Thursday, December 26, 2013

Winter Adventure Part 3 - Home Again

Dreaming I'm a mouse under the snow, in my warm little burrow.  Adjusting my little nest around me to cover the thin spot at my back so the cold can't come through.  Smelling the pine that makes up my cozy space.  Hearing the light, happy sounds of birds outside twittering, pots and pans clanging... what??  Wait... where am I?  Eyes still closed and my head buried in my sleeping bag, I slowly come back into awareness of myself and my surroundings.  I certainly am nice and warm, but I'm not in my bed at home.  I stretch my legs right down to the bottom of my sleeping bag and stretch my arms out overhead, and pull back the sleeping bag from over my head so I can have a look around.  It's early morning and the white tent is beginning to brighten inside from the daylight outside.

"Good morning, Monik!" I hear Mrs. Z's voice from the other side of the tent and peek over at her and Scouter Nick.

"Good morning!" I reply cheerily, "I was just dreaming I was a mouse sleeping in a nest under the snow!"

Mrs. Z laughs - she's already perched on the side of the sleeping platform, zipping up her jacket.

"Speaking of a mouse nest, look at Scouter Nick's hair!" she points him out to me.  Scouter Nick smiles and then makes a face, rubbing a hand over his whiskers and over his hair - his hair is poking out in all sorts of directions.

"Haha, good bed head!" I laugh, and we're all laughing together.

"That's what your hat is for," says Scouter Nick, as he ceremoniously pops his hat on. Then,

"Can you smell flapjacks?" he asks me, sniffing the air, and gives me a wink.

Wishful thinking is my guess, but he pops out of the tent in search of breakfast.  Mrs. Z and I are close behind, after packing the sleeping bags back up and arranging the rest of the contents in the tent.  We'll be leaving today, already.

Nancy and her mom aren't out quite yet, but the others are out and busy around the fire.  I make my first visit to the privy, a little frosty this morning, and wash my hands and face in the snow, drying off with a cold, dry towel.  When I get back, Mrs. Z hands me a cup of hot chocolate and has me sit down by the fire.

"Keep your jacket open," she instructs, "so you don't get too hot now and then too cold later on.  There are enough of us here to get breakfast ready, so just sit and watch."

As I sit, Nancy and her mom join the group, and "good morning!" is cheerily shared around the fire.  Just as I am about to take a sip, I hear the 'click' of a camera and look up to see Mr. Simmons who has just managed to take a group photo.

"Something to remember us all by," he smiles.



Pancakes are indeed made and shared, and are the best one's I've ever had - with chocolate chips and nuts in them.  Each bite so nice and warm!  Then the Whiskey Jacks come out, begging for a snack.  I've never seen the grey jays - I've only ever noticed Blue Jays at my house. Mr. Simmons stands really still, with pancake bits on his hat, and soon has the birds dive-bombing him for a taste.

With breakfast done and all the gear packed up, we head out on the skidoos to our ice-fishing spot.  The men are drilling the holes while Nancy and I do another zip around the lake, looking for a good spot, not too far away, to go sliding.  We watch the ice-fishing holes for awhile, and then as we get cold, we zip over to the hill and warm up by climbing up and rolling back down.  I feel like I've always known her, we are having so much fun together.

Then back over to the holes and, just as I'm watching, one of the twigs gives a little bounce and Scouter Nick says to me, "Look Monik, you got one!"

My eyes are big as I look at the bouncing twig, not sure what I'm supposed to do next, but Scouter Nick is on it.  He hauls the line up and sure enough, a nice fish has caught the hook.  I'm really quite surprised - even though I know the lake doesn't freeze all the way down to the bottom, I still don't understand how those fish can actually be Swimming down there - surely it's too cold?  He takes the hook out and I watch the fish on the ice freeze into a C.

A few other pickerel have been caught, and everyone seems to be happy with the weekend haul.  Before too long though, it's time to go and I have to say goodbye to Nancy and the others.  We'll all go in different directions from here, it seems, so I'm back on the skidoo with Mrs. Z.  I turn and wave as we pull away, Nancy waving back and Dori barking and bouncing there beside her.  I hope I'll see her again.

*****

Mrs. Zroback asked me to come up to her desk at lunchtime today, and this time she hands me an envelope.

"This is for you," she said, her smiling eyes twinkling behind her glasses.  "Something to help you to remember our camping trip."

Pleased and curious, I opened the envelope and pulled out a photograph-card.  It was the photo Nancy's dad had taken! On the cardboard beside the photo, something is written... I can read my name, and Mrs. Z's signature, but I can't quite decipher the cursive handwriting...

"I can't quite read it; I see your signature, but what does it say?" I ask, shyly.

"It says, 'My kind of girl'."

I beam up at Mrs. Zroback, and she smiles back.  It's our new secret.













*****
Dedicated to Mary and Nick Zroback, who I'm sure have touched many young lives. Thank you, thank you both, so very much.

Also dedicated to the Simmons Family, wherever you are now.  Thank you.

Wednesday, December 25, 2013

Winter Adventure Part 2 - Nancy

We've finally arrived at the winter campsite.  I am very excited, but also nervous because I haven't yet met Nancy and don't know what she will be like, or if she will like me.  Scouter Nick is unpacking the trailer so I go over and get an armful of things to bring over to the campsite.  Mrs. Z already has a load and is encouraging me to follow her.

"Come on, I'll introduce you to the others," she says with a smile, and turns away to follow the trail into the woods.

I grab my bag and a few other things from the pile and follow Mrs. Z down the trail.  It's packed down quite nicely for just a boot trail, but I notice that the snow comes up to just over my knees so it's a good thing there's a trail.  Mrs. Z disappears between two pine trees and as I catch up, just ahead I can see the campsite!  It's a small opening in the forest, with three big tents already all set up and a nice big fire blazing in the middle of the space, with logs all around for sitting on.  There are others already there, tending the fire and organizing, and they appear to be waiting for us - of course, they must have heard our snow machines as we arrived.

A chubby little brown dog greets us first, with a short bark and an even shorter tail, and lots of wiggling - I think she's wagging her whole body not just her tail!  Chubby like a little brown seal, I think as I watch her swim along the snowy path to Mrs. Z.

"Ah!  You made it too, Dori," smiles Mrs. Z as she reaches down to pat the little dog, glancing over at me as she does.  "Monik, this is Dori.  Dori is Nancy's dog - and this is Nancy," she points out, smiling at the only other person my age who answers with a wave, "and Nancy's parents Mr and Mrs Simmons, and Mr and Mrs Jeffreys, over there."

She points to each one, and they smile at me in turn, as I manage a small wave with my free hand, "Hi..."

After all day on the skidoo lost in my own thoughts, this seems a bit of a crowd.  My head is still buzzing, and the helmet isn't helping with my transition.  Nancy looks kind of bored already, but maybe she's just tired of waiting for me to get here.  I notice that the shadows are already growing; there's not much daylight left.  I bring my bag and things over to the tent that Mrs. Z has pointed out, and leave everything just inside the door.  I take a minute and check out the space while I take off my helmet.  Its a pretty small space, although I can stand up straight inside.  There are two sleeping platforms along two walls that meet in one corner, both piled with pine boughs.  It smells just wonderful.  On the opposite wall is a small woodstove, not currently lit.  I can see my breath in here but it does seem very cozy.  I leave my helmet inside, pull my touque down a little more snugly over my ears and head back outside.

There doesn't seem to be any more unpacking to do, the adults are all working away at organizing and planning dinner around the fire.  First things first though; I haven't had to go for a pee all day but now that I'm finally off the skidoo I realize that I really have to go.

"Where do you go to the bathroom?" I ask Nancy.  She's just a little taller than me, and I already know she's a year older than me, so it's no surprise when Nancy decides this is a good time to give me a tour.

"Follow me," she says, heading out along one of the paths leading away from the campsite.  Dori follows but is having trouble; Nancy looks back at her and tells her to "Stay".  I have personally never known that command to work.

Not very far along is a little privacy fence, and behind that is a log that is about bum high (knee high for an adult probably), with a hole dug out behind it.  There's a big coffee can with a lid balancing farther along the log.

"This is where you can go," Nancy says, "Just make sure you don't fall backwards.  Oh, and the TP is in the can."  She gives me a little grin, and then walks away, back down the trail and I can hear her talking to Dori who did decide to follow, after all.

Hmm, okay this is a new experience, but I like the setup.  I don't think I needed the warning about falling in, but as I struggle to perch on the log I find it's kind of hard to be far enough out on the log to pee in the hole and NOT think of the possibility.  I manage to get the paper out of the coffee can by holding the can between my knees, and putting my mitts carefully off to the other side so that I have both hands free.  Whew, thank goodness, relief.  I sit a minute to appreciate the stillness and watch the snowflakes slowly drift down, then suddenly wake up as I realize I'm cooling off a bit too much.

I pop back up off the log, putting the paper back into the can and the lid on tight, tucking everything in and finding my mittens.  Nancy appears from behind the fence and smiles.

"Looks like you made it out okay," she laughs, "Even the paper is cold, eh?"

"Ya," I agree, "And my bum is Freezing now!"

"That's okay, the rest of the tour will warm you up!  Follow me!"

Nancy heads off, back down the path a few steps, then turns back to me,

"Oh yeah, we have to find more dry kindling for the fire, too," and steps grandly off the trail.

Immediately, she sinks into the snow up to her waist.  Laughing, I jump in too, both feet, and like her I'm in snow up to my waist.  I swim through it, over to a dead balsam where Nancy is busy snapping off the dead, dry branches.  Dori is pretty smart, as she stays over on the trail and just watches us, encouraging us with her barking.

"What kind of dog is she?" I ask, as we gather armfuls of the dry branches.

"She's a Welsh Corgi, same kind the Queen has," Nancy explains.

I can't imagine that the Queen of England has one of those.  "I thought the Queen just has hunting dogs," I say, trying to sound like I know something about it.

"She has those too," Nancy explains, "But only the Corgi's can go in the house."

"Oh." As if that explained everything... it was enough for me.

