Friday, January 2, 2009

armadillo arms


We arrived in Vancouver in the autumn of 1972 to be surprised by the fact there were almost no places to rent. The only place available was a nasty little house with a significant enough tilt that we felt compelled to sit and sleep in the higher corners so our combined weight wouldn't send it sliding down the hill where it had come to a precarious and obviously temporary rest. None of us had planned on continuing the communal living experience we'd begun in Montreal but after a week of fruitless search a young man visited us one evening with a proposition. He told us about the big house he'd leased a couple of blocks away and the fact the people he'd shared it with had moved out to the country. He needed help with the rent and had heard we were looking for a place. With that offer Armadillo Arms was begun.

There are places that exist in space and time that defy the timelines of ordinary experience. Although I remember Armadillo's inception much of the following five years remains in memory as intense vignettes rather than a series of linked episodes. It was a big place, three stories tall at the front and four behind, standing on a huge lot overlooking False Creek, actually a tidal inlet of English Bay, where Vancouver meets the Pacific. Across the water was the city center and beyond that were the mountains that separated us from the rest of Canada. It seemed like a World's End kind of place and was large enough to accommodate us and any number of friends and acquaintances passing through.

The front porch was a gathering place as well as being the local center of the food co-op we started shortly after our arrival. The house became pretty well-known once we got involved in community projects like free clinics, arts and craft centers, park building and generally having fun without burdening the city government. The police only bothered us once when one of our friends decided it was a good idea to grow marijuana in the back row of the garden and two of the boys in blue came by to harvest it. They knocked on the door and said, "Do you know what this is, young woman?" I answered, "Where are you taking our wheat?"

Naturally, there were conflicts and all was not wine, roses, fresh cheese and orgies. In fact, we hardly had any of the latter but cracks in mutual understandings did lead to breakups. That said, there were new people and the beginnings of new relationships.

An artist from Ireland was one of the new house members and on a Christmas Eve, although she was looking forward to the arrival of her brother, she went along with everyone to a party in a house nearby. An hour after they'd left I answered the door to a youngish bearded guy wearing a long coat and a very big smile who made a bee-line to a velvet upholstered tank chair. Returning from the kitchen with snacks I noticed he'd put a lampshade on his head. "Poor Geraldine", I thought, "She has a crazy person for a brother." He sat quietly holding his wine glass and another hour slipped by before everybody returned home. They'd met brother Don on the way to the party so he'd been with them all the time. 'Who's that?' somebody said, pointing to the lampshade man. He left soon after.

We kept a vegetarian household because it made cooking simpler. There were usually eight adults and one child living in the house but evening meals around our huge dining table often fed twice or more that number. We'd got rid of all the post Victorian furniture, sawed down the legs of the table, painted the walls, sanded and finished the floors and had made a project of sewing several dozen large cushions that served as main floor furniture. Things like looms, spinning wheels, dyeing equipment, musical instruments, quilting frames, movie projectors and screens came and went but the creative environment stayed. There was always music.


One morning I was having my usual early soak and read in the bathtub, a time I could usually count on being alone and quiet, when someone tapped at the door and came in. This wasn't in itself unusual since we did share one bathroom and were pretty used to brushing our teeth and peeing while someone else was using the tub but I didn't know the guy who'd entered this time. He was pleasant and said 'good morning'. Somebody else came in right after and before I could start counting there was a steady stream of strangers coming into the bathroom carrying towels and toothbrushes saying 'hellos' and 'how-are-you's' and 'nice day, isn't it's?' and talking and laughing amongst themselves while my bath water cooled and my bubbles popped out of existence. When a guy came in saying he really needed to take a shit I finally put my water logged foot down and asked him to go out, close the door and wait for two more minutes. Quickly drying off and putting my robe on I opened the door to find a group of people I'd never met standing on the landing and lined up all the way down the main stairs. It turned out they were members of a rock band entourage whose buses had arrived outside of Armadillo Arms late the previous night. You just never knew who was going to show up or when.

