It's so HOT! I've been weeding in the garden for so long, I feel like I was planted there myself. Mom says we have to each weed a row of the garden before we can go swimming, which doesn't seem right since it's only Paul and John and Francis and me here in the garden. I just KNOW that the other boys have already gone swimming, gotten away free without having to do any weeding. It's not fair, but there's no use whining about it now. We're stuck here among the beans and carrot tops, the peas and radishes.
I've got a row of carrots to weed, and its hard to tell the weeds from the carrots till I pull some out and see if there's a small orange bit of carrot or not. If I do, with a quick scrub on my shorts to get the dirt off I have a nice little snack. Paul has a row of beans, and since they're already good sized plants, he's just zooming through his row. You'd think that would encourage me to go faster, to keep up with him, but somehow it doesn't - probably because of the way he is teasing me.
"Oh, the lake is going to feel so GOOD, so nice and COOL," Paul says loudly, eyes closed and smiling to himself for our benefit as he reaches the last few plants in his row.
John and Frances are sharing a row of radishes, which I have to admit are at least as hard to weed as my row of carrots. But their little fingers are making short work of it, and they're just ahead of me. I think I must be paying too much attention as I try to separate carrots from weeds.
Paul finishes first and makes a mad dash away from the garden, calling over to the house,"Mom! I'm done! Going swimming!"
He snaps a towel from the clothesline, pins popping up like popcorn with no lid into the air after him. He slings the towel around his neck like a scarf and hops on his bike. He's doing loops in the yard though, so I suppose that Mom has called to him to wait for the rest of us so that we can all go together.
Finally, John, Frances and I finish our rows. Racing to the house, we pause briefly at the garden hose and take a long, cool drink. Some days we'll play with the cool water for a while, turning it on and off while another is trying to take a drink, to see if we can make the water go up their nose, but not today. The beach is waiting!
Although Paul is on his bike, the rest of us are walking. We don't all have working bikes, it depends on what Peter, Pat or Phil have been able to fix up. We're like a mini parade on the way to the beach: John is wearing his towel like a swami's hat, Francis has his towel tied around his neck like a cape, and I've chosen to wear mine the same as Paul's - like a hot scarf.
We walk down the road towards town and the beach, following Paul. I can feel the heat of the pavement through my flip flops. We can smell the tar as the heat waves the scent up from the pavement. The tar is hot enough in some patches that we leave a print. Watching the melting tar on the road reminds us to walk carefully; usually at least one of us stubs a toe on this walk. Once I even stubbed my toe right through my running shoe!
"When I get there, I'm going to run right in without stopping!" says Francis.
"I'm going to run right up the Lions Dock and jump in at the first ladder!" says John.
"Yeah," I say, "And I'm going to run up the dock too, and jump in at the second ladder!"
We've been to the Lions Dock so many times, we know how deep it is at each ladder and where it's over our heads. We have all taken some swimming lessons, but I'm only at "advanced dog paddle" as my brother Pat would say. I won't jump in from any ladder past the second one, because beyond there the water is way over my head.
We leave the heat of the road for a trail through the bush. Paul has waited for us there, in the shade with his bike. The bush trail is a great shortcut that will take us the rest of the way - it comes out at the Trailer Park, right across from the beach. The shade is so much more comfortable than the bright, hot sunshine and we slow down a little, to cool off. On the path along the way we see big splats of blueberries that Paul tells us is bear poop! After first checking the nearby bushes for bears, we laugh and laugh, joking about the poor bear with his watery blue poop problem.
We finally arrive at the beach, hot, dry and even more dusty, a quick look both ways before we cross the road then throw our towels down on the sand, kick off flip flops and launch into the water. Each of us enters the water as planned, with plenty of whooping and laughing along the way - the relief of the cool water evident in our increase of activity.
Lions Dock looks like a big, flat lollypop on the water, with a big diving tower at the end. The big boys like to stand at the end of Lions Dock and wrestle, pushing or pulling each other in, or running and sliding off the slippery boards right into the water, or daring each other to do a flip or dive or something from the top of the big tower. One time I even saw a kid ride his bike right from the beach to the end of the dock and into the lake! I don't know if he ever got it out.