Soon we are giggling and swimming the long way back to the trail, and eventually back to the fire where we drop the kindling into the pile that has already been started.  I'm not cold any more; quite warm, actually.

I wait around the periphery while Nancy tells the parental group we are going down to skidoo on the lake.  Nancy's mom says something about being careful and not too long, and then we're running down the trail towards the lake.

"This is my machine," Nancy says to me, introducing me to a nice, yellow Ski Doo.

"Nice," I say.  "Can I start it?"

I had watched Mrs. Z start hers a few times, and figured I knew how it was done.

"No," Nancy says, firmly.

"You have to do it just right.  This machine is a little fussy and so I need to do it."

I know she is showing off, but that's okay.  It IS her machine, after all.

"You have to pull out the choke, like this," she shows me, and pulls the knob out with her left hand, "And then pump the gas just two times, like this," she demonstrates, her right hand on the gas.

"Then you pull, and you have to pay attention to what the motor is doing," she instructs.  She reminds me a little of my brother, Phillip, who is so good with motors of any kind.  It's like another language to him.

Nancy pulled the cord a few times with both hands and the snow machine coughed, coughed some more, and then roared... and died.

"Aww, I flooded it," she moaned, frustrated, falling back onto the seat.

I have no idea what she is talking about, except that the machine isn't going to start that easily.

We try again, this time with her handling the gas and the choke and me yanking on the cord.  After more than a few pulls it roars back to life and stays running.

"There, see!" she says, victoriously.  "You just have to know how to choke it right.  Jump on," she instructs, and as she jumps into the drivers seat, I fall in behind her.

We whip up and down the lake a few times, no other tracks or activity except for the ones we had made earlier.  I feel like we're on another planet as we whip around on the lake, no one else around; and as the sun drops and the stars come out, sparkling brightly in the cold, it seems almost magical.  We float over the snow in the starlight, making new tracks on the lake, the snow puffing out like waves behind us.  The warmth I had from playing in the snow was seeping out of my snow suit and boots now, and my fingers are getting cold.  I tap Nancy on the shoulder and point back to the campsite; she nods and we pull back in to park the skidoo just as her mom arrives to meet us.  Back just in time for dinner.

A warm dinner was ready and in no time at all we were full, warm again from the inside.  Another trip out to the privy, then a little more chatting around the fire.  Feeling tired at this point, I find myself mesmerized by the fire and the sparks shooting up, up through the dark branches until they are lost amid the stars in the sky.

The chatter around the fire stills as we each are lost in our own thoughts, staring into the fire, enjoying the peace.  Then I hear the strangest sound - a deep, low echo and a kind of cracking noise, coming from over by the lake.

"What was That?" I asked, staring into the darkness, not really afraid but, well, maybe a bit nervous.

We all listen quietly a bit more, and then the adults start a new conversation explaining all about how the ice grows and the sound it makes, how the ice sounds are different in the winter when the ice is growing from in the spring when it is melting, and the conversation changes into talking things like pressure ridges and how to watch out for them on your skidoo, and stuff like that.  Hmm, so it was just the lake making all that noise, neat.  Like a living thing, in hibernation mode, the Lake reminds us that even though it's winter, it's still there.  I hear a crack much closer this time, and understand that the trees make noise in the cold, too.

Staring up at the sky now, watching the smoke and few sparks float lazily up in the cold darkness, the stars are bright and twinkly.  No northern lights tonight, not yet anyway.  Yawning and stretching, Nancy gets up and heads off over to her tent.  I get up too, reluctant to leave the fire but not wanting to fall asleep here.  I make my way over to my tent and go inside - it's toasty warm in here now, Scouter Nick has had the fire lit and Mrs. Z has set out the sleeping bags.  I peel my layers off and climb into my sleeping bag.  I drift off to sleep, with the scent of fresh pine and wood smoke, and the low quiet sound of the adults chatting at the fire, the occasional laugh among friends.  All is right with the world, everything is as it should be.

Saturday, December 7, 2013

Winter Adventure Part 1 - Mrs. Z

Mrs. Zroback is my grade 4 teacher.  She used to scare me a little.  She spanked Gloria in the back of the classroom one time because Gloria was talking back, and that scared me.  I never talk back.  Mrs. Z. taught some of my older brothers and sisters, so when it was my turn for grade 4 she already knew what to expect from me.

Mrs. Zroback is not much taller than me.  She always dresses really nice like my Mom in a dress or skirt.  She has reddish gray hair and glasses, and sometimes she takes my school bus to get home.  She sits by herself on the bus, in the front seat behind the driver.  With her school bag on her lap, she looks straight out the window. I wonder what she's thinking of?  Maybe the Times Tables.  I think she likes to get home to play outside, just like I do, and I'll tell you why.  Because her husband is Scouter Nick.  He is the leader for the boy scouts and they get to do the Best Things!  Like make a campfire and sleep outside in a tent when it's not even Summer and not even in the Back Yard!  My older brothers all know Scouter Nick and really like going to scouts.  So with somebody like that around, you can't help but like to play outside.

Mrs. Zroback asked me to come up to her desk at lunchtime one day and I was afraid maybe I did something bad.  But instead, she asked me if I would like to go Ice Fishing with her and Scouter Nick!  On the Weekend!  I said I would have to ask my Mom first but yes, I would really like to go.  She said there would be another girl about my age to play with, and we would all be camping!  Overnight! In a Tent!  In the winter!  I was so excited I could hardly wait to get home to ask my mom.

The weekend is finally here.  I have all of my warmest clothes on, and spare ones packed.  I have borrowed my brothers warmest sleeping bag, and I am ready to go.  My Dad drops me off at my teacher's house up the Airport Road, and they are already outside and ready to go, waiting just for me.  Scouter Nick has a big skidoo that pulls a big toboggan behind it, and it is all packed and organized.  I wonder for a minute if I'll have to ride in the toboggan too, but after popping my bag in, Scouter Nick covers over the whole thing with a tarp to keep the snow out, and ties it down.

Mrs. Zroback has her own skidoo.  She looks so different from how I know her at school, wearing her skidoo suit, boots and helmet. The front of her skidoo says "The Galloping Grandma", and I realize I didn't know she had kids, never mind grandkids.  She gives me a helmet to wear (a little bit too big), and I put it on over my toque and buckle it up.  It feels really heavy on my head, but it's nice and warm in here and even a little quiet.

"Are you ready to go?" she asked me, smiling, her eyes sparkling and crinkling up from behind the helmet visor and her glasses.  I smile back, nodding, the helmet slipping down a little over my eyes and almost putting me off-balance.

"Okay, it will be a really long ride, so you'll have to hang on tight.  If you need me to stop, just tap me on the shoulder."

I stand beside the machine as she kneels on the seat, both hands on the pull cord.  She gives a couple of quick, easy pulls and her machine roars to life, the sound muffled by my helmet.  Scouter Nick has already started his machine, and is patiently waiting for us just at the edge of  the back yard, where the trees fill in thick except for one narrow trail leading into the dark forest.  Although it's a beautiful sunny day, it's really cold out and the snow is dry and squeeky.  We've had lots of snow this winter, and the trees with their white coats are thick in the woods.

With a nod from Mrs. Z, I pop on the back of the snow machine.  It occurs to me that I've never sat this close to my teacher before, and I'm hoping that I won't be in the way or make it hard for her to steer.  As we slowly pull away from the house and yard, I wiggle around a little bit as I search for and find the handles to hang on to.   I thread my mitts through and hang on, excited for my adventure to begin.

As we enter the trail the trees are so close I could just reach out and touch them - but I don't think I should let go.  It's kind of hard looking out sideways at everything going by me so fast and so I try peeking over Mrs. Z's shoulder, but it's just too high.  I spend some time inspecting the blue material of her skidoo suit, looking at the pattern the threads make, and the way the light blinks on and off as we drive through sunshine and shadows.  I'm nice and warm here behind Mrs. Z, she blocks most of the wind from me and my boots are still warm and dry.  The noise from the machine makes me want to hum along and so I do.  As the trail winds it's way through the trees, the skidoo noise goes up and down as we speed up and slow down, and makes a nice little tune for humming along to.  This is perfect for day-dreaming and so I pretend that I am an orphan and I am with my new family who is going to take me into the wilderness to live with them and help them survive.

We go for what seems like hours through the woods, weaving through the trees, up and over hillsides.  When we get to the first lake, Scouter Nick stops his skidoo and we stop behind him.  With the skidoos suddenly quiet, the magic of the humming and the daydreaming evaporates.  Scouter Nick gets off the skidoo and walks over to talk to us, his beard all frosty. I can't see any other tracks on the lake, and I wonder how he knows where to go.

"There might be some slush on the lake," he said to Mrs. Z, "so we won't be stopping on the lake at all.  Just make sure you don't follow too closely, and stay on my track.  How are things back here?"

Mrs. Z nods and then turns to me with a smile, "I had to reach back a few times to make sure you were still there!   Just give me a tap now and then, would you, so I know you haven't fallen off?"

I nod and smile back, pleased that I wasn't getting in the way, and then look over at Scouter Nick.

"How do you know which  way to go on the lake?  It's so big and it all looks the same to me, all that white..."

Scouter Nick smiles his big smile, tanned leather and wrinkly, and then points just ahead of his skidoo to the lake.  I can see a bit of green poking up out of the snow, like a branch or something that had blown onto the lake from the bush.

"See that evergreen branch?  If you look ahead, you'll see more of them.  The first people across the lake mark the safe trail so that others can follow.  Tracks disappear in the wind and snow, but the green branches show the way."

Sure enough - as I squint out at the brightness of the sunshine on snow, I can make out a dark dotted trail of branches leading out, away from the shore.  So it wasn't a random branch after all, but a path set out by someone who had gone before.  What a neat idea!

"Are you warm enough?" Mrs. Z asks me as Scouter Nick heads back over to his skidoo.

"Yes," I nod, and she nods back and turns to start the skidoo.  I wait for her to get the machine started again, then pop back on behind her.  As we head out on the lake I watch for the branches.  There aren't that many, just enough to keep you going the right way.  We go through a few slushy spots, and I can see why we don't want to stop in them. The machines could get stuck in the slush pretty easily, plus we wouldn't want to get our boots slushy wet.

