Baby Daze

When I see my granddaughters raising their little ones, I often hark back to my days as a young mother.

First of all if one was not able to nurse (I couldn't), there was the time-consuming preparation of formula (we used milk and added 'stuff' to it).  Then the glass bottles had to be sterilized - that brings to mind the image of my husband heating a needle over a flame, puncturing a hole in the rubber nipple, then testing the warmth of the milk on his arm.  Once the formula was consumed all the bottles had to be washed (by hand) and the whole process repeated.

We mothers used cloth diapers and plastic covers or knitted 'soakers' (an appropriate name, and the only thing I could ever knit).  We had diaper pails in which the semi-clean diapers soaked.  I had to fill my washing machine with buckets of water and then empty it by turning a little tap at the bottom of the tub to allow it to drain into the bucket, then rinsed the diapers by the same method.  My daughter often sat at my feet during this process, and stirred the dirty water with her hands.

My machine thankfully had a wringer, many did not.  The whole process was followed by a trip outside to the clothesline, in all kinds of weather.

It seemed to take most of the day just to complete feeding and washing.

Mothers invariably placed the baby buggy on the front porch so baby could breathe in fresh air for the requisite four hours (prescribed by the famous baby doctor Dr. Benjamin Spock - not to be confused with Mr. Spock of Star Trek). I know I was forever checking to ensure some neighbourhood cat had not joined my precious bundle for a nap in the buggy.

In those days some mothers were naive enough to park their prams outside a store while shopping.  I was not one of them.  Nowadays, babies are often carried about nestled safely in snugglies close to their parents.  How very wise to create that early bonding.

The other thing that interests me is the drastic change in baby clothing.  Our babies wore warm little undershirts and long nighties, split open down the back for easy access to diapers.  These days, undershirts are discarded in favor of little t-shirts, bare arms, tiny blue jeans and even smaller running shoes.  

I well recall our son Mark being swathed and swaddled in a blanket secured by a giant safety pin (like the ones used on kilts).  The poor kid couldn't move even if he wanted to.  Here is a photo of him at one and a half months, still looking mummified.

I didn't know any better, and Dr. Spock said 'keep the baby secure'.  I took my instructions seriously.

I did note that Kate and William's Prince George was well swaddled when he left the hospital - that makes me feel better.

My granddaughters seem to be able to create time for extra-curricular activities with their babies - which I think is wonderful.  I recently read an article about a young mother of three who just happens to be a practicing dentist.  One of their family activities is geocaching - I had to ask my daughter what the heck that meant.  In our day we would have called it treasure hunting but I sure didn't have time for anything like that when my two were little.  My idea of a treasure would have been just a few minutes for myself.

The good old days were okay - but they sure could have been a lot better.

Doctors Without Borders...or Ode to a Cell Phone

Doctors Without Borders or Ode to a Cell Phone?

About a year and a half ago, my fasciitis (heel-injury ouch) was acting up after months of my own doctoring.   I turned to the Yellow Pages of my outdated phone book and chose a podiatrist whose ad included explicit directions for locating his office. I snipped the directions from the page, and booked an appointment with a receptionist who naturally assumed I was referring to the ‘new’ phone book when I said I had found their ad in the Yellow Pages. Amazingly, they were able to see me at 2 p.m. that very day. ‘Oh boy’ I thought ‘finally I’ll get some professional help.’

My dear husband obligingly drove me , however we soon found ourselves in unfamiliar territory and shot past the turn we should have taken.  It was a stormy day and we lost time due to the poor driving conditions. Now we were running late.  We made a lengthy detour around the next block, only to realize there was absolutely nowhere to park. I left the safety and warmth of the car to hoof it to the podiatrist while my husband searched for somewhere to park. 

The rain and wind lashed me as I hobbled toward my destination, directions clutched in my hand.  Finally I reached the advertised location and was greeted by an empty storefront.  The podiatrist had relocated!

I stumbled into the doorway of the next business.  There I was greeted by a masked figure,  raising its head from the hand of a customer. Startled, I took a moment to realize I was in a salon. The manicurist mumbled something unintelligible in response to my question about the podiatrist and gestured in the general direction of several blocks north.

Again I hobbled out into the weather but quickly ducked into a fast food outlet to escape the storm, and asked if I might use their phone?  A burly chef kindly dialed the number I provided and in a moment I spoke with the receptionist, who apologized profusely for any confusion about their new location and gave me the new address.

Meanwhile, one of the fast-food customers took an interest in my plight.  He was unshaven but seemed to be a diamond in the rough as he commented to me ‘That address is a couple of blocks from here – I’ll give ya a ride’.

It was late. I had no idea where my 91 year old husband might be.  My 87 year old foot was really bugging me, so I took a breath, faced the good Samaritan, and asked brightly ‘How do I know if I can trust you?’.  

He gave a hearty laugh and said ‘Now lady, THAT is a silly question if I ever heard one!’

Gratefully, but  with apprehension, I clambered into his questionable vehicle – its interior matched his exterior. 

The first block I thought to myself ‘What have I done? Why didn’t I just call a taxi?’

The second block I thought ‘my son and daughter are going to kill me’’

The third block I thought ‘they won’t have to kill me, this man is probably taking me to an abandoned warehouse’

But my fears quickly fled as my driver pulled up at the front door of the podiatrist, gallantly opened the door and helped me alight from his ‘carriage’.  Mentally, I patted myself on the back – ‘boy, can I pick’em!’

The receptionist greeted me warmly, assuring me she would let my husband know I had arrived safely, if he should call to check on my whereabouts.  The podiatrist emerged from his office announcing he would gladly have retrieved me from the old location himself - now that truly would have been ‘doctors without borders’!

Eventually my harried husband arrived, having had his own adventures during which he too had depended on the kindness of strangers with phones.

