That Creative Spark

When I think of her - though I don’t, too often - what comes to mind is one of those archaic fertility figures created in pre-history, long before written language to convey the idea of primal female fecundity. What it must have seemed like, thousands of years ago, to try to fathom the idea of the creation of human life that women were capable of, and the dominant creatures, men, were not.

In her own way, she was the personification of Gaea, the ancient Earth goddess, who brought life to all natural things, organisms infinitesimally small, and gigantic creatures of land and sea who once reigned supreme before homo sapiens appeared.

Gaea must have been an amorphous figure of spiritual need, to believe in some supernatural element that was responsible for the world that mystified and surrounded, and succored and plagued early human creatures.

She too was very elemental in one significant sense, for she wished nothing more for herself, of her life, than to bear children. She experienced this overwhelming need not as an adult or even as an emerging adult, but as a child, and expressed it to anyone who would listen. It was thought to be an amusing aberration in an otherwise-normal childhood.

As she grew older she learned to muffle that voice inside her, to give it honour, but no longer to express its message vocally, because it made her the object of derision. As she matured into young womanhood, she did so at an extraordinarily early age. It was as though her child-bearing psychosis had prevailed upon her hormones to rush things along. At twelve years of age she already had assumed an hourglass figure, to her parents’ great consternation.

At fourteen, entering high school, she resembled a tiny, perfect Venus. Her face was no more than pretty, but framed by a loose, curly mane of chestnut hair, a perpetual and genuine smile, combined with that curvaceous body, she presented a formidable sight. One the boys at the school honoured by lusting after in their disturbed night-time hours, and which the girls at the school snipped and sniped at cattily, while in the process spreading rumours of her easy accessibility.

She was innocent of all the commotion she left in her wake because she had no guile. Her outward physical presence may have been expressed by an defined aura of sexuality she herself was unaware of, but her mind was a fairly simple one, although not without intelligence. She performed well enough at school, but she would be no academic prize-winner and her parents anticipated little other of her.

She had a younger brother with whom she was quite close, no more academically-gifted than his sister, but a robust, happy-go-lucky boy interested in all manner of sports. They lived, at that time, close to High Park in Toronto, where the parents, both hard workers, had managed to buy a three-story house sitting high on a hill.

Since the parents both worked, the brother and sister were left to their own devices most of the time, once school was out. A large attraction for both was Sunnyside pool, and they spent long summer days there, during summer vacation. That was their vacation, in fact. The brother had a large circle of friends, and his sister a circle of familiars, and they both enjoyed life. Their parents were comfortable with their children’s social progress.

They were, however, puzzled more than a little by their daughter’s dreaminess, her apparent disinterest in being part of a clique of girls who might spend time together. Her clear absorption in maternal things, how her attention was riveted when she saw a mother and child took them aback. But they approved as their daughter offered baby-sitting services to the young families living on their street, and glowed at the praise that came back from those whom she sat for, filling their proud, parental ears.

Their daughter was clearly no scholar, but she was healthy and a beauty. She had a quiet and gentle personality, and an easy laugh, a healthy sense of self. What more could any parent ask for?

It was annoying to put up with a steady stream of bashful young boys hanging around their house, hoping for a glimpse of their daughter, waiting for a brief, casual acknowledgement as though they had just happened to be passing by, and ran into her by chance. Their daughter never seemed to notice these serendipitous meetings of chance, but they did.

It wasn’t too long, though, before their daughter appeared to have made a huge impression on a young boy whose parents were well known to be among the privileged and the wealthy, and that gave them great satisfaction. They encouraged her interest in the boy, and went out of their way to make him feel comfortable when he dropped by.

Their daughter was still in her first year of high school; the boy one grade higher. And they became extremely companionable. Their companionship resulted in the first pregnancy. Nothing could be said to persuade the girl that she could end the pregnancy. After all, she would not yet be quite 15 when the pregnancy came to term. There was no thought of forcing the girl to respect her parents’ alarm, to acknowledge their sense of shame. Her intention was to have this baby. She focused on the child that would finally be her own.

Marriage appeared to be out of the question. Although these were the days before women’s liberation, and it was more common for two scenarios to eventuate; a) the societal-convention-offending girl would be left on her own, disowned by her outraged parents, or b) the two young people would be joined in a ‘shotgun’ marriage. His parents, aloof and disinterested, instructed him to absent himself. And he did this, although his attraction for the girl and hers for him constituted a powerful magnet and he struggled with their edict, before accepting that demand.

No one attempted to keep the pregnancy a secret. She left school, which she considered no great loss. And she immersed herself in the care of her baby. Before too long they met secretly, furtively, in area parks, she wheeling the baby in a carriage, and he riding his bicycle, to fortuitously meet up with her.

They were re-united, and nothing would cast them asunder, the girl’s boyfriend told her, and she was grateful. Her parents accepted him once again, as their daughter’s - what, boyfriend, lover, husband-to-be? None of that, they just sighed and thought that what would be would be.