We stop a couple of more times - once for Scouter Nick to chainsaw a tree that had fallen and blocked the trail.  Just as I was wondering how we were going to get around the fallen tree in the thick bush, Scouter Nick went to the toboggan trailing behind his skidoo and uncovered a chainsaw.  He is truly ready for Everything.  Mrs. Z and I help by pulling the cut branches off of  the trail, and in no time at all we are back on our way.  The second stop is at a creek bubbling along beside the trail.  It is a good size creek that isn't frozen right over, and the water is moving really quickly over the icy rocks and logs.  Scouter Nick got off his skidoo and knelt beside the freezing cold water, working at something there with his hands.  I wasn't sure what he was doing, so I asked Mrs. Z.

"He's checking his traps," she said, simply.

I wondered about what he was trapping, and why, and with what, and how it all works, but I had no time to ask as, finding them empty, we continued on.

As much as I love a skidoo ride of any duration, I am starting to wonder if we are EVER going to get there - where ever "there" is. Then, as quickly as the ride started, it is over.  We had just crossed another lake and I figured we were starting onto another trail when both skidoos suddenly stopped.  As I step off into the snow, I now can see that there are 4 other skidoos already here, and a path leading through the deep snow away from them and into the woods.  We're Here!

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

Snow Fort (Winter Magic)

There's been lots of snow this winter.  The snow banks in the yard are getting really big, bigger than me, bigger than my dad's car!  There are never enough shovels to go around.  I like to help to shovel too, but the shovel is really heavy and after I push it down the driveway once and it gets full of snow, then I can't even lift it so my brothers take it away from me again.  There's another really great thing about all of that snow and all that shoveling... snow forts!

Phillip and Paul and Tom built the most amazing snow fort in the yard.  They had some friends over and I saw them all working on it from the living room window so I asked my mom if I could go outside to play too.  "Of course," she said.  "Just be sure you dress up warm, it's 20 below today."

I already knew it was cold because I had just pulled myself up on the kitchen sink to peek through the window at the thermometer outside to check.  Yep, it was 20 below, but it was also nice and sunny outside and the snow was sparkling.  I could tell the snow would be crunchy and squeaky.  I ran into my room and put on my tights first, so that when the snow got into my boots my ankles wouldn't be too cold.  Then pants, sweater, another pair of socks.

Into the kitchen to dig through all the snowsuits in the closet to find my snowpants and coat.  Breadbags to put my sock feet into first (to help keep them dry) before I put on my skidoo boots.  Toque next, and scarf, and - "Mom, are there any dry mitts?"

"Oh yes, I'll get you a pair from the living room, I put a pair on the register from when you were out yesterday."

Yay!  Nice warm mitts, fresh from the heat blowing through the hot air register.

"Can you tuck them in for me?"

It's quite a production to get everything on to go outside when it's really cold, to make sure that the warm can't get out and the cold can't get in.  It's a delicate balance between being warm enough and not being able to move because of the layers and layers of clothes.

Finally I'm ready and out I go, ready to have fun in that beautiful snow fort.  I stand on the front step and blink while my eyes, peeking out from between my hat and scarf, get used to the sunlight reflecting off the snow.

"Hey can I come in and see the fort?" I call over to Phillip and Paul as I run over, my pant legs zip-zopping as I go.  Tom is nowhere to be seen, I guess that he's inside the fort, doing some inside work.  Phil looks at me, sort of shakes his head and goes back to work.  It's Paul that stops me in my tracks.  He's next older to me, and he's always bossing me around.

"No, you'll wreck it," he says with a scowl.

"I'll tell on you!" I say, my favourite retort.

"Hmph, don't you touch it, or you'll be sorry."

I go back over to the house, and peek in the door.

"Mom!" I call, she's not in the kitchen anymore, "MOM!"

"Close the door, you're letting all the cold in!"

Back inside I go, making sure I stay on the mat at the door with my wet boots.  I explain the last 5 minutes to my mom who appears to be searching for more mittens.  John and Francis are getting ready to come outside too, and I know what's coming next...

"Take John and Francis with you when you go back outside, okay?  And tell the other boys that you should all play in the fort."

I help find all the bits and pieces and wrap them up so they won't get cold.  Francis' cheeks are getting redder and redder as he works on getting his boots on, all other layers are already on and he's overheating.

"C'mon out, let's see what they're doing in the fort," I say, thinking that maybe they will be the tickets that get me in.

This time, when we go over to the fort the big boys are all inside, and someone is sitting in the door with their back facing out.  They are pretending they don't hear us.

I consider climbing up the outside wall of the fort, but I know that would get me into A Lot of Trouble, and I only just got outside so I don't want that to happen.  I take Francis and John on a little hike around the yard; the game is that they have to step in only my tracks so I take REALLY BIG steps and then really small steps.  Then I make a snow angel.  They're supposed to do a snow angel in my snow angel, but as soon as I hit the snow, they do too.  It's a snow angel festival!  John looses a boot when we all get back up, so I help him find it and get the snow out, and get it all back on and tucked in again.  Then we wander back over to the fort.  This time, the big boys are outside again.

Paul calls over, "Hey John and Francis, want to see the fort?"

I am so mad I can hardly see straight - this is boys against ME, and I can't win.  Francis and John don't need to be asked twice, they are racing over to the fort like two little seals on the ice, diving and disappearing into the fort.  I march straight back to the house and go into the kitchen, while John and Francis are welcomed into the beautiful ice cavern in our yard.

"Mommmm, they won't let me play!  The big boys let John and Francis in, but they won't let me in the fort, too!.... hey, what are you making?"

My mom smiles and passes me a beater full of cookie dough.  YUM!  Hey... I have an idea...

A minute later, I'm back outside the snow fort.  Just outside the door.  And I KNOW that they can hear me.  "Yum, yum, there's nothing like a nice warm chocolate chip cookie on a cold and bright sunny day!"

I was right, Paul pops his head out of the fort, "What are you doing?"

"Nothing, just having a cookie... mmmmm," I say, my fingers starting to get colder as the cookie gets smaller.

"Can we have one, too?" he asks.

"Only if you let me in the fort!"

Inside the fort is beautiful, just like I imagined.  The walls glow a soft light where they are just a bit thinner and the sunshine leaks through.  We are all lined up around the inside of the cavern, our boots meeting in the middle, a little cramped but that's okay.  Tom has put a candle in a spot on one of the walls, but it's not lit.

I tell them how great their fort is, and they agree.  We all enjoy mom's cookies, and there's not a crumb left over.

Sunday, November 3, 2013

Kindergarten at OLV

I go to kindergarten in a little orange school bus.  It really is just a little bus, especially compared to the big bus that takes me home with all the big kids.  The little bus picks me up at the end of Tetroe Road every day after lunch and brings me to school, and the big bus takes me and all the other kids home at the end of the day.  I wait for my little bus outside at the big green mailbox at the end of the road.  Sometimes my little brother John comes to wait with me; I think he'd like to get on the bus, too.  Sometimes the Derouard's dog, Punkin, comes too.  There are already other kids on the bus; I am the last stop before we get to school.

Mr. Stevenson is my little bus driver.  If anyone on the bus is sad that day, Mr. Stevenson lets them sit in the front seat.  It's special to sit in front, just like the times when I am the only other person in the car with my Dad and I get to sit in the front.  It makes me feel very important somehow, and maybe even a little bit special.  Mr. Stevenson is always happy to see me and all the kids on the bus.  He opens the door for us when we get in, and when we get to the school we wait again for him to open the door for us to get out.  He helps us as we jump out of the door, because it's a big step down to the ground.

The little bus takes us right up through the yard to the school doors.  We get there right when lunch recess has finished for all the bigger kids who are at school all day long. Sometimes they are all lined up at the door, waiting for their class to get called in, and sometimes they have already gone into school, back into their classrooms.  I like it better when they are already back in school, because there are so many of them and they are all so big and noisy!  I don't want to get lost and end up in the wrong classroom.

Our teacher, Mrs. Tansley, waits for us at the doors if none of the other little buses have arrived at school yet. She says hello to each of us, and smiles and holds the door while we go in.  We always have to take our outside shoes off and leave them lined up in the hallway, nice and neat in order along the wall.  Then we have to "walk - don't run" into our classroom. It's the first class on the left side of the hall.  The floors are always so slippery, that's why we have to walk.  If anyone forgets, Mrs. Tansley calls out "Class!" to us and we know to slow down.  The custodian, Mr. Bichon, keeps the floors so clean you can almost see your face in them, like a mirror!  Slippery and shiny.  It's funny - he sprinkles sawdust on the floor that has some smelly stuff on it, and then pushes it along the floor with a big, wide broom.  That's what gives the halls the "school smell".

Once we're in the classroom we go straight to our own hook in the cloakroom.  I don't know why it's called "cloakroom" and not "coat room" but that's what they call it.  Anyway, my hook is near the front because my last name starts with D.  My hook is right between Michelle Chevrefils and Johnny Dufresne.  We each have our gym bag hanging on our hook with our inside shoes, and we put those on now.  It's funny how clean those inside shoes are even though I've been wearing them for so long!  Even if my toes are wearing through, they are still clean!

Michelle is my new friend.  She has pretty long, brown hair that has nice curls in it.  My hair is very short, a "pixie" cut my mom says even though I don't think I look much like a pixie.  My nose is too big and I look like a boy, I think.  And sometimes I cut my bangs myself when my hair is hanging down in my eyes.  I practiced first on a doll but somehow I can't seem to cut it straight across - it always ends up crooked and then my mom has to fix it.  Michelle is shorter than me and she takes a different bus.  At quiet time, we put our mats near each other and make faces at each other and try not to laugh out loud because that would get us into trouble - but it's so hard to stay quiet.  I have to look away, although I don't want to.

When it's time to paint, we try to get a painting easel near each others.  Michelle is a good painter, I like her ideas.  She likes to use lots of colours and she can paint really Big - all over the whole page.  I'm more hesitant and I don't want to make any mistakes on the paper, and it's hard because there are no lines.  Even though Mrs. Tansley always says everyone's painting looks wonderful, and hangs all of them up, all of us kids have our favourites and Michelle's is usually my favourite.

