Five Good Memories

  As my mom's dementia grows worse, I find myself thinking a lot about my childhood. I started this post months ago, but never finished...in fact this is only half... my other five memories will have to be a post for another time. I haven't been doing much blogging lately, so I thought this post would be a good way to let you know what is occupying my time and my thoughts.

  It seems to be human nature to remember negative experiences and feelings more than the positive.  I know I have some pretty negative memories from my childhood...being blamed for things that my younger siblings did, or worse, being blamed when one of them got hurt. My dislike for card games and board games stems from negative experiences playing games with my brothers. My fear of water comes from almost drowning as a child. My fear of snakes comes from my mom screaming whenever she came across a snake in the garden. My dislike for public speaking comes from being embarrassed in grade 5....and I could go on and on. 

   So many of our fears and dislikes are rooted in something that happened to us as children. The ones I've listed are pretty minor. I could talk about more painful, destructive memories but that isn't my purpose today. What I want to do is focus on the positive. So, I decided to just sit down and write a list of memories from my childhood....I wrote them as they came to me...no particular order, just the positive thoughts that came when I thought about my childhood. Of course, negative memories came too, often mixed in with the good, but I purposely ignored them! Some of these memories may seem small and inconsequential, but sometimes it's the little things that make the difference, and perhaps have a lasting impact on life.

I realized as I went through this list that I've written about some of these topics before, so I've linked to these other posts.

So, here are my Five Good Memories:

1. Going to Jacksons Lake in the summer time. We'd look forward to Dad getting home from work, so we could bug him to take us, or in later years, let us borrow the car! Yes, I have a fear of going under water, but I still loved going to the lake!

2. Sunday drives with Mom and Dad...sometimes to the gardens in Morden, or to Mount Nebo, near Miami, MB, where Dad grew up. I'm not sure why these are good memories, other than that they broke up the monotony of everyday life out in the boonies! I remember one time, I wasn't able to climb the hill with the other kids, because I forgot to put shoes on before leaving home, and there were a lot of cactus growing in the area.

Mount Nebo

Later, when I had kids of my own, we took them to Mount Nebo, and they loved it too. 

3. Playing with our dogs and puppies. We always had at least one dog. The first was Yip. She was black, brown and white, if I remember correctly...maybe a border collie mix. Then Dad brought home Heppy, a small, ivory coloured terrier of some type. And thanks to Jack dog down the road, we often had puppies. The last three dogs we had when I was at home were Teddy, Big Pup, and Sandy. I guess we ran out of puppy names to end up with 'Big Pup' Of course there was also a Little Pup at one time too!

Victoria, Teddy, Me, Big Pup, Sandy, and Jamie

4. Walking.....on sandy roads that burned my feet so much that I'd try to stay in the shady spots; along railway tracks and gravel roads looking for shiny stones; on cool, damp, freshly graded roads...flattening the tire tracks; out to frozen ponds in the field to skate on; down the road to the Collie Hills to play in the spruce trees, or to slide down the steep hills in winter; out to the west bush to pick nanny berries, down the south road, or across to 'Ron's bush' to pick choke cherries...yes, walking was a big part of my childhood! 

Collie Hills

5. Our 'world'.... The garden...making a meal just wandering around...pulling up a carrot, picking some peas, and then raspberries for desert! And the flowers...when I was little..zinnias, cosmos, carnations, snow on the mountain, bachelor's buttons, portulaca (especially the mound in Auntie Bene's garden) oh, and scarlet runner beans at Auntie Bene's place, and her apple orchard! ...and my very own rock garden with a cement bird bath that I made myself. And all the wildflowers...blue bells, crocus, cowslips, buttercups, tiger lilies, lady slippers...

And trees...climbing trees, making houses in the center of the  'big willows', swings hung from trees...and especially the sideways tree...even though I was knocked unconscious when I fell out of it!

The sideways tree

 I could go on, but I'll stop there! I really was blessed with wonderful parents, and had a good childhood...not perfect or without difficulties, but I'd rather remember the good times...wouldn't you?