I once asked my mom why it was called Lions Dock and she said it was named after the group of men who built it, the Lions Club. I don't really understand why a group of men is called a Lions Club, but it's a neat name for our dock. I think there should be a sculpture of a Lion at the dock, a Fierce Lion, fierce like the boys that climb up the tower at the end of the dock and are the King of the Dock until they get pushed off by a new King.
I'll go to the end of the dock to watch if my older brothers are there, Pete and Pat usually in the crowd of boys. Philip sometimes, too. Paul goes too, but like me is always watching to be sure he has an escape route back down the dock. We don't want to "accidentally" get pushed in! I like to think that my brothers wouldn't let that happen, but I know that I'd better take care of myself. We don't acknowledge each other - there at the end of the dock everyone is on their own.
Once the initial cooling-down period is complete, we settle in to beach activities. Frank and John do some beachcombing. I like to do that too, especially if they find anything good, like money. Most of the time though, they are just chasing minnows, or searching for neat rocks. I do the same, but don't last as long before I have to dive into the water again, then back on to the towel to recharge with the heat from the sunshine. Tom is here too; he's got his towel spread out and he's busy reading a book. He is prepared for an afternoon.
Across the road from the beach, there's a little concession stand. At the concession you can watch as the lady behind the counter makes cotton candy! It's magical. As we hang over the counter to watch, we can hear a snapping sound as the candy starts to build on the paper spool. We love the sweet smell of the sugar, the bright pink colour of the candy as she waves the paper spool around and around in the big spinning bowl, slowly building a sticky spider web globe of cotton candy. That wonderful, sweet taste as the spidery threads melt in your mouth. We don't get it often, but if we are lucky enough to find some change on the beach or along the roadside that's how we'll spend it.
As the sun drops a little, my dad arrives there at the beach on Rabbit Lake. We are all as brown as golden marshmallows from being in the sun all day - in the garden, laughing and playing in the water, and running up and down the Lions Dock. We run over to see him and try to get him to come in for a swim, but he never does. He watches as we show off for him, calling out for him to watch this, Dad! as we practice some of our better moves from dock into water.
"Your mother has supper ready," he finally tells us, "Go and let your brothers know it's time to come home."
Paul takes the job as it gives him a chance for one last jump in the water. I take my dad's hand and we cross the road together, back over to the parking lot near the concession stand and to our big green station wagon. In no time all of us walkers are in the car, windows rolled down in the hot still air of late afternoon, damp towels spread over sticky hot car seats. Paul, Pat and Peter have picked up their bicycles and started a race back through the trail to see if they can get home before the rest of us in the car.
They do.
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Sunday, May 18, 2014
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.
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.
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.
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... !
"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... !
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.
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.
Saturday, March 23, 2013
The Easter Bunny
It's getting close to Easter and I have one of my favorite Easter books in my fort, "The Country Bunny and the Little Gold Shoes". I read it slowly, and look at all of the pictures closely, and think about how the little Cottontail bunny did what she did. She was small, like me, and from the country, like me, and had lots of kids - well, I have lots of brothers and sisters - and she did Great Things. Maybe that means one day, I can do Great Things, too? I promise myself that I will help my mom more, and not complain.
It's a Wednesday night, and that means my Dad is home for supper. I go into the kitchen to ask my mom if I can help with dinner. "You can peel some potatoes," she suggests. So I go to the cupboard under the sink and count out some potatoes. She keeps them there, mom told me, because it's cooler there and they won't grow their eyes so fast. I count 10 big fat ones and dump them into the sink, and look for the peeler that works. There are two, but one doesn't peel as good as the other one and if someone else comes to help, I don't want to get stuck using THAT one!
Sure enough, just after I get started, Francis comes into the kitchen so I get him to help. He brings in the stool from the bathroom so he can reach up to the sink, and I give him the other peeler. "You won't cut yourself with this one," I say. We peel the potatoes, and I show Francis how I can make one big long peel, but I'm not able to do the whole potato without the peel breaking at least once. (It works better with oranges.) Francis is having a harder time; I tell him it's because his hands are small and we compare our palms. We hang the twisty potato peels on our ears, like earrings, and laugh! He reminds me of a little elf when he laughs. Mom helps us finish the potatoes and puts them on the stove, and then Francis is gone, called back into a game in the living room.