Michelle told me the other day when we were lined up to go outside that she thinks Rheal is cute.  I agreed with her that Rheal is cute, but that I think Johnny is cuter.  I'd rather not think about that though, because I noticed that girls who think about it too much don't ever play any games with the boys - they just stand and watch.  I'd rather play than watch.  We have some great games out in the school yard.  I notice that when I do play with the girls, they often are mad at me and say I'm too rough.  I don't understand that... I can't help where the baseball goes when I hit it.  You're supposed to hit the ball hard, that's how to play it.  The other person is supposed to put their hands out and catch it.  I felt really bad one time when the ball hit one of the girls in the face, but geez, it's baseball!  It's not like I did it on purpose.  But when I play baseball with the boys, its the girls that tease me.  School is so confusing.

Mrs. Tansley has some rubber stamps that she uses to put on our math worksheets or on our printing work.  I really like those stamps - they have a picture of an elf on them, and  the elf might be smiling or sad with tears falling from his eyes.  She also has stamps with stars on them, but I like the elf stamps best.  I asked her once why the elf was crying, and she said, "Because you didn't try your best".  I said "oh" but I thought that I DID try my best, and I didn't understand why that would make the elf cry, anyway.  If I was a teacher, I would only use the smiling elf stamp, I think, unless the kid was bad and hurt someone on purpose.  THAT would be enough to make the elf cry.

At the end of the school day, we collect all of our art and other work from our hooks, take off our inside shoes and leave them for the next day, and go out into the hall to put our outside shoes on.  We usually start before the other classes do, but because it takes us longer to tie up our shoelaces, usually the other classes are in the hall too before we're done.  We spill out the side doors into the yard, and line up for the big buses that come from the high school already full of big kids at the back.  The first step up the bus is the hardest, and sometimes I need both hands to pull myself up.  I don't know how Michelle does it; probably her big sister helps her.  I find the first empty spot that I can, and watch out the window all the way home to Tetroe Road.  Sometimes, my little brother John is waiting for us.  It's nice to get home.

Saturday, October 19, 2013

Eggs for Breakfast

My dad has chickens.  He calls them his "girls".  He got a bunch of them this spring when they were really small yellow bundles of fluff.  They were so cute!  Tom took a picture of them with my baby brother, Greg. Chicken babies and people babies, both are very cute!  Those chickens have gotten big much quicker than Greg has though.

Greg was born last fall, in November.  When it was finally time to bring him home, I went in the car for the ride.  I couldn't wait to see him.  Once we got home I got to hold him, he was so small and helpless and couldn't even hold up his head or keep his eyes open.  He is bigger now though, even though he's still a baby.  He can't even walk yet, although he is starting to crawl around.  It feels so nice when I hold him in my  arms, he is so nice and warm and cuddly.  My heart feels so big it could burst when I hold him.  I had asked my mom for a little sister, but got Greg instead.  That's okay, it will be a long time before I can play with him anyway.

My brothers and I go into the back yard where my dad has built the hen-house and their fenced-in yard.  At first, the chicks stayed in the hen-house where there was a very big light that kept them all warm and toasty.  Then we watched as they started to get bigger, white feathers.  They looked just terrible for a while, kind of like those dinosaur birds, but slowly they have started to look better again.  More white feathers have come in and they look much better - round and puffy white.  These chickens eat every green thing inside their fence.  They eat leaves and even small branches.  They've eaten all the grass.  They scratch in the dirt and even EAT the dirt.  We feed them in the hen-house, and sometimes we throw some feed into their yard, too. It's fun, though, to throw a worm in through the fence and then watch them chase one another to get the worm.  It's kind of like watching chickens play football. One of my brothers threw in a frog once, and that really got them going, but somehow it wasn't the same - it seemed mean, to me.  I don't mind throwing in a grasshopper, though.

The chickens have gotten even bigger and some have started to lay eggs.  It's fun to go and check for eggs in the hen-house; you never know what you will find.  Sometimes the eggs are very small and round, and sometimes we are lucky and get a double yolker!    But you never know how many yolks until you crack it open.  We wash the eggs carefully in the sink and put them in the fridge. It is hard  for me to imagine that one of those eggs, if you let it, will turn into a little yellow chick.

I walk into the kitchen this Saturday morning after watching cartoons all morning.  I don't see Mom or Dad and so I check out the door to the driveway - ah rats - the car is gone.  They've already gone into town to do the shopping, and I've missed out.  Even though I don't need anything, I like to go for the ride and push the cart in the grocery store, or get dropped off at the library so I can check out new books and talk with Michelle, the librarian.  She's so nice.

Tummy grumbling, I realize that I haven't even had my breakfast yet.  Philip is at the stove and he's just finished making some scrambled eggs; they smell really good.  I open the cupboard where the cereal is, and there's some puffed rice cereal there but today it just doesn't seem like it will be enough.  I check in the fridge and there's no leftover porridge, either.  Not that I like leftover porridge, I'm just checking my options.

"Phillip, will you make me an egg?" I ask suddenly, surprising even myself that I've asked him.

"I'm just eating now, why don't you make your own?" he answers back, looking up at me in a pause between mouthfuls.

My brother Phillip is a neat brother.  He always has great snack ideas - like putting peanut butter on toast and then sprinkling white sugar on it - not too much, just enough so that it all sticks.  Or like toast with butter and then brown sugar and cinnamon - yum.  I don't know if he actually invented those or not, but somehow I never remember those things until he does them first.  But then, he will also eat leftover porridge COLD, in the bowl right out of the fridge.  That's just crazy.  But he helps me with homework sometimes, if I ask, and he's patient with all of my questions.  That's pretty neat.

"I've never used the stove," I answer back, wondering if I'm allowed to use the stove, if I'm old enough, and how old is old enough?

"Okay, I can tell you how and you can do it, okay?" he offers.

I jump at the chance, and go to the fridge to get an egg out.  I  see the big double yolker that I just found that morning, and can't believe that no-one else has used it yet.  I pick that one and carry it carefully back over to the stove, and place it gently against the pot lid that is on the counter so that it won't roll away.

"Okay, you need to put some butter into the pan, and then turn the stove on - turn it to the 4.  Make sure the handle is pointing to the side so you don't knock it over," he instructs me from his place at the table, between mouthfuls.

"Then, crack the egg on something hard and try not to get any eggshells in there.  If you get some, you can fish them out after your egg is cooked.  Then just stir up the egg with a fork until it's done."

It seems so easy; even though I'm wondering how much butter to use, and how hard to crack it.  I'm not asking yet, though - I'm just trying to do it.  It is harder than I thought it would be to crack the egg open, but it's pretty neat.  Feels like an experiment.  I pour the egg into the pan and - yay!  Double yolks!  I check for shells - can't see any!  Well, not too many... I use my fork and stir it all up.  Those yellow yolks are just like sunshine, and I use the fork and mash them like potatoes. So much fun!  Some of the egg has already started to cook and it is so neat to watch it go from clear to white, I just have to keep stirring.

Soon, the egg is done and I turn the stove off.

"Good job," Phillip says, "that's the most important part - remembering to turn the stove off when you're done."

Proud of myself, I go and get a plate for my egg.  I'm wishing that I had made some toast, but don't want to take time now to do that.  I carefully scoop the scrambled egg out of the pan and onto my plate, not wanting to leave even a little bit.

"Thanks, Phillip!" I say to him, as I go over to the table with my breakfast plate, feeling all grown up.

"Yeah, okay," he says, "Make sure you put everything away when you're done."

As I sit at the table, eating what might just be the Best Scrambled Eggs Ever, I'm thinking about those chickens and about my little brother, Greg.  These chickens, they have such a quick life.  We are so lucky to have them for their eggs and then later, for roast chicken dinners.  In the amount of time it has taken them to grow from an egg to being dinner, my baby brother is still just a baby and still needs all of us.  Even I still need help from my big brother, and I'm Twelve.  It's pretty neat how that works for people, for my family, for me.  I'm so lucky.  I hardly had any eggshells in my breakfast, and I made it all myself.

Friday, October 4, 2013

Road Trip

Summertime and dad finally has some days off, so we're going to visit my cousins.  The house is full of action this Saturday morning as Dad gets the car ready, Mom gets the food and little ones ready, and they both direct all the rest of us kids to get ready. I am so excited, I already have my bag packed with my bathing suit, pj's, toothbrush, and a change of clothes.  I swing it around over my head as I run through the house, excited to be on the move, and accidentally smack Paul with it.

"Hey, smarten up!" he says, irritated, and tries to grab my bag out of my hands.

"Stop it!  Leave my bag alone!"

Taller and faster than me, he grabs the bag out of my hands and swings it around, holding it just out of reach over my waving arms.

"Give it back!  Mom, Paul's got my bag!" I cry, clearly the injured party now.

"Go outside and run around, both of you!  Right NOW!"

Mom has stopped what she's doing to glare at us both.  She is clearly exasperated with us; we don't have to be told twice.  Paul tosses my bag back over, actually past me, muttering something under his breath, and I pick it up from the floor and check that things are okay.  Hmmph, everything's all scrunched up now. Brothers can  be such a pain.

I head outside to where Dad is busy loading up the station wagon.  I love this car because it has a third row seat that looks out the back window.  I don't usually get to sit back there though, unless not everyone is going - my older brothers take that seat.  Just like the school bus, the big kids get to sit in the back - it's an unwritten rule.  I give Dad my bag and he puts it on the pile with the rest of the stuff we are bringing.  It looks like we're not ready to go quite yet.

Its still early on Saturday morning, the sky is blue and it's a wonderful day with a road trip to look forward to.  The drive to our cousins in Minaki is a few hours along a windy road, and there's lots to look at out the window, if you get a window seat.  If you're the one in the middle then you'd better have a good book.  I look for something to do while I'm waiting, and see Phillip and Paul over on the swing set doing chin ups.  That looks like fun!  I run over to join them, and stand there watching.

"Can I have a turn?" I ask, as Phillip drops to the ground.

