Last Post's Childhood Memories

Last year, my blog posts all had two features in common. At the end of each post, I included a section called "This Post's Quotable" and one named "This Post's Childhood Memory." My most recent blog post, the only one I have done so far this year, did not include those features. That was on purpose - I don't plan to add them to the posts I do in 2020. They were fun and good in serving their purpose while they were here, but now they are there, and there they will remain - lounging or romping about, as the case may be, in back issues.

In farewell to those features, this post will be a small collection of childhood memories, some from me and a few from some of my sibs, as well as from an author I discovered recently.

~ Me: I remember wearing plastic bread bags on my stockinged (or tightsed, or snowpantsed) feet inside my winter boots, to help keep my feet dry while I played or worked outside in deep snow. I'd turn the bags inside-out so I wouldn't get bread crumbs on my socks. The bags helped provide a waterproof barrier against melting snow inside my boots, at least until the bags got holes in them...

~ Troy: I remember learning some reading skills before school at the urging of you and Anni, perhaps you more than her. My memory is of struggling with the short e sound and getting it confused with the short a sound.  I think you were patient. (Thanks for that strong vote of confidence, there, Bro.)

~ Faye: During the time leading up to one of my childhood birthdays, I told Mom that I wasn’t going to sit on her lap anymore whenever I turned whatever age it was (seven I believe), thinking I was too old/big.  When the birthday arrived, I received a book as a present.  Mom told me she’d read this book to me if I sat on her lap.  I didn’t remember my earlier declaration and agreed to the deal.  Mom did remember however, and enjoyed the fun of luring me onto her lap in spite of me trying to grow up. And now I enjoy the memory of the love and humor. 

~ Me: Many times, in reading Full Moon, Half a Heart (one of the children's books I mentioned in my previous blog post), I was transported right back to my childhood days because of the author's superb description of life in Wisconsin. One of those times was when the main character in the book was introduced to the dairy barn. When I read that part, I recalled with startling clarity all the sights, sounds, and smells of "going to the barn" when I was at my school friends Monica and Michele's place or staying with my cousins on the Kauffman side. I'm going to steal author Vila Gingerich's words here, because I can't think of a better way to describe my childhood memories of that scene:
"We stood in a sort of entry, the walls made of whitewashed concrete...a room bedecked with cobwebs and dust. In it stood a wheelbarrow, loaded with what looked like dark green sawdust...more sounds came from ahead, where a doorway wide enough to drive a small car through led into the main part of the barn. A rhythmic sucking sound echoed through the building. Scooping and banging rang out now and then. Beneath it all ran strangely muffled noises, as though a giant animal shuffled its feet and munched on lettuce...rows of cows filled the barn. Shiny pipes ran above their heads, and milking machines chuff-chuffed a rhythm...cows munched hay, their jaws moving steadily, feet shifting and stomping away flies..."

~ Annette (aka Anni): Mom occasionally purchased Chef Boy-ar-dee pizza kits, likely when they were sale items at Co-op or Simmon’s grocery store. It was great fun to help her make pizza out of a box for supper. We dumped the bag of dough mix into a stainless steel mixing bowl, added water, and stirred till the wad of pizza dough chased the fork in circles. After the dough was patted and coaxed out to the corners of a cookie sheet, we opened the small green tin can of tomato sauce with a manual can-opener—carefully!—and spread an ultra-thin layer of sauce on the dough. Next we snipped open the tiny packet of herbs, smelling predominantly of oregano, to sprinkle over the sauce. Mom had a skillet of fried hamburger waiting on the stove, perfect for snitching a mouthful of salty oniony goodness before scattering the meat chunks over the pizza. The last little packet contained parmesan cheese to sparsely coat the meat layer, and finally the pizza was ready to slide into the oven to bake just in time for a special supper.

~ Me: This past weekend, we visited Kayleen and Carlin in their home in Guys Mills, PA. One of the many fun things we did with them was to hike through a snowy forest in the Erie Wildlife Refuge. When I saw a "crop" of tiny little evergreens poking through the melty snow ground cover, I was immediately taken back to the woods at the Peninsula Rd White House where we lived for much of my growing up years. The woods had many fascinating features, such as the Princess Pines that popped up their petite selves in pretty patches on the forest floor.  

Perhaps reading these memories has stirred up some childhood memories of your own. Feel free to add them to this collection by including them in the comments section.

Ode to Siblings

                                                                                (Photo Credit: Danae Schrock)

Wednesday of this week, apparently, at least in some places, was a day in which to celebrate. The cause for celebration? Those brethren and sistren we’ve accumulated over the years. National Siblings Day, they call it, the “they” being not your sibs, but whoever the persons are that think up these Days and keep them going for annual celebration.

My siblings – all seven of them – are celebrate-able way more often than yearly, but it is good for me to ponder the superior lot in particular on Their Day. Hence, the grouping of some of my thoughts into rhyme and perhaps some reason:

The first of these scribblings

Goes to closest of siblings

Because she’s my twin.

