Home today with the bug.
I always feel so frustrated when I get sick. Seems like that is the time when I can review in my brain the best, most comprehensive list of things that need to be done at the homestead. And me feeling so poorly and all, I haven't the strength to get them done. And so it gnaws at me and makes me feel even worse.
When the evil bug has left me, my brain-list floats away likes leaves in a pile. I can only see the absolute essential things that need to be done and the rest of the time, my cottage calls me. I feel like I have lost precious time down there.
I can't imagine how women years ago coped with the endless drudgery of "chores". From sunup to sundown, every minute was filled with the essential things that they needed to do. My grandmother was one of those women who seemed to relish in the things that she did around her home in terms of cleaning and cooking. Maybe if I didn't have to work outside the home, I would relish it more also. (NOT)
My mother, on the other hand, was the type of woman who would slave away at her chores but did enjoy the finer things of life when she could. By "finer things" I mean she would see things that would excite and beckon her, although they were not things of luxury. No movies, pearls or fun shopping trips for her. She was content wth the simple pleasures of life. She was an avid nature lover who would run out the door when she heard the distant call of the high flying Canadian act of geese heading south, one more time. When I was a child it was an awesome act of mother nature that happened only twice a year. Geese didn't hang with gangs like they do now here in the winter like members of the "hood".
When we heard their voices in the fall announcing their exit, we knew we'd have months coming soon of cold and snow, jaunts to the woodpile, cold bed covers at night, frigid trips to the barn to make sure the animals were fed and always a trek to the creek to break the ice so they could drink water.
Cars stuck in the slush, cold seats in the church on Sunday morning and sometimes
days when there was no school because the one and only county snowblower was busy freeing up another town. Mom would say, "The grator's coming up the road, we should be able to get out soon". The "grator' was a machine owned by our town whose normal job was spreading gravel in the road but in the winter it was a necessity to help clear the roads of snow and slush. It was exciting to go stand in the front yard and watch it do it's work.
Just in my lifetime, so much has evolved. Furnaces for 99% of homes and public places, electric blankets to keep your toes warm at night and all wheel, front wheel or four wheel drive vehicles, that sometimes, still get stuck but not like the olden days. Even as a child, I knew about rocking the car forward and back, to get you out of the snow bank. Everyone carried a shovel and there were always ashes to put around the tires to help you get out. If all else failed, someone would come with a tractor to help you out. How many times have you seen a tractor pulling cars out lately? If a church has no heat on Sunday morning now, church is canceled for the Almighty would surely understand!
Yes, life is easier now but with the ease we have lost some of the fun times that only poverty and necessity can create. We did not have much money so we didn't get a lot of candy. One of the delights we experienced in the winter was watching my mom standing on the icy front porch making molasses taffy!
She would make it from scratch on the stove and then, to get it to the right consistency, where it could be cut into delicious little morsels for her children, she would stay out on the front porch to fulfill our pleasures in the frigid cold.
There she would twist and work the candy until it turned tan in color after what seemed an eternity to me. (She was the one in the cold but I was only thinking of getting that little sugar thing into my mouth!) We would press our noses to the long dining room windows and watch her twirl the long brown tendrails as if they were long thick locks of hair. She could work wonders with it. I have tried to do it as an adult, but never got the knack of it.
Perhaps because I was the youngest of seven, I may have had it easier than my sisters and brother but compared to how luxurious life is today, it seemed like hard times then, but sweeter, more loving days. Our family had fun together. My mother loved us for sure. I am sure my father did also but he died when I had just turned eight so my recollections of him are only those I can count on one hand and even then, I am short a few fingers of memories...
a poorly feelin' retch of a twit
