Remember the Time?

Time is free, but it’s priceless. You can’t
own it, but you can use it. You can’t keep
it, but you can spend it. Once you’ve lost it
you can never get it back.

Time waits for no one. So why not make the most of it?

Have you ever played the game “remember the time?” Well whenever my sisters and I get together, we are able to play this game for hours. “Remember the time we tried to construct a ladder out of household items and keep it under our bed in case there was a fire and we needed a quick escape?” “Remember the time we drove to Ontario and each had a yellow car count of over 600?” “Remember that time we played walk around the house, I severely cut my leg and mom was too grossed out to pour peroxide over it?” “Or when we had a daily set up of what we called Barbie Land and no one was allowed to clean it up?”

We have way too many memories to talk about in one sitting.

As I’m sitting here thinking about all of these memories, I realize that every childhood memory I have consists of my sisters and our ridiculous, but fabulous times.

Now one thing you have to realize about the Sampson girls is that we’re so much alike, but at the same time, completely different. We are all three years apart and our mother dressed us alike wherever we went. We were often called the Von-Sampson Family Sisters (a mixture of us and the Von-Trap Family Singers from the sound of music). When we were younger, my older sister Candace was considered the perfect one, I was considered the tasmanian devil and my little sister Chloee was just completely content (most of the time). Candace got up in the morning without a hair on her head out of place, bangs perfectly groomed and not a spot on her nightgown. She came prancing down the hall, gracefully and efficiently. I, on the other hand got out of bed looking like I just got hit by a train. My hair was everywhere. I went to bed every night with a clean outfit, and woke up with stains all over it. To this day, I don’t know how that happened. I guess I am ridiculously clumsy. You could hear me coming from a mile away. Like a tornado, I barreled down the hallway, tripping over my nightgown, knocking down everything in my path. And once again, Chloee was just content.

Keeping this in mind, my earliest memory is when I was three, Candace was six, and Chloee was just a baby. Candace woke up and sauntered down the hall. Chloee was up, making an attempt to crawl down the hall. I woke up, bolted down the hall, and knocked Chloee over mid-crawl. I was wearing a light yellow summer nightgown, Candace was wearing the same one, but in blue. We both had little black ballet slippers on. Candace’s hair was smooth and groomed; mine was in a massive high ponytail that tilted to the side with pieces falling every which way.

Both of my parents are from Cape Breton, so naturally, I was brought up listening to The Rankins. As soon as we got to the living room, “Tell My Ma” was playing. Candace and I started dancing and singing. Candace, of course, sang perfectly. I had a massive lisp and couldn’t pronounce anything right. It was a sight for sore eyes.

Candace’s dancing consisted of a six-year-old version of step dancing. So, pretty much fake step dancing. My dancing style consisted of swinging my long ponytail around in circles, side swiping everyone who got too close. As we preformed, Chloee stood holding the side of the coffee table, bobbing up and down drooling profusely. (She had a massive drooling problem).

This is a memory that stands out amongst all others. To this day, we still talk about it at the supper table. This ends in us blaring out all the lyrics to “Tell My Ma” and annoying the hell out of my parents. Oh well, my parents should know by now that we can’t have a quiet family dinner. It’s expected!

Sweet Summertime

I love the outdoors, don’t get me wrong. I probably spent half of my life outside so far. So it’s not that I didn’t have any experiences with nature, it’s that I had so many that it was hard to narrow down my favorite. Then a scene popped into my head and I couldn’t believe I forgot about in the first place. My problem was that I was trying to think of places I visited, places that struck me as beautiful and pure. My memory happened to take me a little closer to home. When I say closer to home, I pretty much mean my backyard.

The best part about being a child is your imagination, and the lengths it goes to for you to experience what you set out to experience. When I was little, the field behind my house was my playground, my restaurant, my home, and the list goes on. I spent hours there, with my sisters, my friends, or alone; letting the tall grass consume me for hours.

The field was a never ending blanket of yellow and green blades of grass, emerging from every direction, but when the sun hit the grass, it looked multicolored. I jumped to see where it ended, but every time I jumped, it seemed to go as far as my eyes could see. The entrance to our field was at the very back of our yard, the trees and bushes framed it perfectly making it look like a door way.

Every summer, my sisters and I used to go into the middle of the field and make a house. But our houses didn’t consist of actual materials; we entered the field empty handed. Who needs supplies when you have an endless imagination? We patted down the grass to make a living room, a dining room, a kitchen, and three bedrooms; one for each of us. If we were feeling like a wealthy family that day, we would even pat down a pool or a massive deck. We would lay there for hours, staring at the translucent sky, discovering different shapes in the clouds and seeing who could make up the best story about them. In these days, our expectations and imaginations were limitless.

The tall, multicolored grass was soft, except for the very tip, which was pretty pointy. When we ran through the field, we could feel how thick the grass was around us. It provided me with the feeling of reliability; I knew it was there and it wasn’t going anywhere. It wouldn’t change if I left and came back the next day; it was familiar.

When the sun was hot, it emphasized the smell of grass. It smelled of the neighboring field’s horses. It smelled like memories, familiarity, and comfort; like everything else around you didn’t matter. If we decided to bring lunch, sandwiches and cookies mixed into all of these smells.

Besides our echoing voices, you could always hear crickets chatting back and forth. Despite these things, it seemed as though the field was soundless, like I was being consumed by a comforting silence. Not a creepy uncomfortable silence, but one that I was excited to hear again.