From sharer of crib

To life-machine’s gib

My ally she has always been.

In my prose there comes dribbling

The bros aspect of sibling –

Five make quite a din.

And then I might ad lib

To speak of last sis-sib;

My circle of friendship she’s in.

When it comes to loud quibblings

On the matter of siblings

I’ll not join in.

Without trace of a fib

Or a fraction of glib

I’ll say mine are finest of kin.

So, if we’re feasting or nibbling,

Agreeing or squibbling,

Let the voting begin.

‘Cause I’ve got first dibs

On the Very Best Sibs.

Whatever you say, I win.

I didn’t always feel this way about my siblings. I used to get annoyed at the messiness of my brothers, and I was sure that Mom & Dad weren’t as strict with the boys in our family as they were with the girls. When my twin and I, as the eldest of the sibs, were put in charge of our bros when our parents went away for an evening, we couldn’t make “the boys” behave very well; they just wouldn’t listen to our orders promptly or thoroughly. How this did grr me.

My youngest sister, while she was terribly cute and snuggable, used to try my patience with all of her questions, the bulk of which she would seem to flood me with when I was trying to concentrate on something important like school teaching preparations. I sometimes wondered how long it would take for the 16-year age span between us to not seem like a whole generation. (It didn't take long at all!)

How, then, did we get to be this sib-bunch who respects one another, who acts goofy with each other as well as has serious talks together, who really and truly enjoys spending time with each other? Well, for one thing, we grew up. For another, we are intentional about keeping up to date with each other’s lives. We three sisters moved far from home (help, does this say anything about making it easier to get along??), but we stay in touch as a family, mainly through conversation in our TribeofDan group on WhatsApp, in person at family reunions held every two years, and in various other get-togethers/visits with family in between. Our in-laws bringing their uniqueness and strengths to the family circle has brought a wonderful dimension to our siblinghood, too.  

I also attribute our closeness as siblings to our parents’ influence in this area. Growing up, we weren’t allowed to speak disrespectfully to each other. Mom would tell us children, after some squabble we’d just come through, that there will come a time when we’ll be so happy to see each other that we’ll cry. “Yeah right, Mom,” I’d think. “Isn’t that going just a bit too far?”

Another factor contributing to our closeness is how we have learned to work together. Who knew that all those long-ago times of cutting firewood for the winter, making noodles, gardening, doing chores on our hobby farm, mowing the lawn, raking leaves, and making maple syrup were forging lasting familial bonds between us sibs?

I also think that experiencing hardships together has added to our closeness. Together we weathered the loss of our mom, as well as banded together in welcoming a new mom and two more siblings. Grief in the loss of a parent was something we had in common. Both family “fragments” committed to doing their part in making a blended family work, and this has helped to form a strong bond among us.

If humor is the oil that eases the friction in sibling gears, I’d say some of my brothers are plenty “oily”. They’ve teased me and my sisters pretty much ever since they learned how. (Well, I guess they good-naturedly poke fun at each other, too.) I’ve learned that, rather than trying to defend myself, it works best if I join in the fun and laugh at myself along with them.

I’m looking forward to being with my siblings at the next family gathering, even though I will probably be referred to as the bossy older sister at some point in the reminiscing. “Remember that one night when Mom and Dad were gone and we messed up the living room?” a brother will ask. “Yeah,” another bro will add, “There was Danette, barking out the cleaning-up orders.” I will smile, and agree with them. And secretly be glad that by the next reunion they’ll have forgotten, and my twin will be referred to as the bossy one!

                                                                               (Photo Credit: Danae Schrock)

This Post’s Quotable:

Recently, a friend of mine was telling me about the less than ideal circumstances in her life right now, and how she wishes not to complain about them. I like how she summed it up: “I want to be a Barnabas, not a barnacle.”

This Post’s Childhood Memory:

I remember how exciting it was to have Dad come home from a week of meetings he’d had in a far-away church. Sometimes he brought gifts for each of us children. One time on the way home from the airport where we’d gone to pick up Dad, I sat in the back seat of the car behind Dad and listened to him telling Mom about the gift he’d brought for my younger brother Todd, who wasn’t in school yet. Dad spelled out the word so he wouldn’t spoil the secret for Todd. I heard him say the letters of a long word, and in my head I read the word t-e-s-t-a-m-e-n-t. Suddenly, I knew what Todd would be getting when we got home – a little Bible! I was so thrilled that I could figure it out. I still remember hugging that secret to myself with great delight.

P.S. I’d like to also give a shout out to two other sibling groups I consider very important in my life – my husband’s sibs...

(I couldn't find a recent pic of my in-laws; this one was taken a number of years ago, thanks to Sarah Jantzi)

...and the siblings in our very own household:

Belated Happy National Siblings Day to these great bunches, too!

What do you like best about your siblings?