Life style

 

life styel

The first thing that caught my attention when I walked into the room was a white dress hanging on the wall. It looked like it had been there for ages and didn't get used often, but the colors were very bright. I looked at her briefly, and she smiled and said hello again. She grabbed an old-fashioned box-style book I hadn't seen in years and showed me how to make my own paper bags with leftover fabric. She also made some coffee grounds from scratch. This is one of my favorite things about living in this part of Canada. A lot of people have more advanced tools than my grandmother did growing up, but it's still easy to recreate your own creations and it's delicious. All the ingredients are cheap and readily available, and everything is easily put together. My grandma would always tell me not to ask where someone got their food, as they would just laugh and call me "cheap". Grandma never liked wasting anything, so I didn't mind asking her any questions. Even though we're separated by only 20 minutes when traveling, most of our conversations are on the phone or over coffee. When we talk, she asks about my day and what I did today. But sometimes I don't want to hear the details, especially if I'm having a bad day. So I start talking freely, and she talks back. We've spent hours doing these little crafts together, even when I couldn't get home. Today I had to go somewhere else anyway. I gave myself a chance to vent and let out all the frustration I felt inside. Now I know why she called our conversation "cheap", too. It was truly a great afternoon, despite being far.

"Okay," Dad says, standing behind me, "I think you two should go home now. You can continue working on your bag or something you need to do. It seems strange to ask two grown adults to take care of each other while you both go off to work." He then gives both of us a peck on the arm, which is a big deal. We'll see him every Friday after dinner for the rest of our lives. To be honest, he never really cared for either of us much, but I suppose there have been times where Dad just preferred to watch his son instead. As soon as I say goodbye, he smiles and pats me on the shoulder, and before I can say thanks, he follows me out of the house. While I am taking deep breaths, trying to calm down the anger that has been brewing within me, Dad reminds me of what happened earlier today in his office. Mom made a mistake and poured water all over the floor in his chair, which caused all sorts of mishaps that led to Mum passing away and leaving me without a father figure. Why doesn't that mean they aren't friends anymore? After driving all the way to his house, I saw his car pull into a driveway that was next to mine. His car went around the corner and stopped right next to mine. Dad leaned forward, and when he turned towards me, I knew he had his hand out to touch my shoulder. Not quite sure what to do in that moment, I started walking towards him, feeling hot and uncomfortable. He pulled his hand back, and I quickly retreated to the side. There was no need to apologize or explain myself. In fact, that seemed as good an explanation as any. If only I could choose who I want to share my life with. Instead of thinking of the apology later, I kept going. The driver turned left onto Avenue Street, and I headed straight up towards them. I wanted to turn around and face them as well, but I was afraid a stranger might stop me. Then, they drove by. Before I could get close enough to make eye contact with anyone, I turned, and as soon as I did, Dad came running after us! That took us a complete circle around the block. And that's exactly how I ended up getting to meet the person who will soon become pregnant with my child. I wish him nothing but happiness, and hopefully there won't be any problems down the road in regards to this baby. My mother and dad didn't seem surprised to me when I told them the story. They knew. Maybe they don't like men who are friends with other men and women. Regardless, this was a new experience for them. For once, they realized that I was capable of making decisions, and it wasn't a woman's place to force me to marry them. The last time they told me to marry one person I loved was when I was 10 years old because he was a friend of my parents and they agreed to get engaged. My mom was devastated. Luckily, my dad told me afterwards that I wasn't ready, so I wouldn't have to give him the grief of knowing I didn't marry him.