I remember sitting at our makeshift dining room table cutting out paper snowflakes while Laura pulled out her 8-track player and her special collection of Christmas tapes like it was the most normal thing to do in 2010.
After picking out what I think was one of her grandpa’s favourite symphony Christmas mixes, she came to join me at the table.
We must have cut out about 100 paper snowflakes that afternoon. And of every size too. There were even some lessons on paper-crane making all the while discussing grade 5 books of choice and what we were planning to do with our time over the holidays.
Natalie returned home from Brunswick House not long after the decorating had begun, with masonjars of her magical homemade butternut squash soup in tow, and professing she’s found the love of her life. Laura and I listen intently as Natalie, with her red toque on and woolly socks pulled high, grabs the next sheet of paper to make her own genderless people streamers, making sure they’re all attached at the hand.
Not long later, Kate, comfy in her floral stretchy pants, comes skipping down the two flights of stairs from the attic, greeting us with her moon sized smile. Each word like a hug, she offers to put the kettle on and soon joins us with an array of mismatched tea cups and a never ending pot of earl grey with extra bergamot, ofcourse.
Large snowflakes dance gracefully past our picture window, and I can’t help but wonder how beautiful this scene must look to passers by - our love so tangible, it steams the windows almost as much as the hot drinks in our cups. We all can’t help but notice the one empty chair, eager to be filled with the last piece of our hearts.
And just before we speak the words, she appears at the door. A long walk home from her nightly swim at Hart House has reddened Becca’s cheeks so that they match her ever-colourful attire and the bottle of wine she picked up on the way.
As we fill our glasses and relocate to the living room, discussions flow between the upcoming elections and feminist philosophies on love, as if they were only a few degrees off from one another. And with the utmost ease, warm between those shared blankets and stories we are family.
And that was it. Like, everything we had been waiting for our whole lives, had come to exist in that very moment. Solidarity between hearts and souls. Our home, our life, our family. That was the Gild.
And now, being so far away from everything that was once fostered under that 3 story roof, I catch myself like clockwork, missing all the small stuff that made the Gild what is was.
Drifters brought home from coffee shops, hour long discussions about dishes, consensus decision making on what to name Becca’s birthday party (and deciding on a “Disco something on your face” theme), friends showing up at 7am to make buttons in support of worldly revolutions. Vegan pancakes, surfer punk in the basement and Fierce Deer craft nights in the attic. Pumpkin carving contest, rooftop gardening, engagement parties and painting the house gold. End of party moonshoe dance-offs, dead raccoons in our shed and even insane eastern european 90 year old matriarchs.
I miss it all. Always.
And with the holidays fast approaching, and loving memories of the Gild attaching themselves to each snowflake that passes by my new picture window, I find myself reflecting a lot on what was, and how each of these womyn came to shape my life. Even in an activity as simple as cutting out paper snowflakes.....
So to my ladies of the Gild, where ever your hearts and feet may find you this Christmas, know that you are always in my thoughts, and that I love you so much more than words could ever convey.
Heath. xo
After picking out what I think was one of her grandpa’s favourite symphony Christmas mixes, she came to join me at the table.
We must have cut out about 100 paper snowflakes that afternoon. And of every size too. There were even some lessons on paper-crane making all the while discussing grade 5 books of choice and what we were planning to do with our time over the holidays.
Natalie returned home from Brunswick House not long after the decorating had begun, with masonjars of her magical homemade butternut squash soup in tow, and professing she’s found the love of her life. Laura and I listen intently as Natalie, with her red toque on and woolly socks pulled high, grabs the next sheet of paper to make her own genderless people streamers, making sure they’re all attached at the hand.
Not long later, Kate, comfy in her floral stretchy pants, comes skipping down the two flights of stairs from the attic, greeting us with her moon sized smile. Each word like a hug, she offers to put the kettle on and soon joins us with an array of mismatched tea cups and a never ending pot of earl grey with extra bergamot, ofcourse.
Large snowflakes dance gracefully past our picture window, and I can’t help but wonder how beautiful this scene must look to passers by - our love so tangible, it steams the windows almost as much as the hot drinks in our cups. We all can’t help but notice the one empty chair, eager to be filled with the last piece of our hearts.
And just before we speak the words, she appears at the door. A long walk home from her nightly swim at Hart House has reddened Becca’s cheeks so that they match her ever-colourful attire and the bottle of wine she picked up on the way.
As we fill our glasses and relocate to the living room, discussions flow between the upcoming elections and feminist philosophies on love, as if they were only a few degrees off from one another. And with the utmost ease, warm between those shared blankets and stories we are family.
And that was it. Like, everything we had been waiting for our whole lives, had come to exist in that very moment. Solidarity between hearts and souls. Our home, our life, our family. That was the Gild.
And now, being so far away from everything that was once fostered under that 3 story roof, I catch myself like clockwork, missing all the small stuff that made the Gild what is was.
Drifters brought home from coffee shops, hour long discussions about dishes, consensus decision making on what to name Becca’s birthday party (and deciding on a “Disco something on your face” theme), friends showing up at 7am to make buttons in support of worldly revolutions. Vegan pancakes, surfer punk in the basement and Fierce Deer craft nights in the attic. Pumpkin carving contest, rooftop gardening, engagement parties and painting the house gold. End of party moonshoe dance-offs, dead raccoons in our shed and even insane eastern european 90 year old matriarchs.
I miss it all. Always.
And with the holidays fast approaching, and loving memories of the Gild attaching themselves to each snowflake that passes by my new picture window, I find myself reflecting a lot on what was, and how each of these womyn came to shape my life. Even in an activity as simple as cutting out paper snowflakes.....
So to my ladies of the Gild, where ever your hearts and feet may find you this Christmas, know that you are always in my thoughts, and that I love you so much more than words could ever convey.
Heath. xo
