Feeling Nostalgic Archives - Page 7 of 7

Feeling Nostalgic — Love and Wine: Two Things That Age Well

It is often implied that mature love is what’s left over after the sizzle is gone, like it’s something we settle for after best of love has been doused by the passing of time. I beg to differ. Mature love is something to aspire to.

It is not the weathering away of something forgotten; it is the fortifying of something cherished.

Mature love is not easily attained. But that is what makes it such a treasure. It is part conscious effort and part evolution and part passage of time. It is the older couple who waltzes in effortless synchronicity across a crowded dance floor. It is in the selfless acts freely given and reciprocated. It is in the persevering presence of hand resting upon hand during times of adversity, loss and self-doubt.

This kind of love, like wine, takes time to age. There is the conscious effort of the its makers, the unpredictable factors exacted by environment and climate, and passage of time that allows for maturation.

My glass is raised to the young lovers in the photo, married on September 3, 1957 — nearly fifty seven years ago.

Thoughtful Quotes that Resonate

What greater thing is there for two human souls than to feel that they are joined for life to strengthen each other in all labor, to rest on each other in all sorrow, to minister to each other in all pain, to be one with each other in silent,unspeakable memories at the moment of the last parting. – George Eliot– pen name of Mary Evans

I love you not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you. I love you not only for what you have made of yourself, but for what you are making of me. I love you for the part of me that you bring out. – Elizabeth Barrett Browning

(Photo by Gwen Tuinman)

Please leave a comment. I’d love to hear from you.

February 11, 2014 5

Watchin’ the Ole Television Set

I recently came across a clip of Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom. My mind flooded with memories of the Sunday night bath, and snuggling up on the sofa in pajamas, waiting for Marlin Perkins to finish up so Walt Disney could begin. That was a long time ago.

Patience and the Picture Tube

My earliest memory of watching television involves my paternal grandparents and visiting their farmhouse. I remember my grandmother checking her watch and looking over at my grandfather. “Harold,” she’d say, “time to switch it on. Our show starts in fifteen minutes.” My grandfather would lay down whatever he was doing, cross the room and turn on the set.

My grandparents took no notice of the speck of light that developed in the middle of the screen, but I was riveted. While they continued knitting or reading, but I sat on the edge of my chair for that fifteen minutes, legs swinging back and forth. I’d wait for the magic until finally, a sudden burst of light, then the fuzzy black and white image spread slowly across the screen.

The picture was seldom well defined, even with the help of “rabbit ears”. We’d squint until we saw something identifiable we could enjoy. Sometimes we watched Lawrence Welk, The Pig and Whistle, or maybe Hockey Night in Canada. When my grandfather turned the channel, the dial made a heavy thunk sound, like he’d just moved a ten pound mechanism inside the cabinet. On nights when too many wavy lines traveled across the screen, he turned the set off. “Must be storming somewhere,” he’d say.

Turning the Tower

Years later, my maternal grandparents invested in a newer technology in the hopes of improved reception — a television antenna tower. My grandfather, Melvin, attached a screwdriver handle to this towering structure that stood next to the house. When we changed the channel, my grandfather would put on his jacket, and walk outside. He’d hold the homemade handle and turn the tower, then he’d tap on the dining room window. “Erie, how’s the picture?” he’d ask my grandmother. She’d wave him in when it was good enough and they’d settle in. During the week I spent at their house each summer, we’d watch The Big Valley with Barbara Stanwick, The Match Game with Gene Rayburn, and Hollywood Squares with Paul Lynde, and To Tell The Truth with Kitty Carlisle.

They’ll Never Know

As I write this piece, I laugh and disrupt my husband’s newspaper reading (on his tablet) with anecdotes and things I’m recalling. It feels good to remember.

