Rollercoaster

ROLLERCOASTER is the name of my book because that is what my life has been. Think of a rollercoaster with its narrow gauge railway, and its open carriages, sharp curves and steep slopes. Think of the riders, seated in their cars, very excited and a bit nervous as they climb steeply to the top of the loop, then, gripped in horror before laughter and joy, their stomachs sink to the bottom on the way down.

Just as fast, the cars make the climb again and they hit a few curves along the way, and they go down as low as they had been high before landing on solid earth at the end of the ride. My Rollercoaster is like the one in Vancouver’s Playland, built of sturdy stuff that bends and creaks but is resilient enough to go on for another season.

A few of the stories in my book were written when I was a member of the Brock House Writers. I have woven some around unforgettable dreams. Some are stories of my heritage, both maternal and paternal. There is the story of the founding of Poulsbo, and stories of the Bluff, and Tuppen and Tulla. There are places like the village at the end of a fjord in Norway where I am the first of my generation to meet great uncle Peter, an interview with Count Tolstoy, and there is the story of Headquarters, a childhood home of the thirties.

There are poignant letters from John Rodney Doheny, my first husband, saved by happenstance through all the years. John R. is the father of my two sons: John Steven Pip and James Gregory Brian. There are letters to Greg and to me from John R. Those from John R to Pip are, unfortunately, locked in storage. I sometimes wish that I had been able to cope with John R’s psyche as well as my own; or had I been a stay-at-home wife and mother, we might have tended roses together in old age.

Also there is the meeting and subsequent marriage to another Professor, Michael Ovenden, Department of Astronomy and Geophysics, University of British Columbia, and later, John’s meeting of Lea in D. H. Lawrence country.

I feel my life has gone by quickly, often coming and going so fast that I didn’t remember events until years later. Each happening, followed by another, was put on my shelf of memories. Now, with the printing of my life stories I can relive them and experience the sorrows and joys all over again.
In my 80th year… the Rollercoaster continues to dip and curve until the end of the ride…

Irene Claire Moe Doheny Ovenden