childhood, Uncategorized

Hanging on to stuff

I remember dad got me these really cool sunglasses after I burnt my eyes. They were completely red matching my red high top sneakers that I wore till they were in shreds. The frames had red leather blinders so no light could get in from the sides. My eyes were safe and wouldn’t burn again. I didn’t know a person could burn their eyes. Yet I burnt mine on a hiking excursion. The glare off of the white snow crust, the bright reflection off of the glaciers. That glare is evil. I suffered from a painful blinding ache for days. Trust me, that isn’t something you ever want to experience.

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Later I lost them. Put them somewhere safe or left them somewhere and they were gone. I felt horrible. Sick to my stomach horrible that I lost them. I knew they were expensive, important. Dad’s old school reaction didn’t help my gut ache. That I should be more responsible, careful with my things. That they were expensive. Didn’t he think I knew that? Every time that my parents were in the bathroom together with the tap on I knew they were fighting. Fighting about money. I hadn’t meant to lose them. I loved them. They were red. They matched my shoes. They were gone.

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We keep things in case we need them, as mementos, for that one time we might need it. As a tangible piece after losing someone. Keepsakes, memories, things. I’m like that with photos. Thousands of photo’s to jog my memory of the wonderful adventures I’ve had.

Our stuff our collections of mementos don’t mean anything to others. We cart it around and display it. When we are gone it goes too. It’s just stuff. Even our photo’s don’t mean as much to others.

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Hanging on to things. Hanging on to the past. Feeling guilty when losing things. Becoming a hoarder when you feel you have no control over your life or income. When life becomes so scary so hard that all there is, is stuff. The connection between emotional tumult and things becomes blurred. It doesn’t have to be that way but for many it is.

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On a side note. I keep feeling shocked over how much stuff, junk actually is created. Every dollar store, Wal-Mart, knock-off brand, a cheap version that ends up in the landfill. Let’s face it, two minutes after using cheap replicas they break assuming they worked in the first place! The constant redecorating, redoing, replacing of things that aren’t even broken is such a common occurrence nowadays. That gives me a tummy ache for entirely different reasons than the one I had over losing my sunglasses.

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memories, Uncategorized

My heart grew

I have noticed that I think back to my children being young often. Missing their sweet chubby young years. When I was pregnant with my first I was terrified. I hadn’t even planned to have a baby and then all of a sudden I had to make a family for the kids and try not to lose the baby. I was raised to play housewife and mother so I knew how to do that. I just didn’t know how to do that in the world. It might not sound like a big difference but it is. Especially at twenty-two without any solid groundwork laid. I was afraid I wouldn’t know how to love my unborn child. I was so afraid I didn’t dare speak my fear aloud. I am terribly superstitious about putting my fears into words. I had built such a great wall around myself. I had jeered at lovers and newlyweds. I avoided close friends and families. I laughed at the girls thinking they were in love. Ran rowdy with the boys that were no good laughing at their women who sat at home believing their men to be honest and faithful. I kept my walls high and believed that was how I wanted my life to be.

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Then I held my daughter in my arms. Her skin so soft. Her fragile little body, all 5 lbs of it. Trusting me to care for her and protect her from all that might come at her. I would sit for hours holding her while she slept. Tears would sneak down my cheeks from the deep love as my heart hurt from the depth of it.  I knew that in a blink of the eye she would be grown and gone. I wanted to treasure each moment. Love each stage my children went through not worrying over the terrible two’s or waiting for the pre-school age. I vowed to love every stage they went through growing up.

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As I try to bring forward my childhood, my past to lay out as chapters in a book I find my mind wanders. It grasps onto peak moments without easily grasping the hidden pieces.

That moment when all-encompassing love touched my heart and it grew. I treasure that moment. It is a memory easy to think of when faced with troublesome writing. I was willing to have feelings for who could help but love these beautiful little beings.

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memories, Uncategorized

What do you put in your stocking?

It’s that time of year again. Shopping, baking, planning, rushing, visiting, creating. Something different to each of us. I am finally becoming at peace with this time of year. Depression doesn’t rear it’s ugly head as badly. In fact, I might even be looking forward to it a little. Since becoming a mother I was the first one up. Waking the kids in my excitement to see them open their gifts. To spend the day making a delicious meal. To visit with my siblings.

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When I was little we had different ways to celebrate over the years. We camped in a teepee in the forest. We used a long spider plant for a tree. We had a real tree decorated with strings of popcorn and yarn. We again camped in a teepee in the forest. ( see photos from the last Christmas campout )We even spent it in a hotel while we shopped for our years’ supply of clothing from a Thrift store. Knives, Pear soap, and wool socks were sure gifts we knew were coming. Nothing extravagant. No cookies for Santa as he was make-believe since I was born.

