Showing posts with label Nostalgia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Nostalgia. Show all posts

Sunday, July 03, 2011

Keep Summer Simple Silly

And there's that one particular harbour
Sheltered from the wind
Where the children play on the shore each day
And all are safe within
Most mysterious calling harbour
So far but yet so near
I can see the day when my hair's full gray
And I finally disappear.

~Jimmy Buffett~


I don't know about you, but when I was a kid, summer was really simple.  Days ran into weeks, running barefoot between the beach and the water sprinkler in the yard. My wardrobe consisted of a bathing suit and baby doll jammies and Noxema  for the occasional sunburn.  Footwear? Simple; Flip flops and my Bionic-Woman running shoes. I can't recall whether I wore socks between June and September at all. I remember being dumped in a tub to scrub up with Ivory soap and drifting off to sleep with that smell on my clean, sun kissed skin.

I grew up in a small town, and had all of the freedom afforded of such an environment. Your conscience wasn't imposed, it was bred into you like your hair colour and your heart beat. If you weren't blood-related to someone in the little town, they surely knew your dad or grandpa.  Nobody but nobody would hesitate to let them know of any indiscretion you might hope to conceal.

I remember one summer day, my cousin and I thought that we should hold what I like to refer to now as, "Hallowe'en" in July. We scratched out a couple of Hallowe'en masks from the upstairs storage closet, grabbed two grocery bags, and were out the door. We only made it to three houses. Behind door number three was an old lady who hated Hallowe'en so much in October that she gave out pennies and peanuts instead of yummy-sugary treats. She sat us down in her kitchen while she called my mother. That was the abrupt end of what could have been a terrific summer tradition.  Mom let us eat the two cookies that the other nice old ladies dropped in our July trick-or-treat bags, after we went back and apologized for being so bold, of course.

Besides the Hallowe'en in July cookies, food was simple. Mom would dish up cereal or eggs with toast "fingers" most mornings, and we would be out the door as fast as our barefoot legs would carry us.  Kool Aid  could have sold stock in our town, and we routinely melted chocolate covered graham wafers in the sun on the sidewalk. We ate them when the chocolate was soft and melted, shaking away the ants and sidewalk debris the best we could. Do you remember the Tupperware iced pop molds? Mmm, there was a recipe that used Jello and Kool Aid, and I loved it!

At some point during our daily adventures,we made our way through the back yards of grandparents, aunts and uncles. That's where we would snack. Maybe we were hungry, maybe we were just kids looking for a bit of mischief, but our snacks were pilfered from neighbourhood gardens. Tomatoes were always best from my grandma's garden patch behind the woodworking shop. My aunt's carrots were the very best, but she'd get upset when we ran the garden hose out to rinse off the crunchy yummies. She used to yell out the window to, "Shut that hose OFF!".

Raspberries and pears. Mmmmm!!!  They were kinda fun to get. My neighbour Pete was old. Like antique-old, born in the 1800's old. But he was nice. He was like a big kid  and when we wanted pears or raspberries, he used to just smile at us as we made our way through his weedy berry bushes and dodged bees to get the pears.

Lunch. I don't remember many lunches. I'm sure we had them, likely sandwiches and mac and cheese. Lunch would be around the time that Mr. Dressup came on, followed by the, "News at Noon". At 1pm, most of the ladies in town would be transfixed by Days of Our Lives, and as long as we didn't interrupt, we were free to play in the yard, down the street, or at the beach. That's also when we did a lot of chocolate wafer melting on the sidewalk and sucking the nectar out of pink clover.

At the end of the day, everyone sat down for dinner with their family. When I grew up, I thought my mother was the BEST cook in the whole world. Summer menus were different than winter menus. During the winter  it was usually some kind of roasted meat, potatoes and veggies from a can. I think this was the quintessential rural Canadian meal. Summer was different. Potatoes and meat were cooked in the back yard on the big brick BBQ, and mom had lots of cold, fresh salads ready. Food was simple and delicious.  Dessert was often whatever fruit was in season with vanilla ice cream or cake.

Corn on the cob.  Grilled chicken, steak, fish, and sausage from the butcher shop. Fresh strawberries, , lettuce, peppers and green onions from the garden and cucumber picked fresh and tossed in some vinegar with salt and pepper. We had pies made with peaches, elderberries, currants, apples and cherries from our yard or our neighbour's.