Paul helps me set the table because I go too slow, he says, and because he is STARVING. Starving to DEATH. Things get really busy in the kitchen - mom is finishing cooking and getting the high chair set up for Scott; Peter is just coming into the house from somewhere; Philip is looking to see if dinner's ready yet; the phone starts ringing for someone. Then Dad comes in and suddenly everything settles down. After a mad dash for a "good spot", everyone moves in around the table and it's time to say Grace.
We always say Grace together, but we don't hold hands or anything too weird like that. Imagine Paul and I holding hands - ha! That'll be the day. Then everything gets passed around and we all dig in. Well, some of us dig in more than others; Peter and Pat have "hollow legs" my mom says. We all think Peter uses a shovel instead of a fork or spoon; at least his food disappears as though he's using one.
It's quiet for a bit on the bench where I'm sitting, and I look over at little Scottie on the highchair beside mom. He must have had a busy day, because as I'm watching him his eyes are rolling and his head is nodding and I stop and watch. I give John, beside me, an elbow, "Look!" I whisper.
"Ouch, what do you want, geez," says John, complaining about my sharp elbows.
"Look at Scott, he's falling asleep!"
Francis has been watching John and I, and we all turn at the same time to watch Scott's head slowly nod down into his mashed potatoes. The three of us burst out laughing, and Scott's long eyelashes, now full of potatoes, bat open and he looks at us, surprised. His little lip starts to quiver, but Mom - who really does have eyes in the back of her head! - saves the day and scoops Scott up into her arms and, I guess, into bed.
The rest of dinner passes uneventfully, and Dad asks us kids to do the dishes... that starts some action. Peter jumps up and says something about "homework" and heads down into the basement. Anne starts gathering the plates, Francis and John disappear into the living room (but I hear them being round up to go into the bath tub), so that leaves Pat and Tom and Phil and Paul and me to help Anne. The clean-up crew.
In our kitchen there are two sinks side-by-side - one is for washing, the other is for rinsing. I know that Anne will wash - I like to wash and play in the bubbles but it takes me too long. Plus, I like to be the Rinser. I get the clean dishes from Anne, inspect them and if they are clean, give them a rinse and then put them on the dish rack for the dryers. If they are NOT clean, back they go! That's fun when you're the Rinser, but not when you're the Washer. Usually, there are two Driers because Anne is so fast, and not many have to go back in. Then somebody to bring the dishes over TO the Washer, and someone else to put the dishes away. This makes me think again of "The Country Bunny and the Little Gold Shoes". We're just like those good little bunnies in the book, everyone with a job to do.
That's when Paul decides that HE wants to be the Rinser, and he pushes me off the stool. I push him back, and then we're into it. Anne keeps her head down at the sink (she's probably got better things to do and just wants to get this over with), but Pat gets into the spirit and starts to flick his damp dish-drying cloth at me and Paul. We dance around the kitchen trying to evade the "SNAP!" of the cloth. Philip is cleaning up - his version - he's eating the leftovers so that they don't have to be put away in the fridge. Tom is rolling his eyes at us as he dries the dishes, and then of course, just as it's getting fun, I get snapped really hard.
"Ouch!" I cry, and, still surprised, just stand there, crying, "That really hurt, you know! It's not funny!"
They are all laughing at me. Paul laughs too, "Cry-Baby!" he says to me.
I stomp out of the kitchen, my leg still smarting from the snap, and my feelings hurt by the laughing and name-calling. My tears feel hot on my cheeks.
"Fine," I say, over my shoulder, "You finish the dishes on your OWN then!" and I march right back to my room and into my fort.
I lay on my bed and squeeze my eyes closed, wiping them with the sheets. As I calm down, I listen to the house sounds - Pat is still snapping in the kitchen but it sounds like someone else has joined in and is snapping him back; Francis and John are making whale-noises in the tub. I look over at my book and the Country Bunny is looking back at me with her perfect line-up of little bunny children. She makes it look so easy. Why does it always seem so much harder in Real Life? Well, I guess maybe I won't be an Easter Bunny after all... but who knows, maybe I can still do Great Things one day!
