I Won't Always Be There....And She Was Right

I wrote a post about my mom awhile back titled "I Won't Always Be There..."about how she used to always say to young me "I won't always be there to say Rebecca, watch out". She used this every time I got hurt.

Eye rolls frequently escaped my baby blues at the time but I guess that's what happens when you don't realize what you've got until it's gone.

My mom died in February of this year.

She was right. She won't always be there and her saying that made me realize at a very tender age that I need to be independent. I can't expect somebody else to deal with my issues. I've got to take responsibility for things that happen to me.

This past summer my siblings and I got together to go through the old farmhouse. Box by box. Bag by bag. Book by book. Childhood memories came flooding over me as I found old pictures, jewelry boxes, clothes and dusty books. I wasn't surprised that she kept everything ever given to her. There were hundreds of birthday cards, mother's day cards and letters. She appreciated every single one. They were all in pristine condition too!

I used to tell mom to throw stuff away that she didn't use anymore but she insisted on keeping it...... although she was always willing to give it to somebody who'd appreciate it. Several years ago she started giving me a few things from the deepest corners of her house. She knew she wasn't going to live forever and she had this big ol' farmhouse full of stuff. I would go for a visit to Manitoba and come back home with the back of my truck filled with old china, beautiful old kitchen ware and daintily crocheted doilies. I kept what I could but she would be disappointed with me if she found out what just wasn't salvageable and had to be thrown out! Sorry Mom!

Anna Harder, originally from a small town in southern Saskatchewan, was somebody I wished I'd known better. She was a great help to her mother and spent most of her young life helping at home with household duties. At the young age of 19 she was married off.

Here's my beautiful Mom at 18 years old with her mother and her twin niece & nephew. She adored them!

Mom didn't talk about her young self very much. I don't think she was hiding anything, she just didn't say much about it. I guess it was another life to her or maybe she just didn't think anyone would be interested.

I only found a few pictures of young mom in the old photo box. In every one, she's got her lovely smile. I imagine talking to 18 year-old Anna and asking about her hopes and dreams. Surely she wasn't planning on having six babies and staying home to raise them all?...and working endless hours making meals, darning socks and doing yard work? Or maybe she did.

In all my years on this earth, I never heard Mom say "I should've stayed in school and become a _____" or "I feel like travelling somewhere". She never complained about carrying armfuls of chopped wood or buckets of coal across the big farm yard in the wee hours of a Manitoba winter.

She said "It needs to be done".

Whenever I pull up a picture of Mom in my head, I always see her smiling or at the very least, a smirk.....as if she had a private thought running through her head and wasn't about to give it up.

This is how I remember Mom. Still beautiful. 

It was a lot, I repeat, a LOT of work going through her belongings but a part of me is relieved that she didn't throw stuff out easily. Even though most of the "junk" (sorry Mom) got tossed into the dump, at least we were able to take one last look at it.

Mennonites Don't Dance......Unless it's for a Good Cause

When I was growing up in southern Manitoba, it wasn't uncommon for people to throw what we called a Social Occasion, typically shortened to a Social, to raise money for say, somebody getting married, a sports team or somebody going through hard times to help pay for medical bills. It was always quite a shin-dig. All funds raised, minus the cost of setting it up, would go straight to whomever it was being thrown for. You'd buy tickets, either ahead of time at a participating business, or at the door the night of. When you'd arrive at the party, you'd buy tickets for your drinks, socialize with whomever was there and laugh and dance the night away to the popular music-man set up on stage taking requests anything from pop, rock, country and rap.....whatever your heart desired.

There were always plenty of things going on like raffles, 50/50 draws, silent auctions, door prize draws....whomever the Social was held for, could walk away with a good chunk of change.

In our community, the information about an upcoming Social would spread like wild fire. Oh yes, us Mennonites could spread news as if it was The Last Faspa.

Of course, it's us Mennonites who aren't very good Mennonites that would attend these things. You mix booze with Mennonite up-bringing and the Good Lord only knows what could happen!

It was our Mennonite Go-Fund-Me in a way but it was way, way more fun. It was a great fundraiser and fun as heck. Anybody could throw a Social as long as one followed the rules with liquor permits and gaming laws.

Most of the Socials were held in the neighbouring town of Morden because our little town of Winkler was dry.....well, we called it dry but you could go to the local bar and have a beer. (Just beer...they didn't serve anything else but many different kinds of beer.) Morden was less Mennonite than Winkler so that was convenient for the "closet" drinkers.....you don't want to be hugging a bush on a Saturday night in the front lawn of the community hall, emptying your innards from drinking too much vodka and OJ, and suddenly Uncle Henry drives past from having borscht and fresh buns at Grandma's house! Oy vey!

Maybe they have them here in Alberta?? but I haven't heard anything. Of course I'm an "old lady" now and not in the loop like I used to be. I have to be told by my children what's hot and what's not.