My thoughts turn to our children, young adults now, all over twenty years of age. They’ve never imagined the colour of an actress’ dress while watching a black and white television, nor have they endured an hour of snowy reception to keep with a story. Our children don’t need to cross a room to manually change a television channel by turning a dial. They’ve probably never seen a tv station sign off for the day, or sign on again with the national anthem and a waving flag. Nor have they turned an antenna with a converter box or missed a program because inclement weather ruined the reception. Like many young people today, they do their viewing on a laptop.

I suppose that’s evolution.

Do you have memories you’d like to share?

Please leave a comment. I’d love to hear from you!

January 16, 2014 0

Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman: Lessons from the Townfolk

I received a box set of Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman as a gift one Christmas about five years ago. I confess that I’ve nearly watched the grooves right off the dvd’s. After a “rough day at the office” I retreated to Dr. Quinn’s Colorado Springs. Each episode featured three storylines (a primary and two relevant subplots) that explored an issue and ended with some kind of satisfying resolution.

The characters shared interesting histories and they each had a backstory that evoked empathy despite their sometimes bad behavior. As a writer, I strive to recognize such patterns. Now, I draft a short bio for each character I write about to ensure that they are three dimensional. I want write about characters who do more than drive a plot.

The characters in Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman grew and evolved throughout the six year series: they loved and lost; they succeeded and failed. Their journeys conveyed something beyond the story of a particular episode. What follows is the lesson I took from each character:

Michaela — Be thankful for gutsy, educated women who press the boundaries of her gender. They pave the road for those who follow. Let your conscience guide you even though it recommends counterintuitive courses of action that inconvenience you. Take the higher road. Never discount the value of people who shake their fist at the ivory tower. We need them. They are the canary in the mineshaft. “Sometimes the only place for a just man is behind bars.” (Michaela quotes Henry David Thoreau.)

Sully — Sweat-equity is not a new concept. There are many ways to live; you don’t need to be a sheep. In the end, a person’s word and good character is all he/she has. The truth will set you free. Tolerance equals not acceptance and actions speak louder than words.

Matthew — Pride does goeth before a fall. Be willing to admit your weaknesses and accept help from others. You will grow, but it will take time. Anger alienates so allow yourself to feel it, then let it go and move on.

Brian — There is value in the innocence of children that must be preserved. We shouldn’t coddle our children or lower our expectations of them, but we shouldn’t burden them with adult worries. Childhood ends soon enough. Let them enjoy theirs.

Colleen — If you are a bright and capable woman, don’t hide it. A strong man will love you and the right people will appreciate you for who you are if you let it show. False love based on a pretend you falls away quickly. If you believe you can do something, you can.

Dorothy — Being informed is important. Recording your feelings is important. A woman should never settle for a life of violence because she is told she deserves nothing more. Age doesn’t dictate capability; many adventures start late in life.

Cloud Dancing — Prejudice ends when we learn about other people’s culture. Spirituality looks different for different people, but it affords peace and calmness. Resilience is necessary in the face of change. Stewardship of the environment and conscious living have been important issues throughout history.

Mr. Bray — A gruff exterior is often covering a soft interior. Never hold a grudge. Anger will eat away at you. There is no profit in taking advantage of others.

Jake — Forgiving is not forgetting, but it will allow you to move ahead with your life. Anger turned inward will tear you down.

The Reverend — The church is not the building; it’s the people in it.

Hank — Even the greatest villain has a backstory — some have a gentler side. Nurture the child within. There is no such thing as making a quick buck. Never sell your soul. Remember the golden rule.

Preston — You can’t live in someone else’s shadow. Social status and wealth are hollow without friends. No one cares how much you know, until they know how much you care.

Horace — Common sense is important. Know how to keep a secret. Dependability is paramount. Accept help when people offer it; someday, you can return the favour.

Myra — Your profession is what you do; it’s not who you are. Your past doesn’t have to way you down. It can propel you forward.

Grace — Turn to friends it times of trouble, not away from them. Judge not.

Robert E. — Be a friend and trustworthy confidant. Quiet courage is stronger than bravado.

Michaela, I’ll keep a fire burning at the homestead, just in case you drop by for a Sasparilla and some girl talk. We have a lot of catching up to do.

