Member Bio: Holli Irvine
Having taught for 31 years—both elementary and secondary—Holli Irvine was more than ready to develop new interests such as learning to plan and grow an herb garden, experimenting with new culinary techniques, reading and doing volunteer work at Participation House. She also enjoys spending time and traveling with her two grown daughters and her husband. Though Holli has always known the importance of stopping to smell the roses, she now has time to truly appreciate fall colours and the smell of the earth after a rainfall. Her latest hobby is writing and she draws inspiration from family stories and travel experiences. She is currently working on her Memoirs from Mayfair.
Old Dream, New Reality
By Holli Irvine
Looking back, the words must have hit like a slap in the face. I didn’t mean to hurt her. It was after the articulation, when they couldn’t be withdrawn that I saw their meaning had struck smack between her beautiful hazel eyes.
When she was a little girl in primary school she had painted her future in the uniform of a postal employee. Was there meaning in the life sized figure painted carefully in a light blue blouse with the official emblem on the sleeve, the navy shorts and knee highs, carrying the large letter carrier satchel? We laughed about that for years. Why had every member of that grade two class chosen an occupation, slaving for some someone else; the master in the cornfields, the government offices, the airline company or the municipal fire department. There were no queen bees, only drones in her class.
Our creative child grew to be a beautiful girl who wanted to go abroad to model. Stories of drugs or anorexia, rape or sale into prostitution or even murder, blurred her kaleidoscope of colourful adventure with a smearing of black and a wash of dirty grey like threatening clouds. Overprotective was my husband’s name. Mine was simply Cautious. But when Overprotective and Cautious were aligned, it was useless to protest. Poor Lenora.
In theory we supported a career in the arts for her. We mourned the loss of security which that choice entailed but Lenora embraced it. With three week to three month contracts, she lived life to the max but not without long breaks in- between. Although this was the norm for her generation it was hard for our generation, hardest for us. After one year of post graduate school a permanent wrinkle between her brows, premature furrows in her forehead, and the infrequency with which we got to glimpse those pearly whites led to our parental worry.
“Lenny, just take a job at some coffee shop, or work as a part time sales girl somewhere? Any job will help pay the rent and give you extra spending money. After all your savings can’t last forever”, I advised.
“Mommy, this is my decision, not yours. I want to find a job that I’m trained for, not do just any low- life Joe job.” Our discourse ran the same route often, each time leading us to this intersection. It was an intellectual or ideological parting of the ways.
As parents we were proud of her perseverance, her truth to her passion. As luck would have it or in this case, not have it, there was no brass ring to grab.
We drove down to her apartment on Thursday. We knew Lenora had spent the previous four days indoors completing applications, sending out cover letters, resumes and making cold calls. While driving, Overprotective worried aloud, “I can’t offer any advice she wants to hear.”
After dinner I was wary of asking how successful her job search activities had been. My husband had gems of advice prepared for her consumption. “If this doesn`t work out, you have to remember work is not fun. That’s why they call it work.” He added, “Work … work at anything honey. Then you will have money for fun.” Unsolicited unwelcome advice.
I stared out the window of the car on the way home. I wondered if we could persuade her to make a change before she got to the point where she seemed headed; the big crash. The bent metal wrapped around the pole. The broken glass on the roadside, glimmering as it reflected the dangling traffic light. When she had become the crumpled sedan, would she be the write off, if you’ll excuse the pun? Her taste of team playing with other television script writers had been instantly addictive. Everything else paled by comparison. She couldn`t fathom giving up the dream.
I see the cracks in Lenora`s armour and I want to be less cautious but it is hard to change now. When I blow out my sixty candles this year I will wish for a satisfying and secure future for my little girl who is no longer little. I will dream about Tough Love and Hitting Rock Bottom and be thankful that the bottom isn`t really so rocky.