Category Archives: Life

I have a love-hate relationship with my garden.

Mostly I love it. I adore it. About 8 years ago we decided to eliminate the front lawn in favour of a garden. It’s not an easy feat, honestly, to rid yourselves of that much grass but grass is just so…boring. And not exactly the best thing for the environment. Not that we ever put a lot of effort into our grass – John would cut it, that’s about it – and we certainly didn’t fertilize it, but in time it started to become an eyesore, so we layered newspaper on top of it and wet it down really well with water then added a layer of topsoil and finally a layer of mulch and ta-da! Instant garden. In reality, it was not at all instant, the process took the better part of a month to really get done, but still. No more grass.

Then came the task of filling it which is probably my favourite part. I chose purple coneflowers, shasta daisies, poppies, a bleeding heart bush, hostas, a gorgeous peony a neighbour gave me that I nursed back to health. The grass would occasionally poke through but it is fairly easy to spot and as long as you get to it right away it can be eliminated on a pretty regular basis.

Eventually, we added cosmos, which are delightful and bees and finches and butterflies love them and they are easy to grow and they spread everywhere (you’re welcome, neighbours!) and overall my garden was off to a great start. Until The Vine showed up.

Be the dandelion you wish to see in the concrete.

The Vine (I could look up what it’s actually called but I don’t want to give it a name) is the part of the garden that I hate. This vine is the bane of my existence and no I’m not being dramatic. It parks itself as close as possible to the plants I actually want and if you don’t eradicate it immediately, it creeps and climbs and wraps itself around these plants, virtually choking them to death. It’s vicious and brutal and last year I had to pull out the massive lavender plant that was so beautiful and provided me with so many lovely blooms for arrangements and for drying and it was heartbreaking. So now? Oh it’s personal, vine.

And here is the thing about weeds: they don’t know they’re weeds. Well, technically they don’t know anything, they’re plants, but you know what I mean. They’re struggling to survive just like my precious peony and my poppies are, and, if truth be known, they’re actually doing a way better job of it.

A couple of years ago we arrived home from our cottage where we had spent a particularly rainy vacation week to find that this vine had engulfed the entire garden and I was horrified to think of the work ahead of me. And so I put on my gardening clothes and got to it, but I noticed something I’d never seen before – flowers. It’s a flowering vine, the blossoms like tiny morning glories, pale pink and white and absolutely charming. And yet, I was ruthless in their removal. They aren’t supposed to be there.

This year might be the worst year for it ever (I mean this is pretty much the worst year for everything else, why not weed vines?!?)  and past me would have wept, seeing half my garden covered in it and knowing that I will be spending my lunch hour and every lunch hour for the rest of the damn summer unwrapping its horrid tentacles from my beautiful plants and cursing while stabbing my Garden Claw into it to twist its evil roots into oblivion. (my gardening aesthetic is violence, as you can tell.)

But current me? Current me feels a little more sympathy this year, honestly. Current me will still attempt an eradication because I still do love my peony and my hostas and everything else, and I would hate to seem them choked by anything, really. But I also, when I dig it up, might find a spot to plant it. A place where it can thrive and spread, but where it won’t kill the other plants. A spot for it to creep and climb and grow to its heart’s content.

I am not great at metaphors, but I think living through 2020 is turning out to be much like that vine. Reach out and make contact and connections, but stay in one place. Grow and thrive in spite of a global pandemic. Bloom and flourish despite governmental incompetence, finger-pointing, and blame-laying. And, most importantly, try your absolute hardest to choke the living shit out of the status quo, out of police-sanctioned murder of BIPOC, and the entire complicit system.

And now that I have come to terms with this plucky little adversary, I did look up its name and it is known simply as Morning Glory Vine.

Be like the vine, friends. Spread out. Take up space. Make big changes in the landscape around you. Don’t back down. And even if someone twists your roots out of the ground, keep holding on as hard as you can. Then pop up somewhere else stronger and more resilient, and start all over again.