"No, Paul was here first," he says, as Paul reaches up and Phillip hoists him up to the bar.

Paul's arms are stretched all the way out as he makes a big face and grunts his way up to the bar, feet dangling below.

"One...twwwoo...thrrreee..ugh..ffffour...argh..fiiiiive..." Paul counts out as his skinny arms manage to hoist his body up and down and up again and again.  He's so skinny, I can't imagine it could be THAT hard.

"Can I try, can I go next?" I ask again, now that it looks like Paul's fading.  I move closer and start reaching up to the bar, jumping to see if my hands even get close to it, but Paul's not ready to stop yet.

"Get out of the way!  You're bothering my chin-ups! Stop bugging me and wait your turn!"

Paul is frustrated with me and he lets me know it, trying to scissor kick over to me and I back away, just out of reach.  He drops to the ground as his hands give out from all that extra movement, and as he gets up from the ground, I can tell I'm in trouble.  I head off running over to the car, screeching all the way as he gains on me.  I make it once around the car with Paul roaring after.  Just as he's closing in on me, Dad straightens up.  Somehow we both missed seeing him there amid all the stuff.  He's got a look on his face that says he means business.  I screech to a stop, ready to defend my position if I need to.

"Paul!  Leave your sister alone!"

"But she was bugging me on the swings!  I didn't do anything!"

"That's enough now! Go into the house and into your room; we'll come and get you when it's time to go!"

Paul shoots me an angry look, and I'm relieved he's going into the house.  I know I'm going to be in trouble for that later though.

I go back over to the swings, but there's no-one else there now and I can't reach all the way up to the bar on my own.  I settle for sitting on the swing, and it feels like someone's just let the air out of a tire; things are a little bit flat.  It's not as much fun by yourself.

Soon the car is packed and ready.  I find a spot in the middle seat beside Thomas, and mom calls back over to us to make sure we've all remembered to pack toothbrushes.  Then, out the driveway and we're on the road!  Thomas has let me sit beside the door this time, so the window is down and I'm resting on my elbow, watching my town go by, looking for my friends houses.  Soon we're through town, through the train underpass and driving along Lake of the Woods.  There are lots of boats out on the water already.

Every once and a while I can sneak a look at Tom's book and read over his shoulder, but he turns the pages too quickly for me.  It's hard to read Tintin from too far away because the speech bubbles are so small, and some of the words are so big, but it's fun to look at the pictures.  I like his Asterix comics the best, although those are hard to read, too.  We're on the Minaki highway now, away from the big lake and winding through many smaller ones.  We go past fields of horses and cows, past lakes and through forests.  It's a great day for a car ride.  I can really smell the pine trees as the air heats them up.  The wind is warm and I close my eyes.

Mom and Dad are chatting in the front seat and I hear Mom say with a laugh, "It's awfully quiet in here, are we missing someone?"

Just like a deer in the headlights, my eyes pop open and my head swings around, taking in everyone in the car in one movement.  I know right away what's wrong.

"Paul!  It's Paul!  We forgot him at home!"

In all the hullabaloo of packing up and getting ready and, finally, leaving, we had forgotten to go and get Paul when we left.  I can hardly believe it.  What will we do now? Will we turn around and go home?  This is worse than the time when no-one came to pick me up after Brownies in the church basement and I had to wait outside in the dark for hours until they missed me at dinner and Dad had to drive all the way back into town to get me.

"We're almost there," Dad calms Mom, "We can phone from Con and Marg's place and make sure he's okay.  Claudette can watch him until tomorrow when we're home."

Poor Paul.  I feel so bad that I got him into trouble, and now he's stuck at home all by himself.  I can't think of anything worse than that.  Still, I can't help but feel a little happy that he won't be around to get me back for getting him in trouble.  And, I'm sure he'll be able to find something to do... !

Saturday, September 21, 2013

Trailer Ladies

In the summertime, it's pretty nice at our house on Tetroe Road.  There's lots of sunshine and shade, and there's a big field out behind the house where a bunch of us can play baseball.  But there's no lake right here.  Instead, we have to walk all the way to Rabbit Lake or Round Lake for swimming.  Usually I end up with a stubbed big toe before we're very far down the road, and I hobble all the rest of the way to the beach in my flip-flops.  We love going to our Grandparent's camp on Lost Island, or to our cousins' on Gun Lake, because then we don't have to walk to the beach, it's right there.  To me, that's what going to camp is all about - being just a jump away from the water.  But that's not everyone's idea of going to camp.

It's funny but as you go down Tetroe Road from our house, after McInnesses, Derouards, and Guerettes, there's a trailer parked in the trees.  Actually, it's not really a trailer at all but an old streetcar from the city that has been parked there - that's what my brother said. I've never actually seen a streetcar.  This one has shutters on the windows and a regular door to go in.  There's a big chain fence all the way around the yard, and all winter long it's locked up tight.  We don't even notice it, in the winter, because nothing is shoveled and the trees are so heavy with snow that they almost block the trailer from sight.  But in the summertime, eventually there's a day when we head down Tetroe Road and that gate is open.  On those days, it's like summer has come and the magic is back.  The Trailer Ladies have returned to their summer camp.

The streetcar (or trailer, as we call it), is a nice green colour that makes it blend in with all the pine trees around it.  If you didn't know to look there for it, it wouldn't catch your eye.  Usually there's a puff of smoke coming out of the chimney from the kitchen, and it smells so good - it's a signal to us if we haven't noticed the open gate.  On that day, the day of the Trailer Ladies' arrival, my first few steps between the gate at the top of the driveway are tentative.  Will they recognize me?  Will they be as nice as I remember them to be?  Maybe they won't want me to bother them?  But it doesn't take long before my curiosity gets the best of me and I walk down the drive.

The Trailer Ladies are two sisters, Hilda and Irene.  My favourite is Hilda because she seems to have an extra sparkle in her eye, but they are both very nice.  They always wear dresses with little flowers on them, and sometimes they also have an apron on, over top.  They call the trailer their "cottage" and I think that is so neat because I've never heard that word used before, except in books - like in fairy tales.  Around here, people have "camps", which sounds so boring - especially compared to my Trailer Ladies and their cottage.

Hilda has short, wavy gray and brown hair, while Irene's hair is a little longer but it's WHITE.  I don't know who is older; they both seem Very, Very Old.   Hilda has a cane and  walks kind of hunched over which maybe sounds scary but it isn't - in a way it's really nice because when I go to see her, she always takes one hand from her cane to hold my hand, and her smiling eyes look right into mine even though she's probably taller than me.  Usually, when she takes my hand, she puts a candy into it.

Although I love to run down Tetroe Road, when I get to their place I slow right down and walk down the driveway to the trailer, taking in the trees and smell of pine needles, and then the trailer, the shutters now open after the long winter.  Placed there, the trailer looks kind of like an old dragon slowly waking up, a nice dragon, a quiet dragon, one that no longer cares to fly but instead happy to lie in the shade and dream about flying, the smoke puffing slowly out of the chimney like thought bubbles.  I get to the front door and give a quiet knock, the kind of knock that means I'd like to see you, if its okay... I hear some shuffling around behind the door, and then...

"Well, hello, little Monik!  My, how you've grown!  It's wonderful to see you, come in!  Come in!"

And in that quick moment, Hilda welcomes me back into her wonderful cottage.  She holds the door open and I step over the sill, the wood stove in front of me, a small fire already crackling away with newspaper and small twigs.  They've only just arrived.  I step up the one small step from the front door into the kitchen, and sit down at the table, where I know I'm allowed.

In spite of the heat of the summer day, inside the trailer it's quite cool.  It also smells wonderful - kind of a mix of moth balls and fresh wood smoke, pie and pine needles.  Like how a cottage is supposed to smell.  From the chair in the kitchen, I can see all the way down the hall to the end of the trailer, although there are three other rooms down that way.  The rooms are divided by curtains that the ladies have made, long curtains that right now have all been swept aside to open everything up.  They made the curtains for all of the other windows, too.  Sewing is what they do - they work in the city, sewing for Eatons'.  That just adds to their magic - not only have I never been to the city, but Eatons' is the same place that sends the Eatons' catalog in the mail in time for Christmas each year; maybe my Ladies are elves in disguise?

"How did you get here?  Did you drive... where is your car?" I ask my questions as I think of them, with Hilda smiling at me and answering, asking her own questions in return.

"We got here this morning.  Our brother brought us in his car, and he's gone back to the city.  How are your mum and dad? ... Did you have a good winter? ... How was school? .... Would you like a candy - I think I have some here somewhere... ah yes, here they are!"

"Yes, thank you!"

I love Hilda.  Who else would offer a candy in the first breath, not even considering the time of day, or whether it was just before or just after lunch, or anytime.

I'm quiet for a moment as Hilda finishes stoking the wood stove and getting the kettle going.  I hear some rustling down the hall and Irene joins us in the kitchen.

"Hello Monik, how are you?  Can you come and help me back here for a moment?  I've dropped something behind the dresser and it would  be much easier for you to reach it ..."

I'm up in a flash, following Irene down the hall.  I try to take everything in - I don't get to go back here very often, these are their bedrooms.  There are needlepoint pictures, books, blankets, pillows.  You walk through these two bedrooms to get to the "sitting room" at the back.  They have an old record player there - they call it a phonograph player - it has a funny speaker on it and a really heavy needle, and the records are heavy and thick.  Irene is showing me where she dropped her watch, and I scramble underneath.  She's right, there's not much room under here and it's very dark, but she's shining a flashlight to help me to see and I have no trouble.

"Oh, thank you dear, that's much easier for you than for me!"

I'm so glad to be useful to the Ladies, they are always so kind to me.

I don't want to overstay my welcome, they are still moving in and have boxes and things to unpack and I don't want to get in the way.

"How long will you stay?" I ask, already thinking about my next visit.

"We'll be here for the month of July," Hilda says.  "We want to pick some mushrooms, and also blueberries when they come out."

Wow, I think, mushrooms!  Who picks mushrooms?  I don't even like mushrooms much.  I see them in the forest and think they all must be poison, their colours are so bright.  Maybe I'll be able to go with them to see, when they go.