(The Country Bunny and the Little Gold Shoes, by Du Bose Heyward)
It's a Wednesday night, and that means my Dad is home for supper. I go into the kitchen to ask my mom if I can help with dinner. "You can peel some potatoes," she suggests. So I go to the cupboard under the sink and count out some potatoes. She keeps them there, mom told me, because it's cooler there and they won't grow their eyes so fast. I count 10 big fat ones and dump them into the sink, and look for the peeler that works. There are two, but one doesn't peel as good as the other one and if someone else comes to help, I don't want to get stuck using THAT one!
Sure enough, just after I get started, Francis comes into the kitchen so I get him to help. He brings in the stool from the bathroom so he can reach up to the sink, and I give him the other peeler. "You won't cut yourself with this one," I say. We peel the potatoes, and I show Francis how I can make one big long peel, but I'm not able to do the whole potato without the peel breaking at least once. (It works better with oranges.) Francis is having a harder time; I tell him it's because his hands are small and we compare our palms. We hang the twisty potato peels on our ears, like earrings, and laugh! He reminds me of a little elf when he laughs. Mom helps us finish the potatoes and puts them on the stove, and then Francis is gone, called back into a game in the living room.
Paul helps me set the table because I go too slow, he says, and because he is STARVING. Starving to DEATH. Things get really busy in the kitchen - mom is finishing cooking and getting the high chair set up for Scott; Peter is just coming into the house from somewhere; Philip is looking to see if dinner's ready yet; the phone starts ringing for someone. Then Dad comes in and suddenly everything settles down. After a mad dash for a "good spot", everyone moves in around the table and it's time to say Grace.
We always say Grace together, but we don't hold hands or anything too weird like that. Imagine Paul and I holding hands - ha! That'll be the day. Then everything gets passed around and we all dig in. Well, some of us dig in more than others; Peter and Pat have "hollow legs" my mom says. We all think Peter uses a shovel instead of a fork or spoon; at least his food disappears as though he's using one.
It's quiet for a bit on the bench where I'm sitting, and I look over at little Scottie on the highchair beside mom. He must have had a busy day, because as I'm watching him his eyes are rolling and his head is nodding and I stop and watch. I give John, beside me, an elbow, "Look!" I whisper.
"Ouch, what do you want, geez," says John, complaining about my sharp elbows.
"Look at Scott, he's falling asleep!"
Francis has been watching John and I, and we all turn at the same time to watch Scott's head slowly nod down into his mashed potatoes. The three of us burst out laughing, and Scott's long eyelashes, now full of potatoes, bat open and he looks at us, surprised. His little lip starts to quiver, but Mom - who really does have eyes in the back of her head! - saves the day and scoops Scott up into her arms and, I guess, into bed.
The rest of dinner passes uneventfully, and Dad asks us kids to do the dishes... that starts some action. Peter jumps up and says something about "homework" and heads down into the basement. Anne starts gathering the plates, Francis and John disappear into the living room (but I hear them being round up to go into the bath tub), so that leaves Pat and Tom and Phil and Paul and me to help Anne. The clean-up crew.
In our kitchen there are two sinks side-by-side - one is for washing, the other is for rinsing. I know that Anne will wash - I like to wash and play in the bubbles but it takes me too long. Plus, I like to be the Rinser. I get the clean dishes from Anne, inspect them and if they are clean, give them a rinse and then put them on the dish rack for the dryers. If they are NOT clean, back they go! That's fun when you're the Rinser, but not when you're the Washer. Usually, there are two Driers because Anne is so fast, and not many have to go back in. Then somebody to bring the dishes over TO the Washer, and someone else to put the dishes away. This makes me think again of "The Country Bunny and the Little Gold Shoes". We're just like those good little bunnies in the book, everyone with a job to do.
That's when Paul decides that HE wants to be the Rinser, and he pushes me off the stool. I push him back, and then we're into it. Anne keeps her head down at the sink (she's probably got better things to do and just wants to get this over with), but Pat gets into the spirit and starts to flick his damp dish-drying cloth at me and Paul. We dance around the kitchen trying to evade the "SNAP!" of the cloth. Philip is cleaning up - his version - he's eating the leftovers so that they don't have to be put away in the fridge. Tom is rolling his eyes at us as he dries the dishes, and then of course, just as it's getting fun, I get snapped really hard.