One year we had stockings. Dad had a stocking bigger than I was. Since he joked about everyone getting coal it was decided he deserved coal for being greedy with a stocking big enough for a  person. A dozen boxes were wrapped and placed inside one another until the last little box which contained a nice lump of coal. That was a fun Christmas morning.

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After fourteen I don’t really recall Christmas. Not that I recall previous ones. I think I went home to mother for a couple, another with a family who took me in, a few I was alone. The ever-present underlying depression and discomfort of the season as I didn’t really belong to anyone. I hope I have managed to hide that from my children giving them a warm sense of family, of love. Time spent together. Time to think of, to help others if we can.

I don’t recall stockings. I think an orange, a giant stick of a candy cane, was stuffed in a sock. I can’t really be sure. Even that is a glimmer of a thought, not a memory. I have no one to ask if it’s true. If we even had stockings.

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So now I prepare for the season. The house all colorful and bright. A welcoming holiday feeling inside and out. The tree, tall and erect minus the usual side lilt is topped with an angel. Santa hits the roof so he has been demoted to a table ornament. To tell the truth when I bought the Santa’s and Angel all I had no idea they were to be on top of a tree. I didn’t know that hollow dunce cap shaped ornaments meant tree toppers.  I have a few to choose from thanks to that information being unknown. Just like how I didn’t know the plastic is to come off the lampshade once you bring it home! There are decorations on each available space. The jolly singing and dancing stuffies that made my children laugh. Now my grandson laughs and pushes their buttons. The cupboards and freezer stuffed with food.

 

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My little elf setting up the tree

 

I think I may finally have figured the stocking stuffing out. It has haunted me for many a season. Specialty soap, deodorant, girlie face stuff or hair things, magazine or book, chocolate and or candy. Then I heard a brilliant way to stuff them. With nuts that need cracking, oranges, chocolates, and a penny novel. You are set to nibble and snack with a book while waiting for dinner or bedtime. Maybe next year the stockings will be full of nuts!

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What do you put in your stockings? Does your family have a favorite tradition?

 

 

Uncategorized

Still a controversial​ subject

When I was little I was given my immunizations. Well, at least the infant ones. My siblings eight-ten years later, however, did not get theirs. I remember when my brother and sister came to live with me that was one of the things I had done. There was a lot of changes for them. We were orphans. They chose to live with me, their big sister who was big as a houseboat with her first pregnancy. Yes me I was giant. Actually, I just felt like I was giant even at eight months I looked maybe six or seven months along when I was actually nine months.

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I  knew that my parents had joined into the belief that we didn’t need all our immunizations. Maybe it was due to the scare tactics some use blaming unfortunate gene pool or DNA problems that cause defects physical or mental. Or maybe they just didn’t believe in the need for being immunized. Maybe because we rarely went into the general population. Maybe because the belief is that you trust in God and what happens is his will.  Whatever the reason they didn’t get them and I had an unbiased fear of having my children be immunized. Really it made no sense. Our family had witnessed first hand what some of these illnesses can do. My uncle had mumps as a child and due to that terrible fever, he was sterile never able to have children.

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I got my siblings immunized and enrolled in school. I immunized my children but missed a couple because I bought into the fear. I had read the article how during the 70’s many Europeans decided against immunization and as a result, a terrible Polio outbreak occurred. I still let my fear stand in the way without ever actually researching anything. Social media would on occasion have field days spouting fear and scare tactic information without ever having legitimate documentation.

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Recently there was an outbreak in our community and neighboring towns of Meningitis. I was unsure if I should have my children vaccinated.  A couple of youth died as a result and more were hospitalized. Clinics were held to immunize those that needed it. I didn’t want my children to get sick and die. They had been in contact with those that had been exposed, most likely to the one that passed away. So I finally did research. I went onto the gov’t website for information. I googled and read other articles. Noticed the difference between the ones that talked without real links or information to back up their claims opposed to the ones that did.

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I chose to immunize my children. I was grateful that I had that choice. I know some countries are opposed. Their religion opposes it. The funding isn’t there. The education isn’t there. I am grateful to live where I have the choice. Where I can learn and make the decision. I can only imagine how Immigrants feel when they come to Canada and have the choice. So they don’t have to see their children suffer from Polio, potential die from Meningitis, become sterile or deformed from other diseases easily avoided by a couple immunizations. I am grateful like many Canadians to have the choice and the information to help make that choice.

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