We had such an abundance of fresh food that we spent hours and hours in August putting up tomatoes, beets, chili sauce, jams, peaches, pears, corn, beans.....and in the winter we would eat them, and would remember the work we put into preserving our food.

Summer was simple. Simple because we were kids. So this summer, the best gift I can give my kid is to keep it simple. Simple, fresh food, lots of time outside in the pool and beside the lake. Simple dinners. Simple ball games. Simple late nights watching the thunderstorms roll in. Simple, simple, simple.


Saturday, December 18, 2010

Christmas is for Canada Post

"What a lot we lost
when we stopped writing letters.
You can't reread a phone call."


~Liz Carpenter~



Dear Friend,

You know who you are. How are you doing way over there?  I hope you don't think that I've forgotten about you even though I haven't written in a long time.  I miss our talks, and knowing that you're just a few minutes away if I really need you.

Someone told me not so long ago that words are empty. Meaningless. Words on paper don't equal action. Maybe they're right. Maybe I, in particular write way better than I express myself in actions and spoken words. I guess we all have our strengths and weaknesses.

We're all so busy these days. Often it's just all we can do to get through our days from obligation to obligation, and isn't it odd that we really are hardest on the people who we love the most?

Anyway, I thought about you this weekend as I went about my solitary business. As I settled into my seat at the very back of the theatre to watch The King's Speech, I thought that you'd like it. I know you're not much for crowds, but I thought it would be nice if we were watching it together. It was a great movie, and as much as I've always not-so-secretly had a Hollywood crush on Colin Firth, I enjoyed Geoffery Rush's performance even more.  

You would have gotten a kick out of the blue-haired-matinee-set who mostly filled the theatre. They were so precious, I even had to forgive them their ringing cell phones. I mean, let's face it, all of that ringing was likely their 50 year old children checking up on them, and the poor dears have no idea how to answer the darn thing let alone dig through their coat pockets to turn them off.  You would have thought that the three old British ladies who cried at the end of the movie were adorable.

I was famished after the movie, and, since it was the dinner hour I gave into my craving for coconut curry and a beer.  You would have cringed at the loud music in the bar.  Britney Spears singing Joan Jett remakes is just wrong; Wrong, Wrong, Wrong.  Slithering Shakira punched up with some Quiet Riot and AC/DC...not my usual choice of ambiance. You would have been surprised perhaps to know that when I'm down and out, bone tired and sad that I go to this place to eat. I think I went there once last year. You see, I tuck myself in a corner booth and take a good look around. I know the menu, and what I like, so it's a quick in and out affair, but it gives me great perspective. 

I'm now convinced that all men under 50 in such places,  who are short and bald, with any bicep definition at all will wear shirts way too tight, and speak way too loudly. It's as if the great spirit has imbued them with an unexplainable sense of grandiosity. They think that everyone is infatuated with what they have to say. 

Also, I've decided that bald men with goatees look decidedly phallic - they look like large genitals or, bumholes.  Also, besides the cold beer, and the coconut curry, I know that I would never strike up any kind of intelligent conversation in such a place. Exactly what I was looking for.  I miss your company, and I don't really want to share my thoughts with anyone else. A mouth full of curry and beer is all I wanted, the loud music and obnoxious company just helped numb me out a little bit more.

The night before last I went wandering through a few shops because I just didn't want to go home yet. Sometimes it feels nice just to get out. I found this pretty china tea cup that I thought I might buy. It's always better to drink out of a nice china cup when you're sad right? Anyway, I took at look at the cup, and ironically, it was made in China. I miss you, but I'm not willing to put my health at risk by drinking out of a teacup infected with god only knows what kind of toxic material.  I went home and drank out of my glass mug instead and worked quietly away on my needlework.

We're ready for Christmas now. I just need to buy some last minute groceries to ensure the Christmas dinner traditions are complete; potatoes, turnip, and orange jello. Funny how jello always seemed to pull it all together for my family at Christmas time.  I think that says a lot about the family from wence I came....

The tree and decorations are up. Isn't it amazing how mesmerized we can be when the house is dark, and just the Christmas tree lights are on?  It makes me lonely and hopeful all at the same time. It was almost ten years ago to the day that my grandmother died. I always think about what I've done with my life since then. Kinda puts things in perspective as the years pass. Have I accomplished all I wanted? Have I been a good mother? How many more Christmas's will I have staring at this damn tree before bed time all alone?