The Wander Years, Part Drei

In my junior high years I got slightly lazy in the summers. There were no sports going on to keep me busy and in shape so in turn, I got pimples and gained weight. I wasn't playing Barbies and tag anymore. I had outgrown my beloved banana seat bicycle.  Although my friends got shipped off to bible camps for a week or two, I did not. Heaven forbid my father pay for such nonsense.

There weren't any more animals on our little farm yard except for our old dog Tony. More of my siblings had moved out and on their own. I was the one relied on to mow the two acres of thick lawn every week while my mom took the push mower around her flower beds, large trees and outbuildings. I had time to think.

I can't remember exactly when, but one of my friends' family acquired an Atari gaming system. What fun that was! Keeping the little ball from touching the side of the TV screen......slowly bouncing back and forth.....wow! Pacman and Donkey Kong turned into all the rage about that time too. My brother got in on the excitement and purchased an Intellivision system which I absolutely enjoyed because I could play baseball on it for hours while he was at work all day.

I can put money on the fact that my brother still has this thing

The flared jeans were going out of style and were replaced with crotch-wrenching acid-washed jeans and the uncomfortable jelly sandals were the footgear of the year. The '80's were fun and colorful, I'll admit that, but the clothing was quite awkward to me, even at that time. I probably hung onto my flared jeans a little too long. To me, the early teenage years were all about how to acquire somewhat fashionable clothing without having a job. Begging. Yes, begging my mother would just have to do until I could find a place to work and make some money. Hair crimpers and leg-warmers weren't a dime a dozen, you know!

Ha!

Eventually, I found sweatshirts/t-shirts and old jeans were the most comfortable and affordable attire. I should have stuck to that plan right from the start....it really is cheaper and much less stressful.

Boys were really looking interesting to me at this time. But not the boys that I grew up with.....that would be like finding my brother attractive....yuck. I should have tucked those feelings away until I was older anyway because when I tried dating boys at that time, the distance between Winkler and Schanzenfeld proved to be the biggest problem. How was I going to make a relationship bloom from 3 miles away?

Time was ticking and soon Garden Valley Collegiate in Winkler was on the horizon. High school is where many of us that grew up together, grew apart. It was inevitable. Different friends, different interests and busier lives pulled us in opposite directions.

I was already missing my carefree younger years but realizing that I'd have to put on my big-girl panties soon. I couldn't lay around playing video games forever. My parents were already reminding me that I'd have to think about working part-time so I could save up for a vehicle in the next few years. I didn't really know how to go about this at first....I lived out in the country so I'd need a vehicle to get to my job but I needed a job to afford my vehicle. Eventually it all worked out.

This was the time in my life that I really, really, really, would like to do over. I look for this period in my own children because this can be a very "lost" time. I honestly wished that I would have had more guidance.

Me in Grade 8

My second son, whom I may need to punish, tells me that I look a like an alien in this picture. I may have to pull out his baby pictures.

I really do miss those young Rebecca years but we all know that nobody can stay there. I would be a 47 year old lady with teased hair and spider bangs wearing platform shoes. That would be a hoot to see, wouldn't it?!

More of The Wander Years

I started school at the Schanzenfeld Elementary School at the age of 6. I originally started school at the age of 5 but I was a scared little mouse and painfully shy so Mom kept me home for another year. Those of you who know me are thinking "What? You were shy?" I know, I know....it's still an anxiety thing but I've learned to work through it. I picture everyone naked just so you know. *Wink*

My friends and I had plenty of things to do in our neighbourhood. On beautiful summer evenings we could knock on doors and find enough kids to play a good game of hide-and-seek. One friend had an indoor pool, another friend had a trampoline and one family owned horses. Unfortunately I couldn't swim and was scared of the horses but there was always something to do whether it be riding our bikes or exploring somebody's big backyard looking for a place to build a treehouse. (Everybody had a big back yard....it was great!) Many a dog-day summer afternoon, somebody's mom would invite us in for homemade cookies and fresh cow's milk and maybe we'd watch a little TV..... if there was anything good on the boob tube on one of the three channels that were available. We'd rather find something else to do because watching TV was usually done out of desperation and wasn't a favorite activity except on Saturday mornings.

Sometimes I would still wander about our ten-acre piece of land. I'd sit or lay by the stream that meandered through the property, chew on a piece of grass and watch birds, snakes, frogs, the sky or the clear trickling water.

Many of the neighbourhood kids had small motorcycles or three-wheelers to drive around and around the village. All I got was an old moped that needed the battery charged every 30 seconds so I dared not leave the yard with it. When I begged my dad for a motorcycle, he just looked at me over his glasses and shook his head. He knew I was becoming materialistic and he wasn't happy about it. Looking back, I am ashamed how I talked to my parents when I wanted what the neighbourhood kids had.
One day I was outside and watched two boys on a three-wheeler jump a driveway. The machine tipped over and one boy screamed bloody murder...he had broken his arm. Ummmm.....okay, I thought to myself, maybe I don't want one of those after all.

I had to settle for my new banana seat bicycle. I loved her. I don't have a picture of it but it was similar to the one shown here except for it was orange. Bright, metallic orange. No '70's childhood was complete without a bike like this. It was my only mode of transportation around Schanzenfeld.

