� Coccinas in memory � 2004-07-13 � 9:23 p.m. �
An older couple bought the cottage next to my parent's house back in the 70's. I am not sure if they came before or after my parents, but they had been on the street since the beginning of my time, at least.
They were a typical French-Canadian couple. Lots of kids. Good Catholics... wintered in Florida for the most part, and spent the better part of every sweltering Eastern Township summer in their little yellow cottage on Decelles Street.
The man would get up every morning and his wife, the good wife she was, would boil his water for tea, make his breakfast and set his place for him on the porch in the front. He would eat... she would join him. He would read his paper... La Presse... until 10 am.
The rest of his morning was spent making necklaces out of coccina shells he collected on Floridian beaches the winter before.
He was a true artisan... such attention... so much care for something so completely tedious... I can remember aching as a child, watching him look over every shell like a gem. The smallest flaw and the shell was no good to him.... the tone off, and it was cast to the pile for another attempt at another time, for another necklace of a different "tone". They always looked pretty much the same to me.
I wasn't an artisan... I was a child... in awe.
Every morning, like clock work I would strut my small self across our front yard, and onto his... to peer up over the screen window of his porch....
"Mr. Vinnnnnnccccccccccennnnnnnnt?????"
"Yes, Amanda?"
"Whatcha doin'?"
"I am making my coccina necklaces, Love."
"May I watch, please?"
"Come on in..."
I would never go in uninvited... not as a child, not as an adult. I would never just open his front door and let myself in. And if you KNOW me, you KNOW that is strange.
I would sit for hours and watch his meticulous movements... watch his hands craddle the shells and beads, handle the thread he strung them on... I would want so badly to squeeze the tube of super glue and make a mess... but I never asked... he was kind enough to let me watch, I never wanted to push my luck.
For 15 years I sat on summer mornings and watched him make those necklaces...
I grew up... and moved away... but when I was home he seemed to find his way to me... even if only for his autumn drive... to stop for a kiss from his "Love". For as long as I can remember the shells, I can remember him stopping in October... he really stopped to check on his cottage, but it always made me feel special that cared enough to pretend he stopped to see me... I know he thought of me as a grandchild... and he loved me no differently.
Over the years I haven't seen him. I have sent him Christmas cards, birthday cards and Thinking About You cards, ever since I've left. But since his wife died four years ago, I haven't heard a word. He's an old man... he couldn't do a thing without his wife. He didn't know how to do anything without her. She was his life. But I know he still got his mail so I still sent the cards... I sent him pictures... I know, even with no reply... that he loved hearing from me, that he needed to.
Yesterday my father got an package in the mail - Mr. Vincent's picture, with a poem and a letter from his daughter.
Mr. Vincent passed away in early June. Nobody called my family in time enough to attend his funeral... I would have made it east for him. Without a doubt. He was, other than Blair's, the only man I ever felt was my grandfather.
So, Mr. Vincent... I hope you lived as happily as I always thought you did. Even with 50 years between us, you were my first TRUE and best friend. You taught this kid a lot she will never forget... about the world and finesse... about laughter, and patience and art... and silliness.
I loved you... And all our conversations. I loved evening tea as an adult... and lunches as a kid. I loved your green picnic table, and your ant hills... and those stone stairs on your hill.
You are the foundation of my first and best memories.... the foundation of my childhood.... and I will always think of you with such huge love and fondness... The heart break of knowing you were laid to rest without me there will be slow healing... but as long as you know are the best... and always will be.
Kisses to Mrs. Vincent from me... I know you've missed her...
Now it's our turn to miss you both.
Rest well, friend.
With love, A. xo
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