I’m a noticer. I notice things. I suppose this isn’t all that unusual, lots of people “notice things” of course, this is kind of how humans work. But if you and I work together and one day you come into the library with new earrings or a different bracelet, say, there is a good chance I will notice before anyone else does. The same goes for haircuts, a new coat, that book you’re reading because you were reading a different book yesterday weren’t you? I guess if you’re trying to blend into the crowd or not draw too much attention to yourself, it might seem as though I am the wrong friend to have, but it’s ok! Because guess what? If I sense you are at all sensitive about your new haircut or you’re not sure if those earrings were a good choice with that dress, I will also notice that about you and then at some point, when no one else is around, I will tell you your haircut looks nice or those earrings are perfect with that dress. So overall I am a pretty ok friend to have, if I may say so.

And I bring up haircuts because I’ve often had several inches taken off my hair or had it dyed a completely different colour and NO ONE AT WORK HAS NOTICED. And I mean who wants to be that guy,  the one who is all “Look at my new haircut!” right? So because I tend to see those small details and notice slight changes, I am often annoyed with the people who don’t. But then I remember that not everyone has made what seems to be a career out of being hyper-observant, so I do cut people some slack. Sometimes my husband will say “You are the only person in the world who would notice that” and I just nod sagely like the wise old crone that I am. It’s a blessing and a curse, as they say.

If you have kids you’ll know that once they start to be aware of their own surroundings they like to point out the things that they notice. Worms spring to mind, it’s that time of year after all, and if you haven’t spent 3o minutes or more just watchin’ worms, well you don’t know what you’re missing. There is a lot to take in, worm watching. But it’s not just wildlife, (are worms considered wildlife) kids like to point at everything and it’s up to you, their parent, to name everything they point at. Even if (when!) you’ve named it a million times before if your toddler points at a door you say “Door!” Or “Window!” “Doggie!” “Chair!” “Daddy!” etc. Ad nauseum. Trust me.

And I remember every so often one of the boys would point to something at the park or in the backyard and I would name it for them and then think to myself “Wow I have never noticed that before.”And I call myself a noticer! So it’s true that once you have kids you do tend to take better note of things around you, partly because a lot of things can kill or maim your child so you have to be on high alert but also because they are experiencing these little things for the first time but for them, they are actually the big things! And it is fun to see the same old same old in a fresh new light and to see the little things that you might not have noticed before. Like if your small child hands you a Cheerio that they pulled from the rug, you may notice it’s probably time to vacuum. Kids are so helpful that way.

And so I did start to notice even more things once my kids were walking around and usually they were things at their eye level, of course, and this really gives you a different perspective on the world which is very refreshing, but I think I really became more of an expert noticer once we got a dog.

Our very good dog, Mya.

We have a dog, she came to our family nearly four years ago and I’m honestly shocked that this is my very first post about our dog, this seems extremely off-brand for me, but anyway. She’s a very active dog, she has at least three long walks a day and for the first little while, it was mostly me walking her, with John or one of the boys taking over occasionally. This was mostly because I wasn’t working at the time, both boys had school, and John was at work (not at home, working, strange as it may seem in our current world!) so Mya and I had a lot of time together. And the great thing about walking a dog as opposed to walking with small children is that you actually get to look up and all around you because the dog, unlike the child, probably, is leashed and can’t get away, so you can truly take in your surroundings. And yes, it’s true, you can also do this while NOT walking a dog, just, you know, walking by yourself, but because dogs do a lot of stopping and starting sniffing and peeing, it gives you that time to look around and take note, and sometimes you see brand new things. Like the time I saw a tree FULL of robins. Not just a robin, that famous red-breasted harbinger of spring, but dozens, probably close to a hundred or more and it freaked me out. When we got home I Googled “huge flocks of robins meaning” (which is a terrible search string for a library professional to use but I was nervous, ok?) I had never seen so many robins at once and I was convinced there was something very wrong. The first few hits pulled up robin facts and areas they live, migration patterns, etc. but finally one site’s information went something like “As with most birds, robins travel in large flocks, only pairing off just before mating season, dumbass.” I added the dumbass part myself, but it might as well have been there. Birds are birds, and of course they exist in flocks, but for so many years I thought that robins were the loners of the bird kingdom! You see? Had I not had that experience of noticing the tree full of birds I would have spent the rest of my days assuming that robins were anti-social creatures. How unfair of me.