I hope that you're doing well. I hope that your days aren't too hard. I'm glad that I know you have family around - that always helps.

Well, that's all for now. Nothing exciting here.  

Love you like waking up with no alarm clock,
Trish

Wednesday, December 01, 2010

Christmas is all about Cookies

"Christmas is a time when you get
 homesick - even when you're home."
 ~Carol Nelson~


Bless me readers for I have sinned.  It has been two days since my last need to confess to the news gods.  Today (again) I succumbed to the temptation of convenience and the Toronto Star.

See, I had a couple of spare minutes this morning on my way to a meeting, so I popped into the McD's drive-through for a coffee.  Their coffee is, in my opinion better than Tim's, and the line-ups at the drive-through are way shorter. Getting cut off by some rushed mother in the insanely designed drive through line at Tim's doesn't really make me feel all warm and snugly and Mrs. Clausish.

Every day my best friend and I talk. At least once, sometimes two or three times. This is the best therapy ever, we laugh, we cry, we act like we're 12 year old kids. I take all the credit for keeping her marriage alive and well, and I give her all the credit for me continuing to want to get married.  I'm a devoted news follower, love politics, books, current events and wine. She who shall remain nameless could care less about the newspaper, may or may not vote, reads only as necessary (ie cooking instructions), and shops like a mad woman. We are perfectly matched polar opposites.

Today I woke up in a great mood. I've had two nights of relaxed, deep, quiet thinking about all things McDish.  I'm calm, peaceful, happy, and have vowed a right attitude for the entire month of December.  This Christmas I'm going to enjoy every second with my son, my aunts, my friends and even my colleagues. This year, it will be Christmas in my heart. Incidentally the liquor store having extended hours might be a really good thing to help me along the "Christmas-in-your-heart" path.

So, today as my best pal  was planning a brief personal shopping excursion, I was sipping my coffee all keyed up that I might get the time to read at least some of the news today.  I peeked at the entertainment section and low and behold, it's the Toronto Star's first day of cookie advent. There is going to be a cookie recipe every day from now until Christmas published in the Star. Ooh la la.

Cookies.  Right up there with wine, Bing Crosby flicks and big red bows. Mmmmmm-Cookies!!!  To top it all off, today's recipe was for smores cookies. Nothing better than combining the great-Canadian-love-of-camping-and-cooking-over-an-open-fire and Christmas time. Oh YAH!

There are a couple of commitments I have to complete before I can settle in and concentrate on all things Christmas. Sunday night will be my break-out Christmas celebration night. I'm going to bake those smore cookies in my flannel nightie while singing along to my 8 Christmas play lists on my iPhone. Nothing says Christmas like being decked out in a flannel nightie licking the spoon to the dulcet tones of Peggy Lee and Andy Williams.  That almost sounds a little sexy doesn't it? I imagine that flannel nightie, licking the spoon business could possibly be a seasonal addition to the Joy of Sex.

So, as much as I love to bake, and my best friend doesn't, today we laughed at all that makes our homes Christmas at this stage in our lives.  As she gets ready for her family Christmas photo which will require loads of patience and some assistance from mother's little helper, I will be gearing up for an exam.  The countdown to fun is on.

I remember my family cooking and baking up a storm the entire month of December. That was back in the day when family lived close by, and regular coffee and chat visits were expected.  One of my aunts made the best shortbread cookies in the world. My other aunt made sugar cookies that I still think are the best in the entire world. My mom made my dad's favourite butterscotch and coloured miniature marshmallow squares, and my favourite, "Hello Dollies".  My grandma made mincemeat tarts that I could never imagine putting past my lips as a child, and the most divine butter tarts.  There were cookies and squares and treats galore.

Christmas was the only time of year we got nuts and tangerines and every flavour of pop under the sun.  We settled in at night to watch all of the Christmas specials; Charlie Brown (still my very favourite), Rudolph, Frosty the Snowman, and it just wouldn't have been Christmas without the subtle transsexual-like flair of Anne Murray.

So, this year, even if I need a bit of a massage from a drinkipoo, I will get back to taking the time to visit, enjoy the company of the people I love, and relearn how to relax with Charlie, Rudolph and Frosty.

Hmmmm....I'd better get my wish list posted so Santa knows I've been a good girl.