The few years we spent together passed quickly with people coming, going and returning and the whole seeming as though it would always be. Geraldine married Alan, a sculptor who'd arrived with us from Montreal and their first child was born in the house. I'd never expected to be a midwife but that's another thing that happened and perhaps another story.

Toward the end of the time we lived there an eclipse of the full moon was expected but a week of heavy rains had made it unlikely to be visible in Vancouver. Long past midnight I awoke hearing someone playing guitar. Through the open window I saw the first shadow of the earth touch the moon and heard my friends voices murmuring on the porch roof below. Although I could have gone down to join them time I couldn't look away. Time seemed to have stopped as I stood there entranced. Music played, friends laughed quietly and the heavens danced their eternal waltz.

33 comments:

  1. Why can't I shake the feeling that the "don't take my wheat" line would go over far less well these days?

    Don't scoff at lampshades, I hear such sartorial chapeaux are making a comeback.

    That last image is one of those rare moments that'll always remain clear, no matter the distance.

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  2. I always wanted to live in this sort of environment. But being a natural recluse, I'm not sure why it appeals to me in theory.

    Loved every second of this, and the drawings are so perfect.

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  3. randal - They did eventually decriminalize wheat there. Now everybody gets their own bushel and a bag of munchies every month.

    utah - Like everything else it wasn't perfect but there were some moments to remember fondly. After 7 years I returned to my more natural reclusive state with my son and the guitar player.

    I'm glad you liked it.

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  4. Hi Susan
    A delightful story very well illustrated and aptly named. They tell me Armadillos have amour like skin but I guess you either were also suitably thick skinned and or easy going to cope with both the pleasures of living there notwithstanding strangers assumed familiarities. Its sounds like a delightful spot and view in Vancouver.
    Best wishes

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  5. I love the way you weave your stories. They ebb and flow like the pictures you paint. Although I did learn something about you in the bathtub vignette. Now I know what it takes to get you to put your foot down. Shit. Who knew?

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  6. i just came by for a bedtime story. thanks, su. really lovely. and your pictures.... sigh..... nighty night :0)

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  7. Love your story and the drawings( as always). I am particularly fond of the lampshade and the porch. I, a person who is very anti-group, found myself wishing I could join you on that porch. I'd bring a vegetarian dish. Oh, I have always been fascinated by the Oneida commune. The staid silverware has quite a racy story behind it.;-)

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  8. lindsay - The word armadillo is Spanish for "little armored one" and somehow our son had been awarded the title of Great Armadillo when we got to town. So the house was named for him. The place and half the neighborhood was sold at high price to a German consortium before the last World's Fair since it had a magnificent view of the site as well as the rest.

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  9. spartacus - There are some things that simply can't be tolerated in polite company :-)

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  10. gfid - Happy as always to provide you with an appropriate soporific. It's just too bad the stories don't arrive more frequently.

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  11. belette - Good heavens, I've just gone and done a little reading about the Oneida Commune and ours wasn't much like that since it was set up for practical rather than spiritual reasons. There were some intense relationships but no complex marriages and no silverware factory either :-)

    You would indeed have enjoyed the porch as I would have enjoyed your company there with our complimentary veggie delights.. or the Croque-en-Bouche et cafe.

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  12. Your stories are so worth the wait. And, of course, your drawings are amazing. The closest I ever got to communal living was dorm life. There were times when I hated the close quarters, but I wouldn't trade that time for the world.

    Plus - I didn't have to depend on my peers for food. That might have been the deal breaker.

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  13. dcup.. oops, sorry, lisa - There was one guy we had to ban from cooking duties since his idea of a meal was to boil rice with chunks of cheese and whatever vegies he could get his hands on. The results were nasty.