"Well, I have to go now," I decide, and move towards the door, navigating around the small space in the kitchen.

"Come to see us again soon," Hilda smiles as she opens the door for me.  "Let your brothers know to come over for a candy!"

I smile a big smile and say thanks! and bye! and then I run all the way home, fast as I can, somehow excited and happy by my visit, and run just to do something with all of that energy.  Frank and John are playing in the yard, and they glance over at me as I run up.

"The Trailer Ladies are back!" I announce, glad somehow that I was the one who saw them first.

John and Frank look at each other, eyes wide open, and both say, "Trailer Ladies!" with smiles, drop everything and take off running down the road, back the way I've just come.

I wonder what the Ladies lives must be like, living in the big city, and what a change it must be for them here, at their cottage.  I guess they don't need a lake to have a cottage, instead here they have the Forest.  In the city they don't have a forest.  I think maybe that's right, that maybe all you need for a cottage or a camp is to have some quiet space in nature where you have time to read a book or not even do THAT much. Maybe to just sit and watch the birds and plants and be with yourself.  And maybe that is enough.

Sunday, September 8, 2013

Silver Anniversary

There always seems to be stuff going on at my house.  Sometimes I know what it is, and sometimes I don't.  Either way though, I can feel it.  It's kind of a buzzy feeling in my tummy, not exactly like butterflies, maybe more like caterpillars. Those black and brown ones that are really fuzzy and look soft  but are actually kind of prickly if you touch them.  Better to just watch them there, munching on leaves like they've got nothing else to do but eat.

My sister Anne and I share a room.  It's a funny kind of room because it's got a triple kind of bunkbed - a regular bunkbed against the wall, and half-way up, where your feet go, there's another bed that sticks out into the middle of the room.  My dad made this bed when he made the house bigger for us so the room would fit three girls, but Claudie doesn't live at home anymore and Reine is married and lives far away.  I don't even remember when they both lived at home.  As it is, Anne is nine years older than me, and soon she will be moving away too - she is graduating from Grade 13 this month.

Anne is pretty much everything I'd like to be.  She's really smart at school; she does great at a bunch of different sports; she's got a really nice boyfriend; she doesn't chew her fingernails; she's got pretty, long hair.  She sits up straight. Me, I'm pretty smart at school; I like sports too (but we don't have any teams yet at school); I don't think I'll ever have a boyfriend; I chew my fingernails until my fingers hurt; I've always had a pixie cut.  I slouch.  But my dad said to me the other day, when I was complaining about having to do the dishes AGAIN, that one day I'll just do them, just like Anne does.  I don't know if THAT's true, but at least dad thinks so, and that's something to keep me hoping.

Mom and Dad are going to Anne's Grade 13 graduation ceremony.  They even got an invitation in the mail from the school.  Anne's boyfriend, Dan, is graduating from Grade 13 too.  I'm not allowed to go.   Even though Paul says it would be Boring, I'd kind of like to go, just to see.  It just sounds so neat.  But THEN I found out a Secret.  My sister Claudie has planned a PARTY for my parent's anniversary, on the same night as the Graduation.  This year is their 25th anniversary, they call it a "silver" one.   I am so impressed by this - I can't believe it.  My parents NEVER have parties - they often have people over for coffee, neighbours or friends, but never a Party.  And even better, it's a SECRET.  I hope I'm not the one to ruin the surprise.

"I'm going to have you take care of the guest book, okay?" Claudie tells me one day when she is visiting at home, and mom and dad aren't close by.

"Sure," I say, although I'm not even sure what that means, "What do I have to do?"

"Well, you'll say 'hi' to everyone when they come to the house, and ask them to sign the guest book.  Do you think you can do that?"

"Yeah," I say, feeling kind of nervous and excited both at the same time.  I don't think I can do too much wrong with that job, it sounds pretty straightforward.  I am just wondering what the catch is, when Claudie says -

"Do you have anything nice to wear?"

Well, there it is.  You have to understand, I'm feeling all out of sorts these days, a feeling which seems to be lasting a very long time.  My huge feet seem all out of proportion to the rest of my body; I'm pretty much just a tall, skinny beanpole; I've lost all my baby teeth and these new adult ones seem way too huge for my mouth, all crowding their way in; and my short hair makes me look more like a boy than ever - which usually is just fine with me for playing and running around, but doesn't seem to "match" if I have to dress up.  Not to mention that something "nice" that fit last week, won't fit this week.  Oh - and I don't even LIKE to wear dresses, anyway.  Or anything that's pink or with bows or frilly bits.

"Not really," I mumble, wondering what will come next.

"Okay then, hmm, well, I guess I can make you something," Claudie says, brows furrowed and eyeing me up and down critically.

I shrink inside, and feel that caterpillar working away.  Somewhere in my head I know she's trying to do something nice for me, but all my tummy says is that I'm not okay as I am, that I'll just never measure up.  As she measures me and writes down all the numbers, I am embarrassed and flushed.  Somehow I'm no longer worried about being able to keep the secret; instead I'm dreading messing up the event.

The afternoon of the Graduation, mom and dad get ready to go out.  Before they go, they give Anne her graduation present - all nicely wrapped with a bow and everything! It is a really cool clock-radio! As Anne pulls it out of the box, I think that it looks all shiny and silver like it's from outer space, like something they might have on a Rocket.  They all look just wonderful and smell really good.  I get nice big hugs from them as they leave, so nice and warm and comforting.  They are both so pleased about going to Annes' graduation, so proud of her.  I am proud of her, too and think that maybe one day they'll go to mine. It helps me to feel better about the party coming up. 

With them out of the way, my brothers and Claudie get into gear.  Christopher is nervously thinking about a speech, and Claudie is in her element seeing to all of the little details.  She's brought my dress in, it turned out nice.  It's yellow with flowers and some red stuff on it that looks nice.  I'm not crazy about the puffy short sleeves, but she insists that it looks cute... I'm not a good judge of cute so I figure I'll take her word for it.  Luckily for me, I actually have some sandals that will match the dress!  For my birthday in May, I was allowed to invite a bunch of girls from school to a birthday party.  One of my friends, Sandra, gave me a pair of red sandals.  She tried to make me guess what the present was - ("it starts the same way as my name!" she said), but I had no idea ("sandbox? sandpiper?").  I was so surprised - I had never been given sandals for a present before!  Anyway, it makes me feel better that I actually have shoes that match the dress - usually I've got my sneakers on, or clunky winter boots in winter, with my dress sticking out from underneath a coat that's too short.

The people start arriving at our house before my parents get home.  Some of my brothers are outside in the yard helping people find place to park their cars, others are in the house helping Claudie and chatting with people already here.  I hold my post at the Guestbook, glad to have a job to do that I can't mess up too much.  It gets pretty busy, and I can't believe all of the people that come.  Not only my grandma and our neighbours on Tetroe Road, but also our priest Father Denis and some other people from church like Ratchfords and Swirns.  It's funny to see them all mixed together in our house, and how some sit quietly, almost like they are nervous, and how others seem to know everyone and are all smiles and hugs.  I kind of thought all adults were the same - all confident and comfortable, but it seems like that's not true when you put them all together.  I'm doing okay getting people to sign the book - some people just put their name and others want to put in a little message, which is kind of nice, I think.

Just as I think I'm not sure how much longer I can sit here, my restless legs bouncing all over from under my dress in those red sandals, my parents pull up in the car.  I can see them through the kitchen door and they are all smiles.  As they come in I yell out "Surprise!" even though I know the surprise was up before they even pulled into the driveway - there are so many cars.  They are swept away into the living room with all the guests.  Some have even brought presents!  My brother Chris is about to say his speech so things get quiet and I can't make my escape quite yet.  It is short and sweet, and everyone lifts their glass to "toast" my mom and dad.  In the noise that follows, I figure my job is done and I head outside.

Now that I'm away from the crowd and the noise, I feel so much better, lighter.  Frank and John are outside running around the cars, and I join in - although I can't run as fast with sandals and a dress on.  I return to the front step and kick off my sandals, hike up my dress a bit, and tear around the back yard around to the front of the house.  As I round the corner to the front where the living room window is, I slow down and stop in the pine trees.  It's almost like watching tv - I can see everyone in the living room all laughing and talking.  I take it all in - the cars, the people, my brothers and sisters, my mom and dad.  Twenty five years ago, they got married and all these years later, here we all are.  What if they had never met?  Who would I be, then?  Who will I be twenty five years from now? 

I look up at the sky; dusk is just starting to fall and there's still a glow where the sun is going down.  The air is warm and smells like pine needles - clean and good.  My caterpillars are gone, and tonight it feels like everything is good in the world, and that I'm going to be okay.  If Anne can do so well, maybe I can too.  I might even grow into my feet.

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

CJ School Part II

On a beautiful June day, the sunshine just seems to last forever.  I'm not sure how we knew it was time; maybe it was just a pause between games when we finally heard the rumblings from our stomachs.  In any case, suddenly the spell was broken and I knew that my amazing afternoon was over.  I walked with all the girls to the edge of the pit where the gravel road leads back up to the main road, and got ready to say my goodbyes.  As I drifted  over to the side, waiting to break away and follow the narrow path leading back to my home, one of the leaders called out to me.

"Hey Monik,  do  you want to check with your parents and see  if you can come back with us?  There's a barbecue for all the kids back at school, and you're welcome to join us if you'd like..."

I can't believe my ears - I look over in astonishment at Dorothy, and she and some other girls are laughing at me - again.

"So go ask!" she tells me.

"Yes!!"  I answer back, "Do you want to come with me and see my house?"

Dorothy nods and, suddenly re-energized, we break into a run - this time with me in  the lead.  We zip along the trail and across Tetroe Road right into my driveway.

"This is my house," I explain, "Oh, and those are some of my brothers.  I'll just find my mom - be right back!"

I leave Dorothy standing awkwardly in the yard.   My brothers glance up briefly from the game they are playing but quickly lose interest.  I'm only gone a second or two and come running back out, the kitchen screen door slamming behind me.  I'm not sure if Mom already knew what was coming, but obtaining approval was quick.

