As 2016 beckons, we are inclined to look forward and make plans for self-improvement. But reflection on our recent past is always an essential part of realigning our personal compass. Perhaps my most memorable moment from this past year came upon me rather unexpectedly, but I imagine that it will last my lifetime.
The summer of 2015 was finally time for me to bring a few of my dearest friends to visit my homeland of Newfoundland. My childhood haunts of Grand Falls-Windsor, Badger Lake, and St. John's would definitely be among our destinations, but I also knew that a visit to an outport was essential to their capturing the essence of this island and its people. Trinity sounded ideal, so it was added to the itinerary. Little did I predict the force of this old settlement by the bay!
The eight of us; including my American husband and six fellow New Jerseyans - arrived in Trinity in time for the season's first pageant. The sun shone as we followed the actors into backyards, churchyards, and through centuries-old footpaths to fish flakes along the shore. We were tickled pink to tour the five hundred year old village through the eyes of history!
Following the outdoor performance we wandered past picket fences to find the Artisan's Inn, where we had reserved two 19th-century fishing cottages. Tenneke and Judy welcomed us, and led us up the hill to one of our historic quarters, the Campbell House. I followed the others in through the door, turned to glance at the kitchen to the right, and lost my breath. How could this this old house with low ceilings, in a place I had never visited, cause such a visceral response in me?
Looking around the room, there were old pieces of china and delftware - the same kind that I used to see in my grandmothers houses. My American home has always displayed a few plates, many with their own stories, and I've come to believe that painted plates are an essential part of my skeleton system. But the plates, sugar bowls and creamers of Campbell House were speaking to me.
Of course, I was delighted that such a quaint dwelling would surely please our visitors. We Newfoundlanders share a unique pride in this island, and the fact that we were staying in this charming village with its treasured old homes excited me!
But my tears were like Newfoundlanders coming in for a cup of tea; no invitation necessary, and all guests warmly welcomed. I felt as if each tear was bridging a bond to those who had come before me.
My grandfather had been a sea captain. Had he brought delftware home from a voyage to Holland? I wondered whatever happened to those blue and white dishes.
The white enamel stove in the corner of this Trinity home, and the nearby table and chairs, whispered to me of olden days, long before my time. I could almost smell gingerbread baking in the wood-fired oven. As if they were my olden days. Hard lives, with their joy and their grief, were lived within these walls.
Everything in the room invited feelings of childhood contentment from my long-ago visits to aunts and uncles, grandmothers and grandfathers. In my early years I had studied the pictures, dishes, white ruffled nylon curtains and 25th anniversary knickknacks that filled their houses. The big bottle of egg shampoo on the side of the claw-foot tub. And the telephone table at the foot of the narrow stairs. I not only remembered them; now I could feel them. With the wonder of a young child. Yes, I learned, they are still a part of me.
Somehow, while looking at the sweet little shelves to the side of this old brick hearth, my present; living in the U.S., traveling through Newfoundland with my cherished husband and my American friends; seemed to joyfully, weepily collide with the world of my relatives and their ancestors before them. And here, also, I glanced another part of my life - an old salt cellar from Delft, Holland. That little town in the Netherlands is actually the setting for a story I have been writing; a story that even includes a character named Tenneke!
All this in the kitchen of this tiny cottage along the sea.
My companions tossed tender glances at me. I could only speak with the tears that seemed to know no end. Each room of that house pleased me to my core.
Nowadays I smile at what happened to me in Trinity's Campbell House. I had recaptured my childhood, the sense of my heritage, gladness for my life, and a dream for my future; all in an instant. I had led my friends on a Newfoundland adventure, but had unearthed a truth about myself.
This Newfoundlander/Canadian/American who loves to write won't be letting go of that anytime soon.
  Submitted By: Josette Kenny Abruzzini