Yes Virginia ...They Would Be Proud

Yes Virginia-- They Would Be Proud

I have recently taken on a volunteer position that has caused quite a steep learning curve which demands attending meetings, writing reports, and generally stretching my organizational abilities to new heights. 

The most recent duty that has been required of me is to gather up and judge the annual Remembrance Day Essay and Poster Contest at the second level of the competition. The preparation for this involves the timely collection of entries from schools and communities within my area. This includes several phone calls and making plans to meet to gather entries all designed to avoid costly postage . This frenzy of activity having been accomplished I then proceeded to approach people in the community and organizations to see who could and would be able to join me in an afternoon of diligent judging.
A time and place was chosen and gratefully I was  joined by two others who are well versed in evaluating both written and artistic works.

The afternoon was cold but sunny. Being December we were all stealing time away from Christmas duties and preparations. As I placed my collection of boxes, mailing tubes, file folders, and large manila envelopes containing  approximately 100 plus pieces of items to be judged  we chatted and laughed about the weather, baking, and the general pre Christmas goings on.

Something happened however that none of us had expected.  As each of us dutifully started sorting and placing items in their designated places on tables around the room quiet comments could be heard such as "Wow", "Look at this", and " Jeepers". We all had become affected by the quality of the work done by the entrants in form, detail, and creativity not to mention the depth of understanding exhibited on the topic of Remembrance.
We took turns reading the poems and essays out loud to one another and on more than one occasion the reader had to pause because tears were forming in the eyes of both the reader as well as the listeners.
What turned out to be a little afternoon get together to perform a simple task turned out to be a very moving and rewarding and humbling experience.  We were not only impressed with the quality of entries but we also realized that these beautifully crafted tokens of Remembrance did not happen in a vacuum.  It was evident that these young people had been well taught, well informed, and well raised by not only by their parents and the education system, but also by the community at large.
 
Poster and Essay Contests are designed to enlighten and inform our young people but it seems that they also do more than that.  They serve as evidence that many many good things are being done to help our youth value the sentiments  of Remembrance Day.

Finally, following the theme of one of the essay writers one can surely say:

"Those Whom We Remember Would Be Proud That We Remember So Well"

Dub Dub Dub in an Ice Hook Tub

The year was 1956.  The place was a dryland farm in central Saskatchewan. The house was a story and a half red shingled, wood sided structure with a porch connected to the back door. There was a front door but there were no front steps following the tradition of the local neighbourhood in line with the philosophy dictating that 'if it is not necessary it does not get done'.  There wasn't a real set of front steps in the whole  of the rural municipality if you did not  count an occasional upside down apple crate or saw horse left by the front door after washing windows or knocking down a wasp nest in the eaves trough.
It was July.  It was a hot July.  The temperature hovered over the 85 degree Fahrenheit mark for over two weeks. The leaves on the quivering aspens had long forgotten how to quiver as much as due to there was no breeze but also because the water table was slowly being lowered and every leaf was hanging tenuously on an ever increasingly drying stem.
 Everything and everyone moved slowly.  Even the caw of the crow sounded hot and dry coming from its shiny black throat.  The dog found shelter in the cool and strangely moist, dark, and blackened dirt under the porch steps.  He would not re-emerge until the moon was up.  I would be able to tell when he ventured out as his dog food was directly located beneath my screenless bedroom window. I would imagine his long pink tongue rough from the dry heat soaking up the bit of lard and table leavings followed by the sound of that same tongue moving rapturously through the bowl of water as it became lusciously  engorged with the precious cooling liquid.
As I mentioned before the window to the bedroom and in fact the window to every room of the house was screenless as there were no mosquitos that year due to the fact that there  were no standing ponds of water either in the ditches or sloughs.  The horse trough did not even hold water for longer than a day as the heat would evaporate whatever the cows and horses left from their daily   ration within an hour.
It was during this heat wave of 1956 that our parents were called away to Winnipeg on a family emergency leaving myself and my two older brothers ages 12 and 14 to 'take over the fort','man the bridge' or in Star Trek terms, 'We had the Com'.
Of course there was a list of daily  chores to do such as weed the garden, feed and water the animals, and keep the house tidy.
 The prime directive being 'Keep safe, don't hurt yourselves or each other, stay in the yard'.  We were to run to Yanovich's, the neighbours a half mile away, if any emergency arose. They were to be back as soon as possible but no later than two weeks.  Then they were gone in a cloud of dryland dust that quickly rose from the back tires of the '52 Ford then softly fell   after the car had disappeared around the corner onto the gravel highway.