I'm still in running mode, and Dorothy jumps into step beside me.  I'm feeling shy and nervous the farther away we move from the  house.  Dorothy hasn't said much and I wonder what its going to be like over at the school.

"What's it like?" I suddenly ask her, "The school, I mean, is it fun?  My older sisters  got to go to boarding school in Winnipeg when they were little, I wish I got to do that, too.  There would be so many girls to play with all the time, and a uniform to wear so you didn't have to worry about clothes..."

My voice trails off as I realize she hasn't said anything.  She's just kind of looking at me, like something hurts her somewhere, but then it's gone and she's laughing at me again.

"All those brothers, no wonder!" she says.

By this time, we've caught up with the rest of the girls and we walk in little bunches along the road, laughing and talking, all the way back to their school, back to CJ School.

This is the first time  I've been  so close  to the  school, walking up the driveway and past the big chain fence.  There's a bustle of activity today, I don't remember ever seeing so many people out in the yard.  I have about  a million questions, but we've been out playing in the pit all day and running around, and now the lake  beckons - a  lake with a Jumping Rock.  I have truly died and gone to heaven.

We kick off shoes and socks, but into the lake we go with everything else on.  The water is beautiful - although its a small lake, it's very deep and stays refreshing on a hot day.  There's a small jackpine beside the rock with the ragged end of a rope still attached, and I try to jump up and catch it for a bit of a swing.

"That tree would be perfect for a rope swing," I announce, like no-one has ever thought of THAT before, and Dorothy suddenly just pushes me into the water.  I come up laughing and she's in right beside me, frowning.

"We're not allowed to have a rope swing," she explains, but it's lost on me somehow.

Glancing around, I notice one of the older girls glaring at me and I swim unceremoniously back over to the rock.  I climb out and find myself a space on the warm rock where we've lined up like a catch of trout.

"Sorry," I say, not looking anywhere now, not sure where I've found myself.  I realize there's something else going on here, although I'm still not really sure what.  Dorothy looks over at me and she can see now it's my time to feel awkward.

"C'mon," she says finally, "Let's go find out what's to eat."

We peel ourselves off of the rock and as we walk away, I can feel those eyes in my back but when I turn around, I see that those eyes are not angry but sad.  I want to ask what's the trouble, but something inside just stops me.

Back up at the school the barbecues are blazing outside but the food is all inside, in the gym.  Dorothy leads me into the gym and what I notice most is that there isn't much colour around, for a school, and its dark and cool inside.  I realize that there are boys around here too, not just girls at this school.  The boys are ignoring me for the most part, which is just fine with me; I have enough trouble with brothers at home. I also realize that this isn't just a barbecue, this is their dinner - this is the weekend, but all of these kids are here, living here, like I guess they have all year.  I see groups of girls giggling and teasing with some of the boys, and I see some other kids, like the older girl at the lake, just kind of on their own and looking sad.  Not a fresh kind of sad, like something just happened, but more like a worn out kind of sad - the kind of sad that lasts too long and makes your heart hurt.  Dorothy is watching me take it all in, watching me watch everyone.

"Are you sad, too?" I ask her, but maybe it's because I say it too softly or maybe it's because right then, a boy has come over to laugh at us in our wet clothes, but now she's busy laughing with the boy and she doesn't answer and my question is gone, it's floating up over everyone like a cloud, a big, puffy question mark and it's dissolving into the air above our heads in the gym.  Something happens in me then, I don't know what it is, but it feels kind of like a little sliver of something in my heart, and I Know.

We fill our plates and I remember to say Yes Please and No Thanks and we take our dinner outside.  We find a spot along the wall of the school in the sunshine, the rays slanting now through the trees.  The food is good, but not like my mom makes.

Dorothy and one of the leaders walk me back home, and then it's time to say goodbye.  I want to say, thanks for the great day, and thanks for the swim, and thanks for being my friend; but even more I want to ask my Mom if Dorothy can come and stay with us.  Even that's no good though, because I know this is not where she needs to be, she already has a home - somewhere.

"Bye," I say, "And, thanks..."

As they start walking back towards the road, I lift a hand to wave. Dorothy slowly waves back, and then she laughs!

*********

http://www.kenoradailyminerandnews.com/2011/01/19/residential-schools-exhibit-nominated-for-awards

http://www.cbc.ca/thunderbay/interactives/dyingforaneducation/

The Cecilia Jeffrey Indian Residential School closed in 1974, when I was 12.  I never saw Dorothy or any of the other girls or boys again.  I still think of them, and when I do I can still feel that little sliver in my heart.

Saturday, June 1, 2013

CJ School - Part I

Saturday afternoon, lunchtime.  Chicken noodle soup, with crackers and cheese and pickles.  What could be better?  Breaking off little bits of cheese and plopping them into my soup to melt and stick to my spoon.  Putting some margarine between two crackers and squeezing them together so the margarine comes like worms out of the holes, but don't use "too much".  I know I don't really NEED that much margarine, but the worms work so much better with just a little bit more.  Its serious work, and once Paul has shown us how it's done, John, Francis and I are willing students.  Peanut butter is good too, but the crackers break too quickly because the peanut butter is too thick.  If we're still hungry, mom might pull out some bread and molasses - yum!  Although that is more of a winter treat and right now it is June, and there's rhubarb out in the garden.  We go out  and pick out our own pink stalk, wash them off with the garden hose, and dip into white sugar before taking a sweet/sour bite.  We sit outside on the step, sharing the cup of sugar as we each nibble on our own rhubarb stalk, checking each others pink tongues along the way.

Pat comes running towards the house; he has been out playing with some of the other big kids down the road.

"Hey, Monik," he calls to me, "There's a bunch of girls playing over in the pit - you should go see!"

"What?  Who?" I don't understand, there aren't many girls in my neighbourhood, at least not ones that like to play outside with me.  Sometimes I play with Barb and Shirley Peterson, when my sister Anne is babysitting them, but they don't like to climb trees and stuff.  Other times I might play with one of the Derouard  girls from across the field, but they aren't really my age and we don't seem to have much in common, either.

Pat goes past me, into the house for his lunch, and laughs at me, "You'll fit right in, they are a bunch of Indians from CJ School!  Wooo - wooo!"  He pats his hand over his mouth, as if he's on the warpath like in the cowboy movies I'm not allowed to watch.  That's not real, it's just like Tarzan - isn't it?

Across the road from my house is a big gravel pit.  I guess there used to be lots of trucks going in and out of the pit, taking out gravel to places, but ever since I can remember there has been nothing happening there.  Mom always tell us to stay away, but we can't help ourselves.  We love to go and explore in the pit and see what we can find - in the middle, there is a big old rusty machine we call "the crusher" because we think it was used to crush up rocks.  We climb in it and all over it - it is our fort, our rocket ship... you name it.  So I totally understand that there might be a bunch of kids playing over in the pit. And if they are all girls... well, I wouldn't care if they are from Venus and have Two Heads, I'm going to check things out.

I run into the house to tell my Mom where I'm going, and without waiting for an answer I'm back out of the house with the screen door slamming behind me.  I run across the road, along the path that takes me to a little road that leads right into the pit.  I'm not sure where to find them, or what I'll say when I do, but I'll worry about that later.

As I reach the bottom of the road where the pit widens, I'm suddenly aware of the inviting sound of kids playing.  I slow down just a little and follow the sounds, and I see them all playing along the edge of the pit, up in and around the bushes where my brothers and I found some clay once.  I slow to a stop and just watch them, nervous and self-conscious now.  They are obviously having a great time; there are about a dozen or so girls, all my age it seems like, and they have dark hair like me.  There are a couple of older girls who are obviously "in charge" and remind me of my big sister, Anne.  They are leading the way; not taking over but making sure that everyone is safe.

I keep standing there, stuck to a spot on the road, waiting for someone to notice me and then I'll know what to do.  It doesn't take too long before one of the girls calls out to me, "Hi!"

"Hi!" I call back, "Can I play, too?"

A few other girls stop, to watch.  They laugh and look at the first girl, who called me - she is laughing too, but I'm not sure... are they are laughing AT me?

"Can you climb up?" she calls back.

"Yep," I answer, and I am already half way up the side before she changes her mind.

It's hard running up the side of the pit; the gravel is loose and fills up your shoes pretty quick if you're not careful.  But I have lots of practice and I know that if I run on my toes, the gravel doesn't have a chance to get into the back of my shoes.  I go right up to the girl who first called out to me.  She's maybe a little bigger than me, but that's hard to tell because she's up higher on the side of the pit.

"Hi, I'm Monik," I say.  "What's your name?"

She smiles, and twists her long dark hair in her fingers.  "Dorothy," she says.

"Can I play too?" I say again, just to be sure it's okay.

"Sure!" she says, and with another laugh, she breaks away from us and runs straight down the hill, back down the way I had just come up, her legs moving like windmills around and around so fast it's amazing she doesn't fall right over.  I hesitate only a second before I follow her, shrieking all the way down, like everyone is now.

Up and down we go - laughing and panting all the way up, and shrieking all the way down.  Sometimes someone will fall, and whoever is close will reach down and pull them back up with no big deal and the game carries on.  I take them to the edge of the pit and show them where some birds are nesting - up too high for us to get to, although we'd like to try, just for a better look.  I show them the spot where my brothers and me found some clay that one time, enough to make a little clay bowl and dry it in the sun, but today there is no clay.  They don't seem to mind.

On and on it goes, one game changing into the next without pause; I never knew it could be this easy to play.
All these girls, going to school just up the road from me and I never knew, never even saw them before.  We're not really even talking, just laughing and running, running and laughing.  These girls are truly amazing, they are a gift to me.  I don't ever want this afternoon to end.


Monday, May 20, 2013

Petunia

My brother Thomas is older than me; he fits between Patrick and Phillip.  He plays the piano almost as good as Mom does, and he's an amazing artist.  He's kind of quiet, and doesn't like it when I bug him too much; but he makes me laugh and will always walk to the beach with me if I ask him to.  We are the only ones in the family with a May birthday - he teases me on my birthday to remind me of his birthday.  It always works!