"Ouch!" I cry, and, still surprised, just stand there, crying, "That really hurt, you know! It's not funny!"
They are all laughing at me. Paul laughs too, "Cry-Baby!" he says to me.
I stomp out of the kitchen, my leg still smarting from the snap, and my feelings hurt by the laughing and name-calling. My tears feel hot on my cheeks.
"Fine," I say, over my shoulder, "You finish the dishes on your OWN then!" and I march right back to my room and into my fort.
I lay on my bed and squeeze my eyes closed, wiping them with the sheets. As I calm down, I listen to the house sounds - Pat is still snapping in the kitchen but it sounds like someone else has joined in and is snapping him back; Francis and John are making whale-noises in the tub. I look over at my book and the Country Bunny is looking back at me with her perfect line-up of little bunny children. She makes it look so easy. Why does it always seem so much harder in Real Life? Well, I guess maybe I won't be an Easter Bunny after all... but who knows, maybe I can still do Great Things one day!
(The Country Bunny and the Little Gold Shoes, by Du Bose Heyward)
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Mom & Dad
When my parents had me, they already
had lots of kids. But they like kids and
wanted more. I was born on a beautiful day
in May. My mom sat on the front step in the
sunshine, waiting for my dad to get home from work so he could drive her to the
hospital. I was born at supper time; I wonder
who made supper that night for the rest of my brothers and sisters?
In my family, first came 2 girls,
then 1boy, then1 girl, then 5 boys, then me, and then four boys after me. I had
mostly my brothers around to play with. I
suppose that's why people call me a "tom-boy". It can be hard for me to play with girls because
I don't play the games right, or I hit the ball too hard, or something. I asked my mom to get a sister for me next
time, and she tried but I only got brothers.
That’s okay.
My dad is the oldest of 7 brothers.
He is the handsomest of all of them! He's a hard worker at the Railway Station and starts
work before I get home from school at 4, until midnight every day - except Wednesday
and Thursday which is like his weekend. When
he's home, he likes to work in his garden, or read the Sunday papers. He is really good at playing chess. In the War he was a sailor; I saw his hat and his nametag in the basement. He smokes, but I wish he didn't.
His mom, my grandma, lives in the next town from ours. She has a huge old house with rooms in the upstairs! She calls all of us "my pet" and gives big hugs, and puts drops of perfume into the ashtrays so that they aren't stinky. She doesn't smoke, but maybe she used to. My grandpa died a month before I was born, so I never got a chance to see him. I think I would have liked him, although I think he was quiet. He worked on building roads. My dad’s brothers all live far away, like in California or Sudbury or Montreal, so we don’t see them or our cousins very much.
His mom, my grandma, lives in the next town from ours. She has a huge old house with rooms in the upstairs! She calls all of us "my pet" and gives big hugs, and puts drops of perfume into the ashtrays so that they aren't stinky. She doesn't smoke, but maybe she used to. My grandpa died a month before I was born, so I never got a chance to see him. I think I would have liked him, although I think he was quiet. He worked on building roads. My dad’s brothers all live far away, like in California or Sudbury or Montreal, so we don’t see them or our cousins very much.
My mom is the oldest of 5 girls
and 2 boys. She likes to bake and to
read, and to sew. She’s always home for
us, and the best is when we come in after school and she has been busy baking
buns or cinnamon rolls and lets us have one when it is still warm! She used to be a Figure Skater when she was
young, and she would travel around to skate.
She met my dad that way – a lady told me that.
Her mom and dad, my grandma and grandpa, live in Fort Frances and have a camp up the lake. I just LOVE going up the lake. You have to take a boat to get there. My mom’s brothers and sisters also live far away so we don’t see them or our cousins very much, either. One of my mom’s sisters was sick and died before I was born, so I never met her, but she's in heaven now.
My mom's youngest sister, Louise-Anne, is about my oldest sisters age. She is so fun; when she comes for a visit she always has a new joke for me. When she visits, she sleeps on the couch that pulls out into a bed in the living room. I sneak in, in the morning, and she tells me stories and more jokes! I always like when she visits.
Her mom and dad, my grandma and grandpa, live in Fort Frances and have a camp up the lake. I just LOVE going up the lake. You have to take a boat to get there. My mom’s brothers and sisters also live far away so we don’t see them or our cousins very much, either. One of my mom’s sisters was sick and died before I was born, so I never met her, but she's in heaven now.
