"Memory is a way of holding on to the things you love,
the things you are, the things you never want to lose."
~ Kevin Arnold
A few years ago, I bought a do-it-yourself memoir book. The Book of Me is designed as a fill-in-the-blank and is made from acid free archival paper. Although meant for writing in and keeping for posterity, I didn't want to write in it, I only wanted it as a reference -- to use the prompts to jostle old memories and help me remember forgotten aspects of my younger self. Since my 60th, I've been working away on gathering my memories, going through old journals, photos, scrapbooks, and other memorabilia. This book has proved its worth and has given much opportunity for gentle musing as well as a good deal of mirth in the remembering of long ago incidents.
I now see that this exercise has provided some great fodder for blogging. So, let me tell you what's been floating up as a result of the prompt "Did You Ever...". I offer them as a little light entertainment to start off your week. And, of course, you are welcome to join the fun. Share a memory here, or use the prompt to write your own post.
"We do not remember days;
we remember moments."
~ Cesare Pavese, Poems about Life
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| photo: pixabay.com |
"In some ways, siblings, and especially sisters, are more influential
in your childhood than your parents."
~ Deborah Tannen
DID YOU EVER...
Make something that flopped? Oh yes. When we were girls, my sister and I looked forward to afternoons when Mom was away for a couple of hours. Not to get into trouble exactly, but that's when we'd whip out the recipe books and try our hand at making candy or fudge. Not having a candy thermometer never deterred us; we assumed we could figure it out by the rate of bubbling going on in the pot. That's what the recipes told us, anyways.
We tried to make sponge toffee once, and I probably don't need to mention that it was a disaster. Not only did we not get the sweet treat we were anticipating, but we wrecked mom's good pot into the bargain. We scraped the burnt concoction into the garbage barrel outside and then gave that pot the best scrubbing it ever had. Putting it back in the cupboard, with fingers crossed, we hoped Mom wouldn't notice the permanent weird stains all over the bottom and sides.
Except mothers have eyes in the back of their heads, right? She told us years later about coming out to burn garbage one day and wondered what that disgusting mess was in the barrel. She recognized a baking disaster when she saw one and chuckled to herself. She never said a word. We certainly ventured no confessions.
Leave out a key ingredient? Sis and I were going to bake a cake one afternoon. Mom was going to see a neighbour for little while. She said we could bake something for dessert for supper. We opted to make a family favourite, Aunty Julia's Raisin Cake.
We must have been fairly new to baking, because we didn't clue in that flour is a staple ingredient in any baking venture. Maybe we were denser than some kids, but we took all recipes at face value. We creamed the butter and sugar, we added the milk, spices, and raisins. It didn't look the way a batter should look, we mused, peering into the bowl with anxious eyes. We went over the ingredient list again, and yes, we had added everything it said, so, alright then, into the oven it went. Fingers crossed, hoping for a 'miracle' in there.
Thirty minutes later the pan, now out of the oven, was filled with something most uncake-like. A hard sugary mess sprinkled liberally with plump burned raisins. We called Grandma -- she would know what went wrong. She asked me to read off the ingredients.
"You didn't add any flour."
We wailed, "But the recipe didn't say."
That's the day we learned that cakes need flour, whether the handwritten recipe says so or not. That incident is now a part of our family folklore, and we've had many a good laugh over it. Sister thinks we fed the charred mess to the chickens, and Grandma no doubt enjoyed a chuckle when she got off the phone that day. The recipe for this old-fashioned raisin cake is HERE.
Doodle on the wall? That long bare wall in the hallway right outside our little bedroom looked so inviting. To a small child, it was a huge chalkboard. Empty, and waiting. Until, one day my little self could not resist the temptation to use her pencils and crayons to fill in that lovely blank space. There was such a feeling of freedom. Eventually Mom came along and the wall was scrubbed clean, but I never forgot that moment of expansiveness and space for creative work. It was a high but brief moment of exhilaration.
We tried to make sponge toffee once, and I probably don't need to mention that it was a disaster. Not only did we not get the sweet treat we were anticipating, but we wrecked mom's good pot into the bargain. We scraped the burnt concoction into the garbage barrel outside and then gave that pot the best scrubbing it ever had. Putting it back in the cupboard, with fingers crossed, we hoped Mom wouldn't notice the permanent weird stains all over the bottom and sides.
