Bye Bye, Birdie

When my oldest son was about 7 years old, he wanted to sleep in a tent in the backyard one night. I was a little hesitant about letting him do it because we had lived in this city for only a year or two and were a little concerned about the crime here. I tried not to show my fear and told him "Okay, and I'll leave the back door unlocked in case you need to come inside in the night." That night, my husband and I helped him get settled in the tent, kissed him goodnight and went inside to get ready for bed ourselves. It was a restless night for me. At about six a.m., Brody came running into the house, stood by my bedside and whispered really loudly "I did it, Mom!" He was so so proud of himself!

Brody's Grade 1 Picture

Now Brody is moving almost across the country to Ontario travelling in a van that he has fashioned into a camper. I don't know when I will see him again. I will miss him dearly but I know this is something he needs to do. After all, he's 21 years old, working night shifts slinging burgers at Denny's...who wouldn't want something else in life?

I can't help thinking of the time when he was this little boy determined to sleep in the backyard in a tent. I worried back then about whether he'd be okay and I worry now. Motherhood isn't easy.

Below my worry, I'm excited for him. He is young, single and nothing is holding him here. I want to hug him and not let him go, but that wouldn't be fair to him. Brody is craving adventure--I see it in his eyes. He's got a friend living in the area where he'd like to go so I know he won't be totally alone. He also enjoys his own company and I know will enjoy trying and seeing new things. The girl who stole his heart is out east too. She's a lovely girl that still holds his heart although they broke up a couple of years ago. They still talk...a lot! (Maybe one day they'll let me write their story.)

The day he left, it was a windy cloudy rainy cool day....the kind of day for a funeral....you know what kind of day I'm talking about. My heart ached all day as I was thinking of Brody, alone, sleeping in his van somewhere along the TransCanada highway. I can't help wondering "Did we teach him well enough to handle whatever may happen on this trip?"

I'm confident that we did.

A Mother Can Brag, Right?

My baby girl just turned 14 years old. Fourteen I said. She's starting high school in the fall.

When she was little, we thought she was the prettiest little girl in the world.....and she still is. We even considered chaining her up at home--never letting her go anywhere---so nobody could break her heart. That is, until, she was about 5 or 6 and she said her first vulgar word--my fault---totally my fault--sorry about that.

She is a sweet heart. Raelynn is very soft-spoken and gentle. I see a lot of myself at that age in her...except for the sweetheart, soft-spoken and gentle part. I see her struggles and I wish I could take any hurting she's feeling away from her. But I can't.

She is very different than her fourteen-year-old friends. Her friends look like they're going on 18 or 20 years old whereas Raelynn actually looks younger than her 14 years. She will be asked for identification FOREVER. She's very mature for her age and is getting herself mentally ready to move out on her own one day. She can cook, bake and clean. She manages her allowance surprisingly well. She's getting phenomenal grades and has been on the honour roll in her middle school for two years now.

But look out! If she gives me a smile and challenges me to a game of ping-pong, I know some horns will start growing out of the front of her head any minute. She can get tough when it's called for.

Little things about her make me smile. It won't matter how many disagreements we have or how far away she will move from me one day, I will always see her eyes when she observes a beautiful sunrise.

I'm forever grateful that God chose me to be her mother.

...and by the way...she didn't want me to post a recent picture of her on my blog so the picture you see above is from a long time ago.

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.

What Stitchery Is This?!

A couple of weeks ago I was quite stressed about things going on in my life. I turned my rage towards my quilting. I had a pattern that I wanted to get started on but hadn't purchased the fabric for it yet but I needed something to keep my mind at ease...NOW! So I eyed my fabric scrap pile and went about cutting and sewing, piecing together fabric willy nilly with absolutely no regard for matching colors....well, that's not entirely true. I do have some standards.

I was very pleased when I got this blanket together.....it turned out kind of cute!

I know I'm being a whiney baby. When I step back and take a look at this quilt, I see my stress that I had at that time. It really wasn't so bad. There are many people out there that have much, much worse problems than I do.

I have our taxes to prepare for. I feel another quilt coming on.

A Wrinkle in Time

I love wrinkles. Really. I wish every wrinkle on my face could talk. "Hey! I was born when Brody cracked his face on a motorcycle peg at the age of three!" or "Look at me! I'm a three-pack that started out when Coleson broke his arm for the second time!"

My wrinkles would not be as interesting to talk to as some people I've come across in my life. Several years back, I worked nights at an independent living complex. I didn't have too many interactions with the seniors that lived there, but every now and then one of the residents couldn't sleep and would come sauntering into the common area in hopes of meeting up with one of us night-shift girls. I would make a pot of coffee (these people didn't care if caffeine was going to keep them awake at night because they were up anyway) and we'd have a seat in the comfy chairs and talk or just watch TV together. Once they started talking, oh the stories they would tell! There's nothing like listening to glory days of an era gone by.

I'm sure many of the stories I heard were embellished but that's fine by me.....it made the tales much more interesting!

There's also the happy wrinkles. We call them laugh lines. They are beautiful. Each of my laugh wrinkles could tell you a joke.

Unfortunately I have those nasty angry wrinkles too.....too many of them. I know I've got a permanent scowl going on. They have stories too.

The most I can do is take care of my skin by washing it every morning and every night and smearing on a good moisturizer. I wouldn't want to erase all my facial lines....maybe just soften them up a bit. I like looking in the mirror and know that I've lived and all the tears and laughter had a purpose.

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?