Digging deeply in memories

When we left the movie theatre last night, I couldn’t talk for an hour. I love going to films, but they usually don’t hit me in the solar plexus—or should that be soul-er plexus?—the way this one did.

The movie was Crackie, a Canadian production filmed in Newfoundland. Mary Walsh is a natural as the grandmother who messed up parenthood and is struggling to get it right with the granddaughter left in her charge. Selling goods recycled from the dump and serving a regular clientele of men keeps food on the table.

Meghan Greeley is a standout as the awkward teen, Mitsy. She’s a lost soul with plans of becoming a hairdresser on “the Rock” (aka Newfoundland for those living outside Canada). Her first sexual explorations with bar-tending Duffy and the return of the mother who abandoned her throw her into a tailspin. The dog she brings home to fill the holes in her life becomes one more stone in the path. Sparky’s already damaged through Duffy’s neglect, and Mitsy alternately smothers him with love and screams at him in frustration.

Crackie never steps out of the down-at-the-heels neighbourhood, never offers fairy-tale possibilities for the gritty characters. Three generations of women are living out the same sad tale, with only minor variations. Though it ends with a flicker of hope and a gesture of love, the film left me shattered.

During the silent drive home, I reflected on why the story moved me to tears. Pretty simple really. Though my first years were spent in Idaho, far from The Rock, I knew all the characters in the film personally.

Joyce Holm

Joyce Holm, single parent and the best mother in the world (mine, of course)

Some were families my single mother helped out, families even poorer than we were. Others were neighbours, like the brothers down the street who ended up in prison or the man who drove an axe into our dog’s head or the scary old couple we were all sure were crazy. There was the boy who nearly blinded me with a pellet gun. Then there was the alcoholic cousin and the uncle whose body and spirit were broken by World War II. There was the hard-drinking, chain-smoking aunt who married six times.

They were all on my mind as I drove home, and I wept for them. We’re all damaged by life, but some people’s wounds never heal. Some of them are like Joe Btfsplk, the character in the cartoon strip, Li’l Abner. A rain cloud followed him everywhere, dark symbol of the bad luck he represented.

I think I avoided that fate because of the other characters around me. There were the aunt and uncle old enough to be my grandparents who loved me fiercely. There was the old woman who baked special cookies on Halloween. There was the sharecropper at the end of his block who loaded up his child friends with melons. He’d pile us into his Model-T Ford and drive us to the corner store for pop and penny candy. (He had such a perfect name: Paul Friend.)

They surrounded me with enough love to shield me from the repetitive cycles of despair that wheeled around the dead-end street where I grew up. They assumed the best in me, predicted the best for me. They kept me from getting pulled into the vortex that sucked the characters in Crackie into their own dead ends.

They are the ones I remember most when I think of my Idaho childhood. But the others were there too, the lost, the damaged. Crackie rooted around in my memories. It made me weep for the lost souls. But ultimately it is a movie about resilience. See it if you can.

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...

9 comments for “Digging deeply in memories

  1. Geraldine Bush
    April 29, 2010 at 4:25 pm

    Cathryn, beautifully said!

  2. April 30, 2010 at 12:04 pm

    Thank you, Geraldine. I really appreciate your reading the blog!

  3. Michelle
    May 9, 2010 at 5:43 pm

    All your past moments brought you to the amazing and special woman you are now, Cathryn and we’re glad you’re in our world xoxo

  4. May 9, 2010 at 5:59 pm

    I can’t tell you how much that means to me, Michelle.

  5. Jenny Noble
    May 10, 2010 at 10:52 am

    Cathryn, I don’t read many blogs, but appreciate yours so much, and this post really moves me. It also reminds me of some words from my Astrology teacher. He said when discussing clients’ difficult childhoods, he always asks “Who was there in your life to love and encourage you?” I’ve heard many wonderful stories in response, life-saving stories in some cases. That question can turn the conversation from cataloguing of painful memories to a hopeful moment of transformation.
    It teaches me once again that kindness is never wasted, and that a small packet of love can help a person come through a truckload of hurt.

  6. May 10, 2010 at 11:04 am

    Beautiful: “a small packet of love can help a person come through a truckload of hurt.” I’m really honoured you are reading the blog, Jenny. You are doing such special work with people. (And anyone can catch a glimpse of that by reading her Moonshadows column.) Your comments remind me of a woman who took a storytelling workshop from me years ago, when I was still living in Seattle. She wanted to tell her life stories to her grandchildren but had only memories of the horrors of abuse, physical and emotional. Others in the class, who so generously shared their stories, helped her recall those who had been there “to love and encourage” along the way. By the last class, she was glowing, as she told us her grandchildren’s reactions to her stories. I hadn’t thought about her for years. Thanks for the reminder.

  7. December 6, 2010 at 5:01 pm

    Cathryn, This was very touching and thank you for sharing. Yes I agree there are people that touched our lives in a positive way and then there were the ones that touched us in a negative way. I feel homored to have read this. Thank you for sharing..:)


  8. December 6, 2010 at 8:46 pm

    I’m really happy you took time to read this. My neighbourhood was the kind novelists pick when they want to write about the gritty side of life, but thanks to my mother and the other healthy adults around us, we thrived.

Leave a Reply