 If anyone out there decides to make their own list of good memories let me know. It really is a great exercise.

 I thank my God upon every remembrance of you, Philippians 1:3

Where I Am From

  Memories are wonderful, and they are made up of so many different things that come together and leave an imprint in the mind. Sometimes they are as clear as if they happened yesterday, and sometimes they are just bits and fragments...a sound, a scent, a taste, a feeling. 

  Many years ago, I came across a blog that had a little picture with the words, "Where are you from?" I clicked on it and found that it was based on a poem, and that many people had written their own version, based on their own life. I loved the one I read, so I decided to write my own.

   Some of my childhood memories will sound familiar to my kids and grandkids, but many of them will be things that they may never experience. I believe that taking the time to jot down some of these memories is a nice memoir to pass down to future generations. I'd love to have one written by each of my siblings, and my children!

  

Where I Am From

I am from the prairies, from the crocus and the cowslips, 

and the pussy willows in springtime.

 I am from walking barefoot on hot sandy roads.

I am from swimming in Jackson Lake, dugouts and swamps in the summer; 

from climbing trees, and swinging from ropes tied around branches.

I am from skating on ponds, and playing in the snow after dark in the winter;

 building snow forts and making homemade snow shoes from spruce bows; 

from sliding down hills with cardboard for a sled.

I am from walking with my brothers around a four mile country block, 

and walking along the railway tracks collecting shiny stones; 

from exploring the Collie Hills and old vacant houses.

I am from a one room school house; 

from playing games in the basement in winter, 

and playing Johnny Can’t Cross the River 

and Pump, Pump, Pull Away in the spring and fall. 

I am from practicing for the Christmas Concert at Arizona Hall, 

and going to Field day in Austin.

I am from Spruce Woods Park, 

the Assiniboine River,

and the Carberry Desert.

     

                             I am from strawberry fields and picking cucumbers; 

from bouquets of glads for the farmer’s market, 

and from strolling through Mom and Dad’s garden.

I am from Sunday supper, roast beef and potatoes;

and from fiddle diddles and spice cake,

and I am from Sunday drives to tour the gardens at Morden, 

and climbing Mount Nebo in Miami.

 I am from Manitoba.

I am from putting one foot in front of the other,

and what goes around comes around; 

I am from befriending the friendless and rooting for the underdog.

I am from Gerald and Ede Blair.

That's where I am from. Where are you from?

   This is an updated version of that old post that I wrote back in 2008.

Read the original Where I Am From, by George Ella Lyon.

Chokecherries and Elvis

 Trust me, there IS a connection, and I'll get to it in a minute. But first, some history......

 Most Canadians my age, even if they're not a hockey fan, know that the question, "Where were you in '72?" refers to when Paul Henderson scored the winning goal against the Soviet Union. I don't know exactly where I was when the goal was scored, but I definitely remember when it happened.

 Going back a little further to 1963, "Where were you when JFK was shot?" I was only five years old, so I was at home with my mom. I do actually remember watching the funeral on tv....while eating a mustard and onion sandwich....don't ask; I have no idea!

  There are just some things that stick in your mind. So, that brings me to, "Where were you when you heard that Elvis had died?" I was 19 years old, and wasn't a huge Elvis fan, but I know exactly where I was when I heard the news. I was with my brother and sister, and we had taken Dad's car down the road to pick chokecherries. We had the radio on while we picked, and that's when it was announced that Elvis had died. In that moment, and it seems forevermore, a connection was made in my brain. 

  For the past 39 years, I have depended on the radio, or in more recent years, Face Book, to remind me of the day that Elvis died...so this year, when Brian came home from work on the 17th of August, I said, "Do you know what today's date is?" He answered, "The 17th?" Me; "Yes, the 17th! Do you know what that makes yesterday?" Brian: "Oh, the 16th." Me: Yes!! And not one person on Face Book mentioned Elvis yesterday!" Brian: "Well, the nerve of them; how dare they not?" Me: "I know!! How am I supposed to remember chokecherry picking time, if people forget Elvis?!"