There is an awful lot to take in for everyone right now, but I hope that at least once this week, no matter how you observe the world around you, you get to notice something brand new or something wonderful or even something that has always existed, perhaps hiding in plain sight then finally, triumphantly, revealing itself to you. And I also hope it’s exactly what you need.

Hi, hello, how is your pandemic quarantining life going? I know we are all baking and cooking and growing wee little spring onions and (in the case of me) baby romaine lettuces, taking physically distanced walks in our neighbourhoods when we can, building The Big Lasagna together (it was so delicious) and participating in Zoom cocktails with friends. But. But.

How are you actually doing?

Because honestly? I’m struggling.

And the thing is, I’m not struggling with the day-to-day. On that front, I am mostly ok. We are comfortable, we both have work, we all have food. I miss having Charles over, of course, Zoom family chats aren’t the same, but we are managing. We are, actually, in a very privileged position to be able to ride this out, and for that, I am extremely grateful. And if I don’t think too hard about it, if I don’t gaze too far into the future, it can feel like business as usual around here, it can feel almost normal. Even though everything is, of course, so far from normal.

But one of the things about me is that I often do think too hard about it, about everything. I can’t help it. And on the days that my brain just won’t stop thinking too hard, these are the days I struggle.

Because for me, the future seems incredibly bleak.

I’m specifically talking about the future of work as we know it and even more specifically the future of work as I know it in libraries where I have worked, it must be said though it pains me to admit, for over 25 years.

The future will, at least, contain salad.

I’ve always worked in public services – you’ll always find me at the reference desk, answering questions, helping people find things, helping them make sense of subject headings and Boolean logic. In previous libraries where I worked, I had that role and others including teaching library skills to classes of students, teaching web searching classes in the community, and presenting at conferences. Always live, always in person, just the way I like it.

Currently, now that the library is closed not only to the public but to the staff too, we are doing what we can for our students and researchers and that means email reference, telephone reference, and the occasional Zoom reference call and it’s been fine, honestly. It works, and that’s the main thing. It’s not optimal but not much during pandemic times is.

This week my supervisor requested that we all start thinking about what reopening the library – the public services side of the library – would look like and as I read through the document and the different scenarios she had suggested, I couldn’t help but feel weighed down by the fact that once we reopen and for however long after that, public services could potentially be a mere shell of its former self. And that makes me really depressed.

Will we require plastic barriers to protect us from students and them from us, thereby limiting our personal interaction with them? Are we also going to limit the number of people in the library at any given time? If so, how? Should we disable the photocopiers and printers, since students always need so much assistance with them? What about the students who just need to talk? The ones who are struggling to find a safe space? Will we continue to only provide electronic reference services even when the library opens so that we can practise safe distancing from not only our students but among staff? What about the students who don’t have reliable internet or a computer? Will we ever be able to have staff retreats, lunches, and in-class learning sessions? Is the staff lounge off-limits now, the kettle, the microwave relics of the past?

And as I read through this list, a lot of the examples I used (perhaps with the exception of in-person information services) seem small and some of them seem like things that aren’t at the very core of what we do in the library – but that is my actual point. We ARE getting work done during this pandemic. We ARE helping students; we’re calling them or emailing them to take a look at their search to help them find their resources, all the things we usually do. But it’s the other stuff that makes what we do so, well, what we DO. And what we are.

I know a lot of us are rallying around the idea of mourning – mourning the things we aren’t able to do right now and that is so, so valid. We are mourning and grieving for the theatre tickets that we bought a year ago, the weddings and birthday parties that are cancelled or postponed; we are mourning the losses of extended family celebrations and the multiple plans we had and I’m definitely here for that, it’s so important. And perhaps mourning for a future that looks so much different is premature, but I can’t imagine how we go back to doing what we were doing before, all the while knowing what we know now, and having experienced this way of life for eight weeks and counting.