But as I grew older, I started to realize that I could see the end of the field; it was no longer everlasting. It was then that my visits came to an end. But whenever I experience one of those senses, it brings me racing back to the times when nothing mattered.

Small towns, big dreams

Location: Shubenacadie. Enough said. If you don’t know where this little town is (“town” is definitely exaggerating…more like a tiny settlement) then you really aren’t missing out on anything. If you feel like you ARE missing out, follow the Shubenacadie Wildlife Park signs that begin just past the airport.

I myself am from the pleasant village of Milford, East Hants. If you’ve ever been, you know that jobs in Milford consisted of a gas station, an ice cream store, a co-op, and a farm store. These are the jobs that kids flocked to. When I was in Junior High, a new clothing store plus more opened in Shubenacadie, five minutes away from my house. It was called…wait for it…The Clothing Line. If the name doesn’t leave you wanting more, than I don’t know what will!

My friend Sienade and I were instantly intrigued; a clothing store in East Hants?  It definitely had to be better than pumping gas or scooping ice cream. So I applied and got the job.

The Clothing Line consisted of a starting staff of just 5 people. My boss was 23. Needless to say, the store could have been run a lot more strategically. The store was small, but incredibly lengthily. The cash register was at the front, dressing rooms at the back. The middle of the store was a sea of clothing racks and shelves, all of which I had to tidy and size close to 25-30 times a shift. I was usually paired to work with Sienade, and I guess you could say that we made the most of it. My boss was only there during the days, so we often took advantage of the restaurant next door during our evening shifts, which supplied us with poutine and chicken strips as an evening snack.  I know, I know, how professional of me. But it was just so delicious!

The Clothing Line had its up’s and down’s. One bad part was that the building was about to fall down, so you had to be careful how much you hung on the walls. Another bad part was that kids constantly entered the dressing rooms, locked them from the inside, then squeezed back under them. When we were supposed to start closing the store, I always wondered why there were still people in the dressing rooms. I finally got the better of them by constructing a door un-locking apparatus made of hangers.

An upside to working at this run-down building was that you knew everyone who shopped there. Friends and family, but also the man who didn’t shower, and the lady next door who didn’t own a pair of shoes and instead had an intense slipper collection. I learned a valuable lesson that year: know your audience, and always carry hand sanitizer.

One of the most memorable times at The Clothing Line was when an older lady came in and asked if I got my hideous blue uniform shirt at our store. I was happy to give her the one of my back. She thought I was a saint. A win-win situation.

Now, I know you will all be extremely disappointed to hear this, but The Clothing Line is now closed, and has been for 4 years now. I guess they just couldn’t handle business without me! Or the building got extremely contaminated. Despite the bizarre customers and constant mishaps, working here was an absolute blast.

I am who I am

“So Carley, tell me a little bit about yourself”.

This statement seems as though it would be relatively easy to answer, but where do you start? We usually resort to the elevator speech, which is what PR taught us to use when a perspective employer sparks this question in an interview. So here goes. My name is Carley Sampson, from the tiny town of Milford, East Hants. I have two sisters, one older, one younger (one could say I’m the rose between two thorns (-:  ), and I’m a public relations student and…oh look at that, the elevator has stopped at my floor, seeya later! But who am I really, beyond the elevator small talk?

Now, let me base my mumbo-jumbo on one of my favorite quotes: “I’m selfish, impatient, and a little insecure. I make mistakes. I’m out of control and sometimes hard to handle. But if you can’t handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don’t deserve me at my best.” This of course is by Marilyn Munroe; smart lady!

To put it quite frankly, I’m lots of things; something different to everyone. I’m a daughter, a sister, a friend, a student, an employee. I’m awkward, enthusiastic, caring, and extremely impatient. I’m clumsy, unpredictable, understanding, and a little intense. I have strengths, I have weaknesses. I have successes, and I have failures. I’m confident, but insecure. I have goals for the future, but I’m nervous for what is to come. Despite this varied list of qualities, I was loved unconditionally as a child, and I wouldn’t change it for the world.

My parents taught me up from down, and right from wrong, because let’s face it: I could be living on a ceiling on the wrong side of the world if it weren’t for them! They had a few favorite values to instill in us three girls. The famous “treat others the way you want to be treated”, be yourself, and follow your heart, but in an orderly and organized fashion of course (my mom loves organizing things, give her a messy kitchen and she’s in her glory).

When I think about certain situations that I’ve encountered in my life, circumstances that I’ve run into, and relationships that I have formed; I realize that who I am today is a direct reflection of my upbringing. From the time when I was little and lied about eating all of the cookie dough, to deciding on what program I wanted to take in school, my parents have been there to teach me the confusing, yet fascinating ropes of life. I should probably thank them for putting up with me, because let’s face it… I can be prettttty difficult to deal with!

So when I think about what matters most to me, it would most definitely be the values and lessons I’ve accumulated over the years being the rose between two thorns…*cough*…I mean the sister of two wonderful gal’s. (Sorry Candace and Chloee!) And being the daughter of two amazing (yet insane for putting up with me) parents.

My parents are the two most inspiring, motivating, and caring people I know, so I’d like to say that I’m learning from the best. Some say if you want to see how you’ll turn out in the future, look at your parents. Let’s hope that isn’t the case. HA joking! If I turn out anything like mine, I’ll consider myself a pretty lucky gal.

With all of this being said, I guess you could say that I’m still getting to know myself, and I’m completely ok with that. But I know what matters the most to me, and for now, that’s all that matters.