  Yes, this was a real conversation. (tongue in cheek, but real!) My family knows I take my chokecherries very seriously, and if you asked them the significance of August 16th, they would tell you, "That's the day Elvis died; it's chokecherry season!"  

   I guess my addiction stems from my childhood. I grew up on a farm with seven siblings, and we spent a lot of time wandering the countryside. We all knew what was safe to eat, and what wasn't...maybe from someone's previous experience! Saskatoons, pin cherries, ground cherries, cranberries and nanny berries were a few of the other things we snacked on. But chokecherries were one of my favorites....yup, the same kid that ate mustard and onion sandwiches...and several other strange things I won't mention here. In case you're wondering, yes, Mom did feed us good, healthy meals. 

Chokecherries, all washed and ready to eat.... or turn into jelly.

    I know most people don't have the strange taste buds I have, so I've included a recipe for Chokecherry Jelly. I haven't made it in years, but Mom and I used to make it together.
*Hint: If it turns out a little runny, it makes great syrup for ice cream!

Chokecherry Jelly

Prepare chokecherries:
Wash the fruit.
Add water to cover the chokecherries.
Bring to a boil, then simmer for 15 minutes or until soft.
Cool and strain through cheesecloth or a damp jelly bag.

3 cups chokecherry juice
6 1/2 cups sugar
1 box (2 pouches) liquid pectin

Pour juice into heavy saucepan. Add sugar and stir to mix. Place over high heat and bring to a boil, stirring constantly. Stir in pectin. Bring to a full, rolling boil and boil hard for 1 minute, stirring constantly. Remove from heat. Stir and skim off foam for 5 minutes. Pour jelly into hot, sterilized  jars to 1/4 inch from the top. Seal with canning lids. Process in a boiling water bath.

Enjoy!

Where I Am From

   Memories are wonderful, and they are made up of so many different things that come together and leave an imprint in the mind. Sometimes they are as clear as if they happened yesterday, and sometimes they are just bits and fragments...a sound, a scent, a taste, a feeling. 

  Many years ago, I came across a blog that had a little picture with the words, "Where are you from?" I clicked on it and found that it was based on a poem, and that many people had written their own version, based on their own life. I loved the one I read, so I decided to write my own.

   Some of my childhood memories will sound familiar to my kids and grandkids, but many of them will be things that they may never experience. I believe that taking the time to jot down some of these memories is a nice memoir to pass down to future generations. I'd love to have one written by each of my siblings, and my children!

  

Where I Am From

I am from the prairies, from the crocus and the cowslips, 

and the pussy willows in springtime.

 I am from walking barefoot on hot sandy roads.

I am from swimming in Jackson Lake, dugouts and swamps in the summer; 

from climbing trees, and swinging from ropes tied around branches.

I am from skating on ponds, and playing in the snow after dark in the winter;

 building snow forts and making homemade snow shoes from spruce bows; 

from sliding down hills with cardboard for a sled.

I am from walking with my brothers around a four mile country block, 

and walking along the railway tracks collecting shiny stones; 

from exploring the Collie Hills and old vacant houses.

I am from a one room school house; 

from playing games in the basement in winter, 

and playing Johnny Can’t Cross the River 

and Pump, Pump, Pull Away in the spring and fall. 

I am from practicing for the Christmas Concert at Arizona Hall, 

and going to Field day in Austin.

I am from Spruce Woods Park, 

the Assiniboine River,

and the Carberry Desert.

     

                             I am from strawberry fields and picking cucumbers; 

from bouquets of glads for the farmer’s market, 

and from strolling through Mom and Dad’s garden.

I am from Sunday supper, roast beef and potatoes;

and from fiddle diddles and spice cake,

and I am from Sunday drives to tour the gardens at Morden, 

and climbing Mount Nebo in Miami.

 I am from Manitoba.

I am from putting one foot in front of the other,

and what goes around comes around; 

I am from befriending the friendless and rooting for the underdog.

I am from Gerald and Ede Blair.

That's where I am from. Where are you from?

   This is an updated version of that old post that I wrote back in 2008.

Read the original Where I Am From, by George Ella Lyon.