Showing posts with label childhood memories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label childhood memories. Show all posts
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Childhood, Revisted
My cousin and her son stayed over at my apartment last night. After putting him to bed, we caught up over a few glasses of wine. It was really nice... once I had filled her in on the goings on in my life, she suggested that I had probably hurt the Cheating Bastard badly...honestly? The thought had never occurred to me before...
This morning, while she was getting ready, her son and I cuddled up on the sofa bed in our jammies under the blankets and watched Saturday morning cartoons with our stuffed animals (one of mine and several of his haha) before breakfast. I dunno if I'm all about the newer ones, but Teletoon Retro was good times :) It is so good to be a kid again sometimes!
Monday, November 9, 2009
Still Kicking
After a whole lot of burning and freezing this week, I am happy to report that I have been fever free for 2 days now and both my arms are once again fully functional with only a scatter twinge of soreness left. The coughing, aching, headache, and fatigue are taking a little longer to go away, but I think I am definitely on the mend. Yippee!
I have to admit, I am quite the sook when I am sick. I blame it on some seriously intense spoiling when I was younger.
My grandmother's routine when one of us was under the weather was to come around and check on us at least once a day and at least once during the illness she would bring a "lunch" of store-bought treats with her. I loved to hear her coming. Nan laid her hand on our foreheads to check our temperatures, stroked our hair and doled out all kinds of sympathy. She always had recommendations for whatever ailed us, and if we were suffering from respiratory issues, that included rubbing Vick's Vaporub on our chests and backs and covering it with swatches of flannel.
It also sometimes meant that she would make us homemade molasses candy....I can't remember the exact ingredients or proportions, but I know that the process involved butter and molasses in a "dipper" on the stove top and it was a very sticky, messy business. I know that when she was done, she would grease her hands and roll the concoction into little balls, put them on a plate and stick them in the fridge to harden. I know that I loved them dearly and attempted to make them on my own a couple of times when I got sick at university and was particularly sooky (just not the same)....I also know that she mixed in a dollop of Vick's and/or Minard's liniment...both of which I'm pretty sure you are not supposed to ingest. In any case, they made me feel better and I never had any run-ins with poison control, so it's all good.
I was telling my beau about this and he was quite amused. God love him, he does bear up well to the tall order of taking care of me when I'm sick. My Mom (who I usually talk to on a daily basis anyway since I landed myself in BC) has been checking in from Newfoundland a couple of times a day to make sure I'm still breathing, and a few of my friends have let me know they are thinking of me, so I'm definitely raking in the attention and feeling loved...I still miss Nan's molasses candy and flannel though.
I have to admit, I am quite the sook when I am sick. I blame it on some seriously intense spoiling when I was younger.
My grandmother's routine when one of us was under the weather was to come around and check on us at least once a day and at least once during the illness she would bring a "lunch" of store-bought treats with her. I loved to hear her coming. Nan laid her hand on our foreheads to check our temperatures, stroked our hair and doled out all kinds of sympathy. She always had recommendations for whatever ailed us, and if we were suffering from respiratory issues, that included rubbing Vick's Vaporub on our chests and backs and covering it with swatches of flannel.
It also sometimes meant that she would make us homemade molasses candy....I can't remember the exact ingredients or proportions, but I know that the process involved butter and molasses in a "dipper" on the stove top and it was a very sticky, messy business. I know that when she was done, she would grease her hands and roll the concoction into little balls, put them on a plate and stick them in the fridge to harden. I know that I loved them dearly and attempted to make them on my own a couple of times when I got sick at university and was particularly sooky (just not the same)....I also know that she mixed in a dollop of Vick's and/or Minard's liniment...both of which I'm pretty sure you are not supposed to ingest. In any case, they made me feel better and I never had any run-ins with poison control, so it's all good.
I was telling my beau about this and he was quite amused. God love him, he does bear up well to the tall order of taking care of me when I'm sick. My Mom (who I usually talk to on a daily basis anyway since I landed myself in BC) has been checking in from Newfoundland a couple of times a day to make sure I'm still breathing, and a few of my friends have let me know they are thinking of me, so I'm definitely raking in the attention and feeling loved...I still miss Nan's molasses candy and flannel though.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Bonfire Night
November 5th in Newfoundland (a.k.a. Bonfire Night) was always a big deal when I was younger. Us youngsters would spend weeks preparing; roaming the ridge in our rubber boots with tomahawks in hand, cutting up boughs that we dragged home and piled high, continually scouting the woods for the treasured "blassy" ones that would add some pizazz to our fires. It was a fierce competition with a huge team effort and we never missed an opportunity to brag to our friends about our stash.