I’ve always been a bit of a pessimist (although I prefer the term ‘practical realist’) but I think about the changes that are going to have to be made and they aren’t small. They’re pretty significant and they will most definitely alter the face of my workplace and the way we function within it, perhaps the face and function libraries – all libraries – in general. And I am truly, truly not ready for that.

I’m on vacation! Just for today, actually. I’ll be back at work tomorrow, but today is a day off for me. And this really just means that I’m on my computer in the living room (at the back of the house) rather than my office (at the front of the house) and WOW what a difference! It truly feels like a vacation!

Not really. These are the things we tell ourselves in isolation.

This vacation day was originally planned for Friday, April 17, the first full day of Hamilton’s gritLIT Festival, so today feels a little bittersweet since obviously, gritLIT didn’t happen the way it was intended – there is gritLIT content coming online very soon which is exciting, but there is nothing like the thrill of being in a room with dozens of writers and readers, of participating in a writing workshop with one of your favourite authors, of attending a reading, purchasing the author’s book and having them sign it right there and then for you. Literary and book festivals are among my absolute favourite things in the world and it’s been hard watching the dates come and go, honestly. And not just gritLIT, there are a lot of other festivals that won’t happen because of our current isolating and physical distancing situation.

But the really nice thing about these kinds of festivals – any arts festivals I suppose – is that you can still support the work of your favourite artists by purchasing their art, their books, their music, even if you weren’t able to see them live and in person. You can make a donation to your favourite writers festival; you can order books from authors you were hoping to see, and you can order those books from your favourite local bookstore, some of which are doing curbside pickup or making local deliveries! You can find your favourite bands and musicians online and order music or merch directly from them or from their record label if they are signed! You can even purchase works from local artists and artisans to support them while this is all happening. And, if you’re someone who doesn’t have a lot of money to spare right now, you can talk all of these people up on social media! Share their work, help get them followers! Like songs on Spotify, and add them to playlists! You probably know all this, I doubt I have to tell you, but somehow it feels good to say it “out loud” right here.

And it’s not the same, of course. Who doesn’t miss live music, author readings, browsing in book and record stores? Not to mention eating in restaurants and wandering through parks! There is so much we’re missing right now, so very much.

And like the rock says, I hope you are ok.

Yesterday was Easter Sunday and the weather was lovely so we sat for awhile out on our front porch in the afternoon. We had glasses of wine and we waved and chatted with the neighbours who walked by with kids and dogs and there was a light breeze and you could almost believe that the world was normal.

Today is rainy and bleak and, if the Weather Network is to be believed (and you always SHOULD believe the Weather Network), we are expecting extremely high winds along with the rain. It is currently quite blustery but these winds aren’t exactly apocalyptic just yet, just strong enough to have me venture back out to the porch to secure the cushions from our patio furniture that like to upend themselves and flit about.

Two very different kinds of days and for me, two very different ways of reacting to each during these stressful, odd, pandemic days.

I have always loved rainy days. As I said to a friend not that long ago, there is so little expectation of one during rainy days. As soon as the sun appears, no matter the season, there are always loads of people on social media encouraging us to “Get outside!” “Make the most of this gorgeous day!” “Get off your ass, go for a walk, it’s beautiful out there!” There is a LOT of pressure to be outside in the sun when the sun makes an appearance. (Also can we please take a moment to discuss those irritating people who say this to the people whose JOB it is to be INSIDE so those same “Get outside!” people can purchase the goods inside or use the services that happen to be inside?! Can you imagine their reaction to a sign that reads “library/salon/bookstore/ restaurant closed because it’s JUST SO NICE OUT TODAY!” They would flip. Please don’t be one of those people.)

Anyway, rainy, windy, blustery days don’t hold the same level of expectation and I live for these days, I always have. I do like going outside, but I don’t really much care for the sun. Or perhaps it’s that the sun doesn’t really care for me. I burn. I sweat. I can’t seem to find sunglasses that work well enough so I continue to squint. Insects are drawn to me. It’s exhausting.