My mom's youngest sister, Louise-Anne, is about my oldest sisters age. She is so fun; when she comes for a visit she always has a new joke for me. When she visits, she sleeps on the couch that pulls out into a bed in the living room. I sneak in, in the morning, and she tells me stories and more jokes! I always like when she visits.
It’s nice to have a big family. Even if they are mad at you, even if they go
away, they are still your family and they will help you if they can.
Saturday, February 23, 2013
The House on Tetro Road
My name is Monik. I have 10 brothers and 3 sisters. I'm the 10th kid, the youngest girl. We live in the second house on Tetro Road. It never used to have a number (that was just for
houses in town), but now it does and it is #4.
We have 4 bedrooms in our house.
There's my mom and dads room, the boys room,
the girls room, and the baby's room. I used
to be in the baby's room, but since two of my oldest sisters are gone, now I'm in
the girls room with my big sister, Anne. I'm in the bottom bunk because I'm little, but
it's okay because I can hang a blanket down and then it's not just a bed, it's a
fort! My sister is too old to play with me,
so it's just me and sometimes the hamster in my fort. And books! Always lots of books.
The boys room is really cool.
There's a bunkbed and a closet, and another
bunkbed and a closet, and another bunkbed. Along the front is a big, long desk so they can
do their homework... But usually I see it piled up with laundry and books and stuff.
I'm not really allowed in the boys room,
but sometimes I have to go in to bring in their clean laundry for my Mom. Then I take my time to see what I might be missing.
I think they must have lots of fun with pillow
fights and stuff, more fun than just me in my fort. Sometimes my brothers will shout, "Get out
of our room!" and I will race out as fast as I can. It smells funny in there.
The little kids room has the baby's
crib in it and since it is across the hall from the laundry, it usually has a lot
of stuff piled in it. There's a spot to change
the baby, and a chair to hold him and rock him to sleep. I like to tiptoe in to see if the baby is sleeping
- sometimes he's not and will give me a big smile!
My Mom and Dad's room has a nice
big bed that I can snuggle in with them if I have a bad dream. They have a big dresser that has so many neat things
that I'm not allowed to touch, and books that I'm too small to read yet. If I go into the room, my Mom always knows and
calls, "What are you doing in there?" and I answer, "Nothing!",
and scurry out.
We have two bathrooms in our house,
which is good because when you have to go, you don't have to wait for too long.
Except if someone brings a book in there,
or a Readers Digest to read the jokes. The
one by the kitchen is bigger and also has a bathtub.
Our kitchen has a great, big table
with a chair on each end, a bench along one side, and more chairs along the other
side. My usual spot is on the bench with my little brothers. The bench is sort of like a stage; there's enough
room to march back and forth behind whoever is sitting there, and the others can't
help but watch. We always have meals together,
especially dinner. There's a radio in the
kitchen that sometimes plays CBC, or my dad will switch it to play a Canadian Brass
tape. I love the sound of that, and of hearing
my Dad or Mom humming along to the music.
The living room is nice and cosy.
It's got carpet on all the floor so you can
sit anywhere, like if there's not enough room on the couch or the chair. Mom has
lots of plants in the window, and she is good at getting them to have flowers on
them. We're not allowed to rough house in
the living room because we might break a lamp or knock over the plants. My Mom always says, "Go outside if you want
to rough-house!" so we do. Like on a
Saturday morning if we have just finished watching Tarzan and we are pretending
to be Cheeta or Tarzan, it's best to do that outside before we get in trouble.
Our house also has a basement,
but it's kind of scary and dark. I keep my
skiis down there if they are not outside in the snowbank, or if it's summer. My big brothers have a room down there that they
keep locked so the little kids can't get in and wreck their stuff. I have peeked in and they have about a hundred
records down there, and a nice record player, but they mostly use headphones so
no one else can hear. The rest of the basement
has basement stuff like the water pump and chimney, Moms preserves, and other mostly
boring stuff.
It's a nice house and it has a
nice, big yard. It's my home and there is
always someone there. In the summer or the
winter, I can find lots of stuff to do, and usually someone to play with, too. I like my house; it's my home.
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