There was always a community bonfire held in town, but up until my late teenage years, I always attended the cozier family bonfire that took place in the rocky, gravelly, no man's land between our yard and the bog. Since several generations of my extended family lived close by, there was always a crowd composed of aunts, uncles, and cousins, along with my grandmother, my immediate family, and sometimes a various assortment of great aunts and uncles as well as the neighbours who stopped by from time to time.
Our excitement would build for days until we could barely contain ourselves, counting the hours until we could bundle up in our winter gear and head out after supper at some point. There was usually a big fire for warmth, which the adults generally sat around, closely watching and helping us while having a few beers, and then there was a smaller one for us to take turns roasting wieners and marshmallows in, using spears cut from alder branches that one of my uncles would carve for us each year.
Invariably, as we talked and laughed, sang, and looked around at the smoke and flames of our neighbours' fires licking at the night sky, we all gradually ended up with a gooey mess of melted goodies and soot all over our faces and hands (adults included). Most often someone ate so much they got sick. But it was a grand ole time, nonetheless.
When I got older, it became a time to celebrate with my friends in different locations around town more-so than hanging out with my family, but the premise was still largely the same (minus the little kids and the grown-ups who would spoil our fun).
I first started to miss Bonfire Night during my university years, because often I stayed in St. John's, where you can't just light a fire wherever you want. However, I missed it more terribly the first couple of years I was away from The Rock and realized that it doesn't exist here or anywhere else in Canada or the rest of the world, for the most part.
Why would anyone still care enough to celebrate the downfall of some guy who tried to blow up the Parliament buildings in London back in the 1600's anyway, right? Well...no one, if you ask me. But it really has nothing to do with Guy Fawkes anymore. It is just another deep-rooted Newfoundland tradition, leftover from our days as a British colony, that gives us one more excuse to have a good time and enjoy our freedom with the people in our lives (and I have always found myself entranced by the dancing flames of a burning fire regardless - no matter where I am or who I am with). God, how I miss the Island sometimes.
There was always a community bonfire held in town, but up until my late teenage years, I always attended the cozier family bonfire that took place in the rocky, gravelly, no man's land between our yard and the bog. Since several generations of my extended family lived close by, there was always a crowd composed of aunts, uncles, and cousins, along with my grandmother, my immediate family, and sometimes a various assortment of great aunts and uncles as well as the neighbours who stopped by from time to time.
Our excitement would build for days until we could barely contain ourselves, counting the hours until we could bundle up in our winter gear and head out after supper at some point. There was usually a big fire for warmth, which the adults generally sat around, closely watching and helping us while having a few beers, and then there was a smaller one for us to take turns roasting wieners and marshmallows in, using spears cut from alder branches that one of my uncles would carve for us each year.
Invariably, as we talked and laughed, sang, and looked around at the smoke and flames of our neighbours' fires licking at the night sky, we all gradually ended up with a gooey mess of melted goodies and soot all over our faces and hands (adults included). Most often someone ate so much they got sick. But it was a grand ole time, nonetheless.
When I got older, it became a time to celebrate with my friends in different locations around town more-so than hanging out with my family, but the premise was still largely the same (minus the little kids and the grown-ups who would spoil our fun).
I first started to miss Bonfire Night during my university years, because often I stayed in St. John's, where you can't just light a fire wherever you want. However, I missed it more terribly the first couple of years I was away from The Rock and realized that it doesn't exist here or anywhere else in Canada or the rest of the world, for the most part.
Why would anyone still care enough to celebrate the downfall of some guy who tried to blow up the Parliament buildings in London back in the 1600's anyway, right? Well...no one, if you ask me. But it really has nothing to do with Guy Fawkes anymore. It is just another deep-rooted Newfoundland tradition, leftover from our days as a British colony, that gives us one more excuse to have a good time and enjoy our freedom with the people in our lives (and I have always found myself entranced by the dancing flames of a burning fire regardless - no matter where I am or who I am with). God, how I miss the Island sometimes.
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