It was technically my sister's bike. Now I'm not clear on the story here, but she wasn't living at home anymore and she definitely wasn't riding bikes--she was 17 years older than me and had her driver's license and her own car for several years--so I declared the bike mine and I drove this bad girl until it was too small for me. Or maybe it wasn't cool anymore, can't remember. Did I say that I loved this bike?

I had other bicycles after this one but this is the most memorable. Today, if the chain fell off my bike or my flared pant leg got caught in it as many times as it did back then, I would throw it in the junk pile. But I was totally in love. To add to the affair, my mom or dad bought me the tassels for the ape-hanger handlebars and the plastic thingies for the spokes. It was beautiful! When the neighbor's bull got loose or our pen of pigs escaped, this muscle bike never let me down AND I looked good riding it.

Things have clearly changed in Schanzenfeld since my wanderlust days. There's two schools in Schanzenfeld now, an elementary and a middle school. From when I was in grade one to grade four, we were packed into three huts until the brand new elementary was built. (The one-room school house previous to the huts had burnt down.) 

Now streets have names and houses have numbers. There's even sidewalks lining the neighbourhood. But I still smile when I drive through Schanzenfeld because nobody can change or take away my memories. 

I wonder if the young children living in that community now are having as much fun as we did?

The Wander Years

I grew up in the southern part of Manitoba in the village of Schanzenfeld. (shon-zen-felt for those who are wondering how to pronounce that nasty German-type word.)

My parents had purchased about 10 acres of land in the late '60's, mostly pasture land, and it was prime wandering-around-looking-for-frogs-and-snakes territory. The house on the property was built in the early 1900's and was originally an old grainery, I am told, but the old place did it's purpose in keeping a roof over our heads. Mom and Dad made it a place for our family to call home.

I was very young, maybe four years old, when my mom would allow to me explore the yard on my own. I'd be out there for hours.

Tony was a few months older than me and he died when we were 14 years old.

My dog Tony, a surviving mutt from a litter of pups whose mother had been quite promiscuous in our neighbourhood, would follow me everywhere. Fortunately Tony was very loyal and extremely protective because, thanks to him, I never wandered onto the road or fell into a well. I shudder when I think about what was on the property at that time. I could have been on the six o'clock news......many times! I've never asked her, but I will assume my mother checked on me as I was roaming about.....although I wondered about those days when I'd come in the house after exploring the yard and she'd be having a nap. Hmmmm. Whatever. I survived.

I had several pets over the years. My favorites, besides my dog Tony, were a couple of cats by the name of Charlie and one by the name of Cookie. (I didn't have them at the same time.) Both of these cats grew well into old age. But, alas, one day Charlie just never came home, presumably hit by a car, and Cookie met her demise by the barrel of a gun. Cookie was a very irresponsible feline and was "in the family way" too many times to count so my dad told me one day that she had to go. Any animal on the yard that was more trouble than it was worth just had to go and that's just the way it was. No questions.

Cookie

Charlie

I had rabbits and several other cats throughout the years as pets but our family also had chickens, ducks, pigs and slightly further back than I can remember we apparently also had a turkey. The latter animals weren't considered pets. They were food and so I was informed to not give them names.

Later in the summer, any time I felt peckish, all I had to do was wander out into the yard and find something to munch on. No, not animals but something much better. We had raspberries, gooseberries (which were the most sour berries I've ever tasted in my life), strawberries, plums, choke cherries and many different kinds of apples. What I wouldn't do to have that luxury now! Mom always planted a large vegetable garden too so I could pick as many fresh peas and carrots that I could fit into a scooped shirt and lay under a shady tree and enjoy my harvest.

I made plenty of friends while growing up in Schanzenfeld. I had no choice. That's just the way it was. I probably had more friends in the little community of a few hundred people than my kids have in a city of almost 100,000. It was a different time and I'm happy to have been a part of that era.

I'm pretty certain that when my kids hear my stories about the good ol' days, they would like to roll their eyes or at the very least, give a big sigh. I know I would. They're polite enough not to. I tell my offspring that it really was a time when we had lots of freedom and yes, moms would just yell out the door and from out of nowhere, their children came running to the house. I often wasn't even questioned about what I'd been up to when I'd come swinging through the door, but if I had been doing something naughty, my mom knew. I think my children believe my stories but it's hard to tell. Hearing myself talk about my young life sounds like fiction to me now.

Schanzenfeld is now a suburb of the city of Winkler. The area is filling up with new houses, built close together with little character.

Oh, what a life I led! *Sigh* Then I grew up and life got stressful. Oh well, all good things must come to an end I suppose. When I was a little bambino, I used to tell myself "I can't wait until I grow up!"

What was I thinking? I had it all!

For all of you camera fanatics, my photos were shot with
the Kodak Instamatic 126 (or something like that??) similar to the one shown above.
Note the optional cube flash bulb for enjoyable indoor photography.
And to think, it would only take about a week (or two) until your photos were
processed at the local pharmacy!