Spring has slowly blossomed into early summer, and the poplar trees finally have shaken off their fuzzy tails and replaced them with light green leaves.  Dad has been busy rototilling the garden, waking up all of the blackflies in the process.  Mom has taken the blankets off the beds and they are out on the clothesline, snapping in the quick, warm wind.  It's hard for us to stay out of the blankets when they are on the line - we like to wrap ourselves up in them like caterpillars in a warm cocoon, smelling a bit of dusty bedroom and a bit of warm green spring.  If Mom catches us though, we know we're in trouble - so it's just a quick in and out kind of game.  You lose a point if a clothespeg pops off.

I had just gotten a popsicle from the freezer and I was sitting outside on the front step, enjoying it before it melted.  You know the kind where you make a big jug of kool-aid and then pour it into a plastic mould, put the little plastic handles in, and then freeze it to make a whole batch.  Some of the plastic handles are missing, so we use spoons or re-use wooden popsicle sticks for those.  It's NOT the same as having a cup of kool-aid, it lasts much longer and your lips can get even MORE pink or purple or blue, depending on the flavour, which I like.   I look out over the back yard and the garden, and I can see Tom walking towards the house.  He looks like he's holding something, but it's too small for me to see what it is.  It might be one of the bunnies - my brother Pat has some rabbits that he keeps out in a hutch in the back yard, but they're not usually very friendly. They scratch and don't like to be held very much, but it is fun to poke clover into their pen and watch them nibble all the way up the stem to the flower!

I leave my spoon on the step and run out to meet Tom, too curious to wait for him to reach me.

"What ya got, Tom?" I call before I reach him.  I can tell its something alive, he's holding it so carefully, and I think maybe it's a little black and white kitten!

"Aww, can I hold her?" I ask, stopping beside Tom, and reaching out to accept a transfer.

Tom is smiling at me, and I can tell that there's something else going on, I haven't quite caught on yet. He's not passing the kitten over, and as I look closer at the kitten...

"It's a baby skunk!" Tom finally explains, "We found it on the trail coming home from Rabbit Lake; the mother was killed and this little guy was left behind."

By this time, we've been joined by Paul, Phillip, John, Frances and Scott.  We're all wondering what it will eat, where it will sleep, and how it will do without it's mother.  It seems so small and helpless, and it doesn't even smell!  I run back to the house to tell my mom.  She will know what to do!

We find a little box from the basement and put an old towel in it.  We try to decide on a name - the twins next door, Lorne and Leslie, are calling her Petunia and my brothers are calling her Skunky.  I think I prefer Petunia, because that reminds me of the Bambi movie and the little skunk named Flower.  I still haven't had my turn to hold her, but that's okay - I don't want to do anything that will make her upset!  Eventually I get my chance with her.  It's so strange; she's kind of like a kitten, but not as... fluffy, or something.  She's not exactly smelly, but she does have that special skunky scent if you are close enough to smell her.

Although we have "adopted" Petunia, mom hasn't allowed her to stay in the house at night.  Tom has worked out a spot for her outside.  He puts Petunia in the box with her towel in the window-well just outside the front door; its safe and warm enough for her.  I go with him one morning when he goes to check on Petunia.

"She's still wild," he explains, "Watch what she does."

As Tom slowly opens the cover, Petunia is startled.  She starts to stamp her little back feet like she is having a tantrum!  I laugh because it seems like she's really mad that we woke her up!  Then suddenly, she swings around and her tail goes Straight UP!  Uhoh - my laughing stops suddenly as I back away from the window well, concerned about what's going to happen next, and now it's Tom's turn to laugh at me.

"Haha!  Don't worry, she's too little to spray yet, she's just practicing!  You should see your face!"

Practicing or not, I don't want to be in the line of fire when she finally figures out how it all works.

Petunia becomes part of the family for a while.  Tom takes her for walks down to the swamp behind the house.  Petunia stops along the way to dig up food for herself, and the boys catch frogs for her.  They catch them and then give them a "twack" so they stop jumping and Petunia can catch them herself for a little snack.  It's pretty neat.  We even take her on a car trip with us to visit our grandparents camp!  In the car on the way there, Tom had her on his lap and the guy pumping the gas was looking in the window at us with a really strange look on his face... we laughed and laughed at what he must have thought!


Even though we look after her, mom insists that we can't keep wild animals forever, and that the best place for Petunia is back out in the forest.  It happens much quicker for animals than for people, I guess, and it kind of makes me sad for Petunia.  I'm already 10 whole years old, and I can't imagine being on my own without my family.


Back at home one morning as I'm having my breakfast, I can hear Paul and Tom outside.  I can tell that something is wrong, but mom makes me stay at the table until I'm finished.  By the time I finally get outside in my pj's, I know that Petunia is missing.

"She must have climbed out," says Paul, who is thinking that is what he would have done if he were stuck in a window-well.

"Or else something came and got her for their dinner," says Tom.  "She was still pretty small."

We searched and searched for her, but we never did find her again.  I like to think that she made her way down to the swamp, snacking all the way, and eventually met up with another skunk family and found some friends.  I suppose we will never know what happened to her, but I think we all feel good about helping her, even if just a little, along her journey.

*****

Dedicated to my generous and caring brother Thomas, on his 57th birthday!
and
In memory of my Dad, who died 28 years ago, and who had a pretty high tolerance for strays of every kind.

Sunday, May 5, 2013

Red Running Shoes

It's almost the end of the school year.  My inside shoes for school have been in and out of my gym bag every  school day, and although they are still wonderfully clean, my big toes are starting to poke out.   The rubber on the bottom of my shoes have worn smooth; they leave no footprint when I walk.  The laces have each broken a few times, and are much shorter now than when I first got them.  I like my runners though, and hate that I have to grow so much and burst right through them.  They are a nice blue colour, with white bottoms.  Where the holes are, little white threads are poking out from the canvas, just like petals opening on a flower; blue on the outside and white on the inside.

I bring them home from school finally, to show Mom.  She has been upset that my socks are starting to appear in the laundry with holes at the toe; I blame it on my shoes.  My feet seem to be outgrowing my body, and I'm feeling very self-conscious about it.  My Mom tells me this means that one day I will be tall, but I don't care about that.  My brother Pat teases me and calls my feet "snowshoes".  I laugh with him but wonder, what good are snowshoes in the summer?

Mom and Dad finally decide that I need a new pair, so on Saturday I get to go into town with them to shop for some new shoes.  My younger brothers will stay home with the older kids this time, because its too hard to have all of us in the shoe store at once.  They are too small to leave by themselves in the Children's section at the town Library, which we do on times that me or someone else can stay with them.

The Eatons' store doesn't have much of a kids shoe selection this time, so we head across the street to Robinsons' store.  I like the man that works there - I call him "Mr. Robinsons" but really his name is Mr. Boatman.  It's hard for me to remember his real name though, and he doesn't mind that I call him Mr. Robinsons.  On times when we are in his store for something and I have to go to the bathroom, he lets us use the one in the store basement.  I think it's the neatest bathroom in town - you have to go down into the dark basement, between all the boxes piled way up high, and then you go back up some steps into a bathroom!  It's a small room with a little light; it feels almost like it's up in a tree fort!  Mom says I know where to find every bathroom in town.  I probably can, and this one is my favourite.

Mr. Robinsons helps my Mom and me as we look at the shoes on the wall.  I see what I want almost right away - a beautiful pair of red canvas runners, just like my old ones!  I keep my fingers crossed that they will be okay - my Mom picks those from the wall to try first.  Mr. Robinsons gets me to stand up on the ruler to see how much my feet have grown.

"My goodness, little Lady!  You will sure keep me in business if you keep growing like that!" he says with a laugh.

He brings the box over for me to try on the red running shoes.  I kick off my holey blue shoes, and suddenly I'm somehow embarrassed about my socks, even though my mom made sure I put on clean ones, with no holes in them.  I hold my breath as Mr. Robinsons puts the laces on the shoes to get them ready.   He uses the shoehorn to put my feet into the new shoes, and then he ties them up for me.  It seems so strange to have an adult helping me out like that, since I already know how to tie my shoes, but he is so nice about it. All the while he is doing this for me, my Dad and Mr. Robinsons are having a conversation about something to do with the School Board.  My Mom is watching me, and my big feet.  I'm not sure if she will think these shoes are okay or not, so I don't want to get too excited about them.

I stand up to try them out, and they are the most beautiful shoes I have ever seen.  I walk towards the little shoe mirror they keep on the floor, and somehow, magically, my feet don't seem to be as big as they were in the blue shoes.  I wonder how I could have loved the blue ones so much, these red ones are so wonderful!

I look over at my mom, questioning her with my eyes.

"Go on, walk around the store a little," she encourages me.  I half walk, half skip around the store.  They are perfect.  I can already feel that these shoes have a nice skip in them, and they also feel very fast.

"What do you think?" she asks.

"They are good," I say, still holding my breath, not sure if that's right.

"Okay, then," she says, turning to Mr. Robinsons, "It looks like we've found a pair, we'll take them."

Still chatting, Dad and Mr. Robinsons head over to the desk to finish buying the shoes.  Mom tells me that I might as well keep them on and wear them home, since the other ones are obviously way too small.  I have gone up 2 sizes, she tells me with a slight shake of her head.

I stare at my new, red running shoes on my feet the whole way back in the car.  I can't wait to get home to really try them out!

As the car pulls in to the driveway, I can see that Paul and Philip are heading down Tetroe Road, probably going to check out a new fort or a trail.  As soon as the car comes to a stop in the yard I am out the door, running to catch up with Philip and Paul.  It's perfect, they can't even hear me coming.  As I run past them, I turn my head and say, "Race ya!"

Automatically, my older brothers burst into a run.  By this time I am already a few steps ahead, and I savour the moment when we are all running, all three of us, and I am ahead.  I can see my shadow jumping ahead of me on the gravel road and theirs catching up, I can hear our feet on the gravel, and I can feel the warm wind in my hair as we race together down the road.  This moment is magic, it is perfection.  All thanks to my new, red running shoes.

***

Dedicated to all those who run, and to those who lost their lives at the Boston Marathon on April 15th, 2013.