The first couple of days were pretty uneventful.  My broyhers at first were quite diligent in doing the chores and making sure that I did mine.  Mine being the weeding  of the garden and keeping the house tidy.  I also was in charge of meals but  being all of nine years old that  got pretty old really fast, at least according to the 'boys' and soon they were taking over the kitchen with me still doing the washing up.
After about three days of this arrangement and with little or no real improvement in the quality of the meals especially after it was mutually decided that one does NOT have to put puffed wheat cake in the oven in order to bake it it was decided that it was not fair that I should have to do all the washing up.  This we all agreed to but at the same time the boys were not convinced that dishes had to be done in hot  water, or rinsed, or dried.  Heck they did not even think that they needed to use soap.I
It was about this time that I started to take notice that the house cats were never anywhere to be found during the day.  I looked and called in the barn.  I looked in the old  half ton.  I called.  I even called and offered treats but no cat ever responded but every evening when a small breeze finally blew in through the open windows  the cats show up and I finally realized that they had been keeping themselves down in the basement during the days.  The cool cool basement.
Thinking of the coolness of the basement I decided the next day to take my book and do like the cats did and enjoy the cool dampness of the cement. A welcome respite from the searing hot inescapable driness that brought sweat streaming down your into your eyes if you ever tried even for five minutes to do any weeding outside or sweeping up inside.

It wasn't long before the brothers decided that I had found a good spot to be cool in and they soon joined me and the cats, bringing with them their Parcheezie and Steeplechase games

The basement was lined with shelves in one corner where Mom had her canned fruit, jams, and chicken jars all neatly in a row. One wall was taken up with the furnace and wood bin. There were some old boxes strewed in one corner and then on the other side was the wall.  Well not really a real wall but a cement wall that did not actually touch the ceiling.  There was about a 3 foot gap between the  top of it and the ceiling.  I had never noticed it before and pointed it out in wonder to one of the boys. He explained that that wall held the cistern.  He had to explain that the cistern was the place where the water that ran off the roof when it rained went to.  It was a collection area for rainwater . The water we used when we pumped the kitchen pump to wash dishes and put into the bathtub on Saturday nights.
I was in awe.  All this time I never knew or thought about where or why the water came when one pumped the handle in the kitchen sink.  "You mean to say that there is a whole bunch of water just on the other side of that wall?" I asked in wonder.  "Yep" came the reply.
Still in disbelief I challenged the information wanting somehow that it be proved to me because having a big bunch of water like that right below our feet while standing in the kitchen seemed absurdly perpostorus.

Not to be disbelieved the brothers went out to the barn and brought back the long ladder used to fix shingles, carefully brought it down  the dark basement steps and propped it up beside what was said to be the 'Cistern Wall'.  As I was the one who disbelieved I was the one who had to climb up to see for myself.  Sure enough, there it was, what looked like a whole room full of water just sitting there dark but clean looking trapped in its cement cell.  No sign of anything floating.  I went to the top rung of the ladder and leaned over and put my hand in.  It was cool.  Cool and clean.  I called down to my brothers who were steading the ladder and told them what I saw.  They each in turn climbed up and had a look and a touch. When they  got down and looked at each other  and then looked at me.  Now as I am neither and inventor or a great scientist I am not certain if what was experienced was what one can call a collective Ah Ha! moment but if such a thing exists   one occurred on that scorchingly hot July day in 1956 in the basement of a wood frame house on the Saskatchewan prairies with only the cawing crow and cooling cats as  witnesses.
We were going to do something with all that cool water.  We may not have been quite certain but something was going to be done.
The oldest brother ran up the basement steps two at  a time with the other brother not far behind.  As I waited I could hear the clink of dishes, some scurrying of feet, door bangings, and cupboard doors opening and closing.
They soon reappeared with binder twine, potato sacking,  and a dishpan full of dirty dishes.  All of a sudden I could see the possibility of all those items and we all turned and gazed up at the ladder and the top of the cistern wall.
It made sense that I should be the one to be the first to venture into the unknown as if there were any trouble the brothers were strong enough to get me out .  So after I kicked off my shoes,  I was tied up around my waist with the binder twine which was hooked up to the furnace door and I climbed up the ladder  and carefully lifted my left leg up and over the 3 foot wide wall and then scootched over on my belly and sort of rolled into the water with a splash.  I hung on to the rough edge and gasped as the coolness of the water took my breath away but a few seconds later I called out that all was good.  I could hear the   ladder creaking and then a shadow came over the wall and it was my second brother who was splashing around beside me also tied with binder twine.   Suddenly there was a splash and there floating just beside me was the potato sack clinking away almost sinking beneath the surface and down to the bottom 7 feet away.
 I touched it gingerly and realized it was full of dishes...the dirty dishes from the kitchen sink!
  Another shadow and another splash!  My oldest brother with us.
 What fun we had! Splashing and swishing the potato sack of dishes back and forth singing
 DubDubDub
 Dishes in a Sack
You yourself will get a Wash
If you decide to Snack.
This new dishwashing routine continued for another four days just as the heat wave continued and even peaked at 92 degrees.  Everyday just after our noon meal we all gathered up the dishes and excitedly went down the rickety basement steps to our own little cleaning spa.  We splashed and laughed and tossed those dishes in the sack back and forth with barely a chip or a crack.  What a great method and keeping so cool too.  The cats on the basement floor just looked at us idley as we emerged soaken and dripping climbing down the ladder.
We probably would have enjoyed our dish washing chores right up to the last day before our parents were to come home but an unheard knock on the door around 1:45 in the afternoon on the fourth day brought it all to a splashing halt.
The dish bag had just been tossed up in the air and it was my turn to catch it when suddently there was a holler and  shadowy face looming over the edge of the wall.
 Mr. Yanovich!
 He startled me so much that I missed catching the dish bag and it immediately sank down the
7 feet to rest sullenly on the bottom.
Being the good neighbour that he was he decided that he should take a little trip to our yard just to see how the three of us were getting along without our parents.   He had knocked on the door but of course we hadn't heard as we were too busy 'washing'.  He did not say too much but just listened carefully as we explained what we were doing.  He carefully examined the binder twine and the knots around the furnace door.  He told us that he had received a call from our parents and that they were due to come home the next day.
As the four of us made our dripping and soggy way up the steps I remembered the sack of dishes sunken in 7 feet of water.
Mr. Yanovich paused for a minute and told us to wait in the basement and he went out the door.  Twenty minutes later  he returned with a giant hook, an ice hook apparently.  He took a piece of binder twine and tied it to the ice hook ,  then he told my older brother to climb the ladder and get back into the cistern.  Mr. Yanovich followed him up the ladder and handed him the ice hook with 8 feetof binder twine tied to its handle.
It took only  three tries before we heard a cheer from our lavish dishpan and soon Mr. Yanovich was carrying our treasured bag of dishes down the ladder.   Our brother soon followed behind.
Mr. Yanovich then proceeded to warn us of the dangers of swimming in such an area and advised us to stop doing it.  As he left he turned to my brother and asked for the ice hook.  My brother looked surprised as he said he thought it had been hooked on the potato sack when he handed it all over to Mr. Yanovich.

