective bleaching process to decorate the things she makes or ready made items. She sewed and bleached up a storm while she was here, making Christmas gifts for everyone she knows. Thankfully, she's better at cleaning up her messes than she used to be (and better at taking the precautions to protect everything around her work space), but while she's deep in the creative process, there is extreme chaos.

She also loves to cook, and often made the supper meal for us. And yes, she makes chaos in the kitchen, too, but her food is so tasty that I don't mind, even if I'm the one who has to clean up.

She couldn't believe she was turning thirty, and I can't believe I have a thirty year old daughter, but I do. I wish she lived closer so she could visit more often, but she's a city girl at heart--a doer, not a contemplator, and she needs the activity of the city.

*Although they all have very interesting histories, including a sinking ship and a gruesome murder. You'll find little snippets of those stories in the linked article.