I Was Richer Than I Thought

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As sad as it is, death is a part of life, and the larger the family one comes from, the more loss we will experience over time. I’ve lost so many of my family over the past years, one after the other it seems, including my grandparents, parents, most of my aunts, uncles, cousins and even several friends. I have lost people young and old. Each death was different, whether from an accident or sickness or old age. I think back to Cousin Charles, who was murdered in an alley off Young Street in Toronto. I often wonder if he passed away quickly or did he lay there in the alley suffering to the very end. Even though one’s passing is inevitable, it still hurts even to this day. Though they are no longer on this earth, their memories will live on in my heart forever.

I’m sitting here thinking of so many now long gone. As I recall each of their names, there’s always something about them that comes to my mind. Take Ella B. for instance, who watched in horror as her husband, only seconds before turning into their driveway, was hit by a drunk driver and died at the scene. A few months passed, but before the snow fell that year, she sold their home and moved in with her mother, who lived about 30 miles away in Parrsboro. Ella’s dear old mother was hard of hearing and used what was called an ear trumpet, which was a funnel-shaped device that collected sound waves and channelled them into her ear, so she could hear. I always enjoyed visits to their home as Ella always had cookies in her cookie jar. Her soft molasses ginger cookies were so, so good, and in fact twice the size of the cookies Mother made, and much thicker too.

My thoughts now switch over to Marion M and her husband, who raised tiny show dogs that always won ribbons and trophies at every showing. They treated these dogs as if they were their children, and they lacked nothing. They had built an addition onto their house, turning it into spotless kennels for the dogs. What surprised me the most was that the little dogs hardly ever barked. They did, however, love to be petted, and I remember sitting in her easy chair, and she’d hand me one of the little dogs to pet and cuddle. As a four-year-old, I really looked forward to those times, as the dog we had back home was large and not permitted in the house. Marion and her husband had a cottage out at Heather’s Beach on the Northumberland shore, about a half-hour drive from their home in Amherst. Occasionally we would visit them at their cottage and play in the sand, building forts and sandcastles, when we weren’t splashing in the water. Marion, who had a heart of gold, spent most of her time on the porch of the cottage, sipping from a small flask that she kept in her dress pocket. She called it her medicine, and I often thought her medicine must have been some strong, as the more she had, the louder she talked, and oh the stories she told. Man, oh man, could that woman ever talk up a storm.

Speaking of talking up a storm, brings back memories of our visits to Will and Susie’s. To me at the time, they seemed ancient, but I suppose they were only in their 60s. One fall when we visited their home, my brother and I were wearing the Mary Maxim sweaters Mother had knitted for us with horses on them. Susie was short and plump. At one point she jumped up from her conversation with Mother, left the living room and returned with a newly purchased bottle of Evening in Paris perfume, which had a strong and distinct scent. Before we realized what she was doing, she had plastered both of our sweaters that we’d left lying at the end of the sofa with the perfume. Having accomplished that strange act, she went to the kitchen to make a pot of tea for Mother and Dad.

There was a wood cookstove in the kitchen. Susie added some kindling and a stick of firewood to the smouldering coals on the grate, then returned to the living room while waiting for the wood to burn and get hot enough so she could heat the teapot. Now, Will was quite a talker, and he delighted in sharing stories of his past, which interested Dad, or so it appeared. Will chewed tobacco, which came in small squares called plugs. Will would use his jack knife to cut off a piece from the plug and start chewing. Of course, the more he talked, the more he chewed, and the more saliva that built up in his mouth. He’d get up and walk over to the stove, lift the hot lid with the lifter handle, and spit into the fire, put the lid back in place and return to his chair, to resume his story. It wouldn’t be long before Susie would return to the stove, only to find that the fire was almost out. Father kept Will talking and chewing for the rest of the visit. One minute the fire would start to blaze up, and the next minute it was almost out. Mother and Dad never got that pot of tea on that visit, and the sickening smell clung to our sweaters for several weeks, even after Mother hung them on the clothesline to air out.

These are only three examples of my unforgettable visits that have stayed with me all these many years. I have many other unforgettable memories, like the time when Alice’s pressure cooker exploded, driving the lid into the ceiling and plastering supper all over the kitchen wall, her cupboards, and the window curtains over the sink. Then there was the time Marie wanted a floor design no one else would have, so she dipped her dog’s front paws into red paint, and his back paws into black paint, then set him loose to walk wherever he wanted over the kitchen floor. I could go on, but there are just too many memories to include here in this story. Having known these folks who are now deceased, I was richer than I thought. Not in material wealth, but a more meaningful wealth of memories. They are gone but not forgotten.

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