Down we all went again and Mr. Yanovich climbed the ladder one more time and peered down to the bottom of the pool and sure enough saw his ice hook in its final resting place.
Mr. Yanovich assured us that he had other such hooks at home and hoped we all stayed well and safe until our parents returned. He gave us a wink and  waved GoodDay and walked down the road to his home.

My parents returned late the next day.  All was  well.  The ladder, pototo sack and binder twine had been returned to the barn.  The cats kept silent and finally, finally, the heat wave was broken by three days of soft rainfall replenishing the earth and spirits of everyone around.

My dad only commented once about finding an Ice Hook at the bottom of the cistern the next spring when he was cleaning it out.  He thought it particularly strange that it had Mr. Yanovich's initials were engraved on it.

Books eh?

Recently an acquaintance mentioned that they would never keep a book in the house that they had already read.   In her words, "Why would one?"

Now this in itself is not on the surface a very enticing remark due any further commentary or elicitation of judgement or condemnation on the part of the listener except for the fact  that the listener has approximately 5 to 10 thousand books on random shelves throughout their house.  Further to this, the speaker of this seemingly  innocent statement  recently had been a guest in the house and as the speaker was sighted she would have been aware of the walls covered in book shelves housing an  untold number of ideas, innumerable plots of Fiction and History, 
not to mention 6 sets of encyclopedias. As I was the listener in this conversation I graciously let the comment pass while at the same time tucked it away into the Insult Pocket to be examined, rhumenated over, and finally burned with the heat of a blazing charcoal fire until the memory and respect for the comment maker was mere dust scattered in the wind.

 It did cause me to pause and ask myself why indeed did I insist on having so many books. I came to this  or rather these conclusions which follow in no particular order:

1. Many of the books are books from my childhood.  The Encyclopedia of Animals kept me company while I languished with Red Measels for 3 weeks in my mother's darkened room.  I also treasure my copy of Little Women  because  I again being ill  remember exactly how I felt when I read it and how my aching ear felt as well.  I remember tears falling from my eyes and seeping into my ear canal as I read . It was a red book. 

I still have the book that I was reading while I was in labour with my last child and I know exactly where on the shelf it is.

The Complete Works of Mark Twain is a book I will always treasure as my mother bought it for me at a garage sale for 25 cents.  My most favourite gift from her. 