I am an indoors kind of person, I guess. I like to read, I like to cook, I like to watch TV and movies, and I like to clean and organize things like drawers and cupboards and the attic, things like that. And often if you spend a sunny day telling people that’s what you’ve been up to they become slightly to massively offended, as if you wasting (their words) a glorious sunny day by staying indoors is a personal attack. So I used to pretend, I honestly did. The beach? Oh my god I LOVE THE BEACH! A picnic? Absolutely what could be better than eating food on the grass in a public park? An outdoor music festival? Oh I am so down to spend 19 hours in a massive crowd, dehydrated and unable to tell who exactly is even onstage, let’s go!

I…might be exaggerating a little bit, but still. The sunny day  p r e s s u r e  is real.

In the before, a day like today, one where I don’t have to leave the house even to go to WORK would have been my dream. I am productive on rainy days. I dive into projects, I read entire books, I organize down to Inbox zero. I am a machine. Except now? I’m not.

Now I see these high, potentially catastrophic winds as a sign that the world really is in some kind of weird trouble, some apocalyptic limbo. I imagine the rains and the possible flooding in some areas as a kind of warning. I mean yes, climate change is real and a lot of extreme weather acts – or should act – as a warning to get that shit under control. But now, as the kids say, it hits different.

There is an electricity-like hum of stress that exists under everything now, a tight wire of tension. You probably feel it too. Extreme weather just adds to this tension. We’re going through so much, can’t we just have some nice, quiet, sunny days until we’re through the pandemic days? Is it too much to ask? Um yeah bitch, it is, says Mother Nature (or climate scientists if you want the real talk.)

For me it’s a completely new way of looking at the days as they unfold. Sun in the forecast? Great, nothing to worry about, relax and look at everyone out and about staying 6′ away from each other, yes, yes, nothing odd about that, nothing to see here it’s all ok. Rain and wind? We’re doomed. Such a complete turnaround for me, but that’s about where I’m at these days. So little makes sense right now and if sunny days give me (and possibly you) a false sense of security, I’m more than happy to live in that sunshiny little bubble for as long as it takes.

But maybe ask me again in August when the sun is baking down and it’s 39C. Provided the pandemic is history, you’ll probably find your girl back inside cursing the obnoxious yellow orb and trawling the Weather Network site for signs of rain. Let’s hope so, anyway.

Alone in the kitchen this morning, while waiting for the kettle to boil, I raised both arms way, way up over my head in a luxurious stretch, and severely pulled a muscle in my upper back.

There is a lot going on in this opening paragraph, truly, so let me break it down for you. The first thing you might have noticed, should you know me in real life, would be the presence of a kettle. Surely, Elizabeth, you are a coffee drinker, are you not? And yes, I am. Or rather I used to be. Coffee, sadly, no longer agrees with me in the mornings, and so I have taken to brewing tea as my wake-up beverage of choice. And it’s fine, really. Although as I have said to my husband many times, “Tea is lovely, but it is not coffee.” Which is, I believe, a fair assumption. But, a hot beverage is one of the nicest things about waking up early – whether it’s for work or school or just life – and so tea it must be for me.

I can drink coffee, mind you. Just not first thing in the morning with nothing else in my stomach and not all the time and definitely not too much in one go. It is a fact, universally acknowledged, that getting older blows, yadda yadda yadda.

You might also be interested in the kitchen stretching portion of this opening sentence, but as one gets older (as one does, should one be mortal) one ought to take the opportunity to stretch whenever one can. And by one I mean me. Stretch like nobody is watching is a good motto to live by. Again, for me. I have a comfortable bed, a ridiculously-priced pillow (good for the neck and shoulder support or so I was told) and yet I wake up daily with stiffness and aches and pains. Often the root cause is one 65-lb husky who likes to lie at the end of our bed and rest her chin on my leg/hip all night long. She is a very good dog and her proximity and warm furry body are just delightful. For the first ten to fifteen minutes. If the entirety of the dog is about 65 pounds, the head of this same dog seems to be about 50% of that entirety. Dead-weight husky head clocking in at around 30 lbs, easy. I might be exaggerating. But even if she isn’t snuggled up to me all night, there are still those same – or sometimes different!? – pains each and every morning. So yes, stretching is essential and I try to do it whenever and wherever I can. Again, what a drag it is getting old.