Except mothers have eyes in the back of their heads, right? She told us years later about coming out to burn garbage one day and wondered what that disgusting mess was in the barrel. She recognized a baking disaster when she saw one and chuckled to herself. She never said a word. We certainly ventured no confessions.
* * *
Leave out a key ingredient? Sis and I were going to bake a cake one afternoon. Mom was going to see a neighbour for little while. She said we could bake something for dessert for supper. We opted to make a family favourite, Aunty Julia's Raisin Cake.
We must have been fairly new to baking, because we didn't clue in that flour is a staple ingredient in any baking venture. Maybe we were denser than some kids, but we took all recipes at face value. We creamed the butter and sugar, we added the milk, spices, and raisins. It didn't look the way a batter should look, we mused, peering into the bowl with anxious eyes. We went over the ingredient list again, and yes, we had added everything it said, so, alright then, into the oven it went. Fingers crossed, hoping for a 'miracle' in there.
Thirty minutes later the pan, now out of the oven, was filled with something most uncake-like. A hard sugary mess sprinkled liberally with plump burned raisins. We called Grandma -- she would know what went wrong. She asked me to read off the ingredients.
"You didn't add any flour."
We wailed, "But the recipe didn't say."
That's the day we learned that cakes need flour, whether the handwritten recipe says so or not. That incident is now a part of our family folklore, and we've had many a good laugh over it. Sister thinks we fed the charred mess to the chickens, and Grandma no doubt enjoyed a chuckle when she got off the phone that day. The recipe for this old-fashioned raisin cake is HERE.
 |
| photo: pixabay.com |
Doodle on the wall? That long bare wall in the hallway right outside our little bedroom looked so inviting. To a small child, it was a huge chalkboard. Empty, and waiting. Until, one day my little self could not resist the temptation to use her pencils and crayons to fill in that lovely blank space. There was such a feeling of freedom. Eventually Mom came along and the wall was scrubbed clean, but I never forgot that moment of expansiveness and space for creative work. It was a high but brief moment of exhilaration.
* * *
Jump on the bed? Oh yes, we were professionals at it. Up and down, challenging each other to see who could jump the highest. We did that only when Mom was outside, doing chores or working in the garden.
But the day of reckoning came. She brought the two of us into our room and asked us to look up at wall. Apparently there were dark patches with fingerprints all over. We couldn't imagine how they got up there, our hands weren't that dirty. With sleeves rolled up, a pail with warm soapy water between us, and a cleaning rag each, we were set to washing the wall as high as we could reach. We both recall feeling quite huffy over the whole exercise -- how could those be our fingerprints up there? We certainly could relate to Tom Sawyer at how long it would take when he saw that fence that needed whitewashing.
* * *
Put something in your ears or nose? Oh yes... we never seemed to learn our lesson. Same Sis and I used to see if bean seeds would fit. Not to mention beads used to make necklaces, oh, and puffed wheat. We would have contests to see how far we could snort them out. The beans and beads worked fine, the puffed wheat not so much as it kind of disintegrated.
Then came the day when my sister got a larger bead stuck in her nostril and it would not be snorted out. We got a little worried -- we'd have to tell Mom and the less she knew about our shenanigans, the better for us. Funny, how children work together to find their own solutions and avoid all adult interventions. We both remember me going for a toothpick to see if poking in there would help. All it did was push the bead farther. Now we were getting scared. Sister remembers eventually it just dropped out with much snorting -- our hearts surely lept with relief. Needless to say that ended our nose snorting contests forever. We think apple spitting contests took its place, a much safer activity. Except Mom used to wonder what made that sticky mess on the floor. We never volunteered any ideas.
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| photo: pixabay.com |
Well, that's quite the list of memories for one little prompt, and believe you me, there's more surfacing. But that's for another day. Time is fleeting and laundry awaits. And hubby thinks lunch should be included.
On that note, I'm wishing you a wonderful week ahead. To all our American friends and neighbours, we wish you a very Happy Thanksgiving. And to those still dealing with fires and other disasters, we wish you loving friends to help you through this time. We remember.
Hugs,
Brenda
xox