The parents were away from their house far more often than they were resident in it, working long hours. The father worked as a tailor at the Tip Top Tailors factory in downtown Toronto and the mother worked there too, as a seamstress. They had laboured there for many years, ever since they had immigrated to the country and they were both held in high esteem as skilled, reliable workers.

Their children’s futures were important to them. They were not disciplinarians, they never went further than gentle remonstrations with their children. This was a different world, a different culture and society, and they hardly knew where they fit into it, even yet. But this country did allow them to be gainfully employed, and protected as citizens, and to prosper.

Their daughter’s boyfriend, in defying his parents’ command to no longer see their daughter, was disowned by his parents. What else could they do? They took him in. There was no awkwardness, they simply, casually, accepted his presence. None were disposed to press for marriage; not the parents, nor the young people. They all just lived amicably together, the young couple given the largest of the bedrooms on the second floor of the house. Rooms on the third floor were rented out, to other people.

Unsurprisingly, while their daughter stayed at home looking after their first grandchild, the child’s father kept attending school. Unquestioningly, the parents supported their daughter, her child, her boyfriend. Since their daughter remained dedicated to having children, and appeared to be content with the way her life had unfolded, there was another child, a girl. Over the course of the years that it took for him to complete high school, two additional babies struggled their way out of their daughter’s womb. And when their daughter’s boyfriend began university, nothing much changed. In total seven children were born to their fecund daughter; all but the first, girls.

After their daughter’s boyfriend obtained his undergraduate degree, his father contacted him, and informed his son that if he agreed to continue university and to obtain a law degree, he was prepared to take him into the very lucrative family firm. With the proviso that he leave his present living accommodations. And begin another life entirely.

They were prepared, he intimated, to do their part to give financial assistance to the raising of the seven children he had sired, as long as he agreed to never again enter the house where the mother of his children lived, along with those children.

To the girl’s huge consternation, her lover approached her one day with the great news. She sunk into a great funk of incomprehensible misery, and remained there for an entire week, when she bestirred herself to the reality of her position and the need of her brood.

She would never again place her trust in a man. She no longer needed a man, in any event. She had her precious children, her beloved infants who needed the alert and loving presence of their mother. She pulled herself together and resumed her life as it had been, serenely, albeit absent her lover.

The children grew and they thrived. When they were all in the primary school system, their mother sought paid employment. She was hired by a department store, in their women’s apparel section. She was still a lovely looking woman, and she had that knack of dressing herself modestly but elegantly, without having paid much for her clothing. Some people are capable of looking outstandingly well dressed, no matter where their garments come from.

Before long she was promoted to manager, and also became the women’s apparel buyer. She enjoyed her job tremendously. And was so very proud of her children, growing out of their early childhood.

And then she met someone who reminded her of her lover. This was a young blonde, very tall man of Dutch extraction who worked for the Pilkington Glass Works. Their mutual interest soon matured into steady companionship. Which itself soon was promoted up the ladder to his moving in to live with her at her parents’ capacious Indian Road house.

Wonder of wonders, an eighth child was born, and its mother was back once again, housebound, and happy. Her new lover somehow injured his back while at work, and applied for Workmen’s Compensation. So he too began to spend all his time in the large old family house. The entire family living together in the communion of acceptance. Her brother had long since graduated high school and had bought a taxi license.

She became a grandmother while still very young when her second-born child herself bore a child. The oldest, the only boy of the eight children, would remain a confirmed bachelor all his life, and would also become an locally-acclaimed chef. The other children began scattering around the world, some to live in the United States, others elsewhere in Canada, and one to Australia.

But once a year, in the summer, they would somehow manage to come together, hauling their own children along with them, to the large cottage the grandparents had bought well before they expired, in the Muskoka region. Which the no-longer young couple eventually inherited. And then sold, choosing to buy a condominium in Florida where they spent the long winter months.

And they bought a year-round house for themselves not far from Algonquin Park, in the Haliburton Highlands. Where they both tended a lovely garden, and where she discovered she had a talent for watercolour painting. She created much-admired, delicate compositions; still-lifes, bucolic landscapes, water-wheels, ivy-overgrown cottages, robust young children at play. Make that cherubic toddlers whose portrayal would break the hardest heart. People admired and enjoyed her painting, and she acquired a reputation as an local artist. Many of her delightful compositions were printed as greeting cards.

She was grieved when her partner of so many long and companionable years contracted a miserable cancer that eventually took his life. She flew out to Australia to spend a few months with her daughter. Planned to sell their rural property, and buy a new condominium being built in Orillia, Ontario. Somehow, things dragged on, and she waited almost three years before the condominium was ready for her to move in. By then she was in her mid-70s, and felt that life had been good to her. Hadn’t it been?

She not only had borne eight children, but had no fewer than 28 grandchildren, and a dozen great-grandchildren. More, many more on the way. This woman turned out to have founded a dynasty. This was her life's destiny. And she fulfilled it. She sat in her new condominium building with its large windows looking out onto a woodland, and mused, turning the pages of one of her many family albums.