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  14. Your life amazes me. I'm with Utah Savage, "Loved every second of this, and the drawings are so perfect." As usual, she nailed it. I'm not sure whether I like the bubble bath or the lunar eclipse drawing better - both are outstanding. Actually, I think that big lion-pawed arm chair might be my favorite in this set. Incredible - like your life.

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  15. steve - Your compliments always mean a lot to me. Thank you :-) I rather liked the chair one too but the story didn't get finished until I suddenly saw the best way to approach the eclipse.

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  16. I adore your blog! I love the combination of stories and illustrations!

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  17. blonde duck - I'm so happy to know a new and talented visitor has been by to visit. Thank you for the nice words.

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  18. don't take my wheat? really?

    this is a great read and I was happily immersed in another time and world for a little while....I am amazed at the bathroom situation but otherwise, it sounds lovely, for a time....I am a hermit and would crave my solitude quickly but for awhile, it would be nice to know so many, so well...

    thanks for sharing parts of your well-lived life!

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  19. thx susan, brought back memories of the times i was in about the same area of van, but about 10-12 years later... and a bit west, in point grey, where we lived in with the ex's great aunt... jericho beach was where i took our kids

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  20. linda - oops! I missed your comment before but I'm pretty sure you would have at least enjoyed a visit (if not a bath :-))

    laughing wolf - I'm sure it's still a lovely city and I'm so glad to know you came by to read the story.

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  21. Thank you so much for dropping into 70 Plus - otherwise I may have missed you. Your story and your illustrations are wonderful.
    The tale screams 1972 - what a wonderful time it was - an awakening from a boring dream.
    June in Oz

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  22. june - Thanks for the return visit and I'm happy you enjoyed the story. Yes, the 50's was a boring time socially and politically but I was wise enough to have been a child at the time. By the mid 60's I was ready for fun.

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  23. I just stumbled here, after all these weeks of following Phantsythat!

    My favorite part - of course - was the night along the Thames when you met Crow. How elegant he must have looked, how suave and debonair, how...damn, does he have a brother?

    This blog is pure, unadulterated delight!

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  24. the crow - Adventures is easily missed but is one of my favorite intermittent projects. I'm glad you found it.

    My friend, Crow, is a most enigmatic character who says he's been around forever. Since he arrived out of nowhere it's quite likely he has yet to be discovered family members. My advice is to keep your eyes peeled :-)

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  25. How did I miss this story??

    I lived in a very similar place called "Elm Street" during the summer of 1971. Our stories are similar! :-)

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  26. ahh, you write well...and draw even better..or vise versa..i like it here.thanks for stopping by and saying howdy...come back i also serve kolaches and skunk eggs.

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  27. ydg - Thanks for the kind words. I don't know what kolaches are and I can definitely do without skunk eggs but I'll be back.

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  28. Hey, Susan...great story, brought back many memories of my brief time as an Armadillo Armite.

    Do you remember kevin topalian?

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  29. kevin - Why yes I do but we've likely both changed a bit in the intervening years. Then again, sometimes it seem like yesterday.. I hope you're well. Toronto? It appears we may have a friend called Belle in common. Hmm?

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  30. Hi Susan,

    Yes, indeed, I'm in Toronto, as is our friend, Belle. We're not in touch, but from time to time I hear she's doing well. Are you keeping up with her, or Inger? Well, this will get too much like an email if I go on; if you feel like it, email me at iknowono@gmail.com and we'll trade recollections :)

    Am so happy to come across your blog!

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  31. Interesting indeed, and good, of course. Your words sound a bit like John Steinbeck, dare I suggest? But I don't think he could draw with such wonderful quirky talent (if at all). Armadillo Arms... Tortilla Flat... Cannery Row...

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  32. kevin - Ooops.. A year and a half have gone but then again, an email went unanswered..

    andrew - Steinbeck? Really? I know the Nobel Committee has made some mistakes with the Peace Prize but they usually get the Literature one right. Perhaps I should just try illustrating East of Eden.

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