But! The absolute horror story of stretching is that after a certain age you must, must, MUST pay close attention while you’re doing it. Failure to do so can result in severe muscle cramping and straining (like I experienced this morning) sharp pains in muscles that linger all day long (also like I experienced this morning) and death (you know, probably.)

It’s completely unfair that doing something to RELIEVE THE PAIN THAT AGEING CAUSES YOU can also cause pain – worse pain, actually – unless you apply the kind of laser focus on each tiny section of your body that is typically reserved for surgeons and air traffic controllers.

And so, to recap, I am too old to drink a damn morning coffee and too old to stretch on a whim, and the best part? Is that it only gets worse!

I don’t usually get too bothered about ageing, it’s mostly fine. There are even some perks, honestly (the virtual invisibility of the 50-something woman in society can be quite freeing) but there are days when everything seems to conspire against my body and it’s frustrating. And on those days I get a glimpse into my future and my fleeting mortality which, let’s be honest, no one really wants.

So now I sit with an increasingly stiff and sore back and I am AFRAID TO STRETCH IT OUT because that doesn’t always work out for me! And so instead I sit (and stand sometimes too because too much sitting is bad!) in the discomfort that represents the downward spiral of my ever-ageing body while I ponder what might be next on the growing list of age-related ailments and stare into the void.

Fuck it. I’m going to get a coffee.

I started watching The Crown last night. Yes, I am a habitually late adopter of basically everything, but what finally prompted me was the trailer for the 3rd season. I’d heard that Gillian Anderson would be taking the role of Margaret Thatcher and that kind of sealed the deal, but also the trailer for season three is excellent. It helps, of course, that this upcoming season – which begins as the country prepares for the Silver Jubilee – occurs in my lifetime, with events that I remember. And I toyed with the idea of just watching the third season on its own, (It’s history after all, and fairly easy to fill in the blanks) but decided to go for it and try to get the first two under my belt before embarking on the third. So I did, and after watching the first two episodes last night I have some thoughts:

• John Lithgow makes a very good shrewd and curmudgeonly Winston Churchill.
• Queen Mary is a literal boss, and I love that Eileen Atkins has already played Queen Mary at least once before as well as Eleanor of Aquitaine, so she truly knows how to get her royal matriarch on.
• I am SO glad they portray Philip as the dick he is right from the get-go. The only unfortunate thing is that this entire series is based on real life because if it was fiction, you know he would get his comeuppance, but alas, he never does. And now he’s like, what, 95? Annoying.
• They sure do like to shoot things, those mid-century royals. Ducks, pheasants, whatever. Just shoot ’em all, all the time. “Want to go shooting? Of course you do, you’re part of this family now, we shoot things.”
• The monarchy is a helluva drug, you guys.

The other thing that struck me as I was watching is that although this royal family and royal extended-family has always been complex with its lineages as well as with its marriages that make the most sense politically and economically, is that even with all that background, all that history of ruling, it is still just an arbitrary group of people who hold enormous wealth and (now dwindling, it should be said) power, and it irks me beyond belief.

And by arbitrary, I mean of course hundreds and hundreds of years of being descended (sometimes but not always!) from the original arbitrarily designated person or people. Obviously I am reducing nearly 1500 years of history here, but if you do look into it, there’s a lot of “guy shows up and claims the throne and no one argues” or “guy shows up and claims the throne and there IS argument and possibly war, too” but I stand by my initial statement. Who were these people? Why them and not someone else?

I mean, I don’t often quote Monty Python, but when I do, it’s typically these lines from Monty Python and The Holy Grail:

Strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony…You can’t expect to wield supreme executive power just ’cause some watery tart threw a sword at you!

Indeed.

When I was just out of university I got a job at a museum downtown and was what was known as a historical interpreter. It was a pretty great job, one that actually kind of related to my degree, I’ll have you know, members of my extended family!  Historical interpreters would take groups and individuals on tours of the house, imparting knowledge of the family who’d lived there, making note for visitors of various important parts of the house itself, the furnishings, what rooms were used for, what else was going on in Hamilton at the time, etc. I worked mostly during the holidays, and the house was very popular with school groups and organizations who loved to see it done up for Christmas. A giant decorated tree, the dining room table set for a big dinner, garlands and wreaths, that sort of thing.