2. Many of the books are my long lost and far away  childrens' books.  Books they received at Christmases with their names written in and the date they received them.  Some books are ones that they especially asked for like the Condensed Classic Series--those little thick square books.  I made it a rule that if my child took the time to write their name in a book then that book stays until they themselves decide to give them up.

3. By far most of the books are those of. my husband.  Science Fiction, History, Mystery, Horror, Computer, Plants, Art,  Gaming and Novels , along with manuals, magazines, and a set of Great Books from the Encyclopedia Brittanica  all fill many many shelves in the house. 

4.  I remember often where I was and what I was doing when I read a book.  I was once reading a Catherine Cookson novel in the car while the kids were at ball practice.  I read South Pacific while travelling to Alaska with a tent.  My husband read Aztec and Marco Polo the first winter we were married ...I know this because he carried them around with him all the time. 

So I guess my response to the thinly veiled query  as to  why  would I  keep a book after I read it is because for me a book is not only the story, the binding or even the feel whether it be hard cover or paperback.   It is the experience.

When I look around at the shelves of books I look at my own history and the history of my family and each one has a special meaning, even the unread ones as often they too bring back memories of where they were purchased as well as giving comfort to know that after one has finished the book in hand there are some still close by to pick up to make another memory. 

So thoughtless person who passively aggressively made the seemingly innocuous comment I just want you to know that I noticed the disrespect and perhaps also a bit of self doubt that was revealed in the making of it. 

Dear Grandma in January

January, 2019


Dear Grandma,

It has been close to 30 years since I have spoken to you. 
I am now nearly the same age as you were when I was first born.  I think my earliest memory of you is me  being picked up out of the metal crib and being held on your lap.  I have the impression that I was quite ill at the time, probably with a fever and a cold or even chicken pox.

All the changes that happened over that time.  It is terribly cold here these last few days.  I live in a rural area much like you did when you were my age.  As I sit here looking at the outside temperature gauge and listening to the wind howl I start to wonder how you managed  to live the life of a farmer's wife for five decades.
 You were brought to the farmstead as a bride.  I am pretty sure you wouldn't have had power back then.  How quiet the days must have been.  No radio. No fridge motor humming away.  Probably not even a  telephone for the first while.  Grandpa would be busy I imagine, feeding cattle and pigs in the barn, milking,  feeding chickens, working on machinery, hauling wood,  repairing bins all while you were in the house heating water, cleaning floors,  washing clothes and  making meals with only your thoughts to keep you company.  Newspapers were rare.  The Western Producer and the Family Herald were probably the main monthly papers  delivered to the post office 10 miles away. 
I envision you pouring over the Women's Columns in these papers looking at recipes and the latest news about fashion trends and family living advice which could involve gardening tips as well as serial stories  and advertisements for feminine needs.

I have kept a few of your recipe books, wire bound stenographer pads , that have cut outs from the Western Producer taped into them with some time honoured gems such as Tomato Soup cake,  Yorkshire Pudding, and even a recipe for a No Egg Cake.  It certainly would have been a challenge to bake anything in a wood stove oven without a proper temperature gauge with the only way to turn the heat up or down depended on the quality and quantity of wood placed in the hot box. 

Washing must have been quite the chore in the winter.  I do remember watching you hanging wet sheets outside on the line in minus 30 degrees temperature and hauling them in again a few hours later,  stiff and frozen and then putting them on the kitchen table to drip dry. 

I think of you going about your daily housework tasks primarily in silence day after day. The only sound to be heard would be the sound of labour.  Placing wood in the cook stove by first lifting the metal burner and hearing the clunk and consequent instant sizzle of the wood turning to flame especially if it was really cold outside. The clunk clunk clunk of the iron  being heated on the stove to smooth out wrinkles of every piece of linen and sheet, tea towel, work shirt, coveralls, and handkerchief.  Many a young bride was judged by her mother in law in those days by the white of her tea towels, the neatness of the linen cupboard,  and the crease in her husband's dungarees. 
I can imagine the sound of the handle of the hand pump creaking and squeaking as  it is pumped up and down until the swoosh of  cold water gushes out the spout and into the waiting wash basin or 
pail, depending on the chore at hand. 


I wonder if you sang or hummed a song or if you day dreamed of other times when you were with your sisters in town going skating or visiting with friends.  Would you be planning the next meal, or would you worry what you would wear to the next school social?  I know you liked to look nice as I recall you getting your hair done in home permanents often--no natural curly haired beauties in our family was there?

It will be minus 40 here tonight.  That is in Celsius degrees which actually is also the same on the  Fahrenheit scale so you will have a full understanding of how cold it really is...at least that is one thing that hasn't changed. 

Hope all is going well.  Say hello to Grandpa for me.  I know he is probably close by.  Think of you both often.  

Love and miss you,

Penny