Maybe it IS time to break down and get one of those cell phones after all…

Gullies, Gables and Gutters

Hi! I'm  back.  First of all I want to thank you for you comments on my first attempt at a blog.  The reason for my delay in posting anything new is that our son Mark and daughter in law Carol were down from Prince George for a visit, and to help us with a few repairs around the house.

They parked their huge recreational trailer at Carol's sister's place and used their large diesel-powered truck for transportation.  I could hear its thundering approach for blocks (see previous post on Peace in our Time).  

They also brought their dog, an intelligent, devoted ACTIVE border collie, named Lucy.  We have a ten year old, DEAF corgi, named Miller, who loves people but does not like other dogs, especially on his territory.  A great deal of time was spent ensuring they did not encounter each other.  

We worked till we dropped each day and then stopped for a well-deserved gin and tonic.  My darling daughter in law who is an obsessive cleaner, had a great time tossing out 'old stuff' she found lurking in the bushes and weeds.  If it wasn't nailed down, it ended up in the garbage.  

Top priority job - to repair the toilet handle on our ancient toilet.  This required a little more invention than Mark had counted on, as he had to resort to using a twist-tie to anchor the chain after drilling a hole in the 'too long' lever (or something like that).

I accompanied him to the dump with five garbage cans and numerous bags of garden debris, having first perched myself on a stool to climb into the 'heavens' to sit on the front seat of the cab.  The view from up there is really something....

We thundered on to the garden nursery where we purchased six empty bags - they provide the shovel, Mark filled the bags with soil and compost.  We also bought grass seed for another 'little' project I had in mind.

Then there was cleaning the roof gullies (love those oak trees!), scrubbing the gables and scrubbing the green algae-like mold off the gutters. This required using our heavy duty extension ladder.  Good thing I was there to steady the ladder for my baby boy. 

Because deer had finally encroached upon my vegetable garden (safe from harm these past 67 years), I decided to confine the garden to the enclosed back patio.  This required creating an area into which some of the newly purchased soil was shovelled after removal of roots and assorted other hardy growth - Mark is so strong!!  I can already see rows beans, onions, and you name it.

We (that means Mark) also transformed the back seating area into a red (orange) light district with a Japanese paper lantern skillfully placed over the existing naked bulb which hangs over the back door. 

For several years the walls of the back patio have been covered with  a variety of posters depicting Italian scenes of wine and cheese and other relaxing sights which remind Ken and I of our travels.  They were covered in plastic and the damp had begun to take its toll.  Mark and Carol enthusiastically told me about the latest rage in framing - the use of old beaten-up wood.  I in my wisdom said, "oh, I did that years ago" and produced an example (I never throw anything away).  As I just happened to have a small stack of well-worn lath on hand (a story for another blog), I presented this to Mark, who exclaimed with excitement "This is just the thing!  The girls (his daughters) go to garage sales looking for wood just like this."  The plastic-covered posters were soon transformed into works of art and I must say they bring a certain extra 'warmth' to the red light district....

Oh - Terry says this post is quite long enough and we want to add pictures...and Ken just piped up that he wants to start his own blog...so...stay tuned....

Peace in Our Time

I often think back to the good old days when life was slower-paced and a good deal quieter. I recall that as a teenager, I would sleep in on a Saturday. My window wide open, I often awoke to the comforting whirr of a neighbour’s push lawn mower.  These days one is shattered awake by the explosive sound of a gas-powered lawn mower.  My goodness, even the guy operating the machine has to wear ear protection!

When our neighbour finished mowing his lawn, I heard a gentle clip clip as he carefully manicured the edges of his lawn with grass shears. Now one is treated to the aggravating whine of the whipper snipper.

When fall came, we were all quietly industrious, raking our leaves into piles to be burned, at the same time exercising our bodies. These days one’s peace is broken by the annoying high pitched squeal of the leaf blower operated once again by someone wearing ear plugs.

And don’t get me started on the repetitive high pitched pinging of the back-up warning signals of  commercial vehicles , though I’ve no doubt that annoying sound has saved the life of many a child.

I think the very worst sound is that of a dumpster being emptied. The operator seems determined to make as much noise as he possibly can. What did we do before the advent of dumpsters?

I am of the age to remember the steady clip clop of the horse-drawn bakery truck; the dependable horse seemed to know the route and often plodded on to the next stop all on his own, leaving the delivery person to catch up.

Milk was delivered in glass bottles, kept cold in our ice boxes by large blocks of ice supplied by the iceman who sawed great chunks  from a massive block in the back of his truck. Then, with the use of tongs, he hefted the huge block onto his sack-covered shoulders and carried it to the icebox on our back porch. We kids always hung around him, begging for slivers of ice to suck.

Mum bought her vegetables at the door from a ‘Chinaman’ whose small truck, packed inside with a great array of fruits and vegetables, was decorated outside by a variety of wicker baskets which he used to carry purchases to the door of the house.

I vividly remember the East Indian wood merchant calling out ‘Barky wood’ as he roved the neighborhoods in his heavy-laden truck. Dad would inspect the wood on offer, give his okay, and it was then dumped onto our driveway. Then dad and I threw armloads of wood through the open basement window, later stacking it into neat piles in our big basement.

An interesting side-note to the wood story is that when my future husband was stationed in India during World War II, he wanted his mother to know where he was; as his letters home were censored, he wrote “I am in the land of the barky wood” and of course she immediately knew where he was located.

Testing the water

"Ummmmmm"   as my great grandson says, when he is thinking....well, I've written many articles over the years for the local paper and various magazines but as I am coming up to 89 years of age, I'm branching out to a new frontier.

Slightly coerced by my daughter, I'm becoming what I'm told is a 'blogger' which sounds heavy duty to me.  So...stay tuned.