Most of the time we had groups scheduled in advance and we would listen for the doorbell from the staff room/kitchen at the back of the house. There were usually three of us working at a time and when we heard the bell we would hurry to the front door and greet our visitors. It should be noted that women interpreters were in costume (uniform) dressed as upstairs maids, and any men on staff wore attire suitable for the male equivalent to that (I hesitate to say butlers, because I’m not sure that’s quite right, but something like that, anyway) so there was almost always an “Oooohhhhh!” from people at the door who were likely expecting normal-looking people, not these weird transplants from the Edwardian era. We were also meant to remain in character as best as we could throughout the tour and interaction with visitors, and that part could be a lot of fun. I was very good at deadpanning “I’ve always been here” whenever people asked how long I had worked there which mostly made them laugh but every so often a less humorous group would be unsettled by my joke. Occupational hazard. Everyone’s a critic.

When there were no groups scheduled we sometimes did a bit of research in the back, reading up on what was going on in Hamilton during the era we were to represent, thinking of other issues and events that we could potentially highlight during our tours so they didn’t get stale. The house was officially open all week and on weekends, and we didn’t get an awful lot of action during the week with people just dropping by, but it did happen.

One afternoon it was my turn to get the door when the doorbell rang and I smoothed down my apron and made sure my little bonnet was on straight and I opened the door. I was about to launch into my scripted greeting when a woman pushed past me into the hallway, dragging a large stroller with her. She wore a fur coat of indeterminate age and animal and there were large round circles of red blush on her cheeks. Her eyes were wild. She was taller than me and I would have put her at the time in her late 30s early 40s, and as she looked around the hallway for a place to park her stroller, I noted that it was filled with stuffed animals and one smallish baby doll.

I had already decided not to ask her to pay the entrance fee, but it turned out not to be an issue, because she began by introducing herself as the rightful heir to the house and she spoke in a sort of English accent that would, more often than not, slip during our time together, and she also told me that she was expecting to move back in any time now. I asked her if she would like to take a look around and she agreed after I assured her the stroller and baby would be safe in the hallway.

We headed upstairs and she regaled me with tales of her connections not only to the family who had lived in this house in particular but also to the royal family in England and possibly some others.

I tried to do a little bit of my official tour guide banter, but she was more interested in checking out the furnishings, ensuring they were suitable to her tastes and telling me more about her royal lineage, her claim to the throne and more. I was 23 years old and had a pretty good idea that I was dealing with someone not entirely based in reality, and felt it was better to just listen.

At the end of our tour, she thanked me and I asked her to sign our guestbook which she did in a flourish, taking up three full lines:

Mary Elizabeth Anne Rose III (Royal)

She collected her stroller and bumped it down the front stairs and I went back to the kitchen to my colleagues.

I think about her every so often, usually in conversations with friends about odd or interesting situations we’ve found ourselves in with various jobs, but I thought about her a lot last night after watching The Crown when that whole “one random person eons ago started something and look where we are now” concept kind of struck me.

In this case, the woman who visited that day back in 1990 was likely extremely far removed from the family who lived in the house where I worked, and even further removed from royalty of any sort, but, much like those ancient “kings” who showed up from Denmark or wherever and claimed the throne, because someone sent them, who is to say who gets to be what they get to be? There are probably people who show up to royalty-type things all the time claiming some kind of connection – modern-day Anastasia Romanovs if you will – and security gets called to oust them and their claims, yadda yadda. But all I’m saying is that a few hundred years ago, this kind of stunting could have totally worked, and probably did work, too.

People are born into the situations they are and it’s honestly just sheer luck of the draw whether you’re born a Windsor or a Hamiltonian playing dress up in a historical house giving tours to people at Christmas.

And, if you work backwards from the Windsors and you go back far enough into the past it all gets pretty muddied, anyway. In another reality or another time, it just might have been my visitor shooting all those ducks or marrying that dick Philip.

I’m grateful she was spared that last part, at least.