Is there a well crafter series that inspires you

or influences your writing?

Please leave a comment. I’d love to hear from you.

January 9, 2014 14

Memories of a Rural Childhood

I recently encountered a humorous individual who claimed to enjoy “spelunking, knitting and tatting“. A curious combination of pastimes, I thought. I don’t meet many people who tat and even fewer who spelunk. My grandmother actually taught me how to tat on an ivory shuttle. She and my grandfather lived on the farm next to my childhood home.

DSC_0052 (2) Their farmhouse was simple by modern standards, but in my eyes, it was a wonderland of discovery. A screen covered veranda hugged the front and side of the house. I found it infinitely impressive that one could be both indoors and outdoors at the same time. A walkway lead from the gravel lane to the backdoor. Just outside that door, imbedded in cement, was a bootscraper. Before going inside, the bottoms of boots were dragged along its dull metal edge to clean off clods of earth collected throughout the day.

I recall the mudroom and wading about in my grandfather’s rubber boots. My grandparents’ jackets hung in rows from wooden pegs and smelled of honesty and hard work. Their sleeves tickled my face when I ran along the wall. A trapdoor was cut into the sandy plank floor. Beneath the weight of its metal pull ring lay a mystical place where children weren’t allowed. The root cellar was damp and musty, its walls lined with dusty jars of canned tomatoes, pickled crabapples, beets, and chile sauce. Wrinkly potatoes sprouted roots through burlap bags.

A memory is returning to me now of cucumbers in a tall ceramic crock pot, floating in salty brine. My grandmother wearing an apron, her cheeks flushed with exertion. One of those crock pots lives in my home now. Instead of pickles waiting to be born, it holds umbrellas wishing for rainy days.

The kitchen was snug but no one ever minded. The window above the sink looked across a cornfield flanked by woods. There was always an African violet on the windowsill and another plant, a succulent, whose name I can’t remember. It looked like strings of green pearls tumbling from a pot.

There were hyacinth glasses and forced bulbs to mesmerize me as well. Their roots waved through the water like translucent hair.

Of all the images this exercise of remembering conjures, it is this one that causes the lump in my throat to rise and the tears to come.

Oh, and by the way, tatting is a form of lacemaking that uses a “shuttle” and white thread. As for spelunking, I’m not sure, but I don’t think we did it on the farm!

Please leave a comment. I’d love to hear from you!

December 12, 2013 6

Feeling Nostalgic — Surrounded: On Living Among Books

While I was growing up, my hometown continued to shift and alter as well. The historical building that once housed our library is long gone, and in its place, stands a modern structure.

Visiting the original building felt like stepping onto a page of history. Beautiful architectural features welcomed patrons: columns, a hardwood foyer, oak bannisters, arched doorways and ornate trim work. I still remember, with great fondness, the old book smell, sagging shelves, and card catalogue system. Before setting out on summer vacations to northern Ontario cottages, I would sign out an armful of books to read on splintery docks.

My first elementary school was called the Goshen Side Road Elementary. Cow pastures surrounded our playground on three sides. With only three classrooms, you can well imagine, there was no room for a library in our building. Visits by the bookmobile brought us no end of joy. This travelling library was a big purple transport truck; bookcases lined the inside of the trailer. Each child was allowed to sign out two books, then the truck was off to visit the next school.

Today, waiting for a book to arrive means I am waiting for my Chapters/Indigo order to come through the mail slot. I’ve resisted the move to e-books, so far. There is a tactile experience to holding a book that can’t be satisfied by holding a Kindle.

I must confess that technology is adding to my book experience in an unexpected way.

Through the magic of Pinterest, I am curating a world where I am surrounded by books. When I need to reconnect with that old book smell or surround myself with a gallery of books that could never fit within my house, I log on, and walk slowly through my collection of nostalgic library and bookshop photos.

Please click on the link to follow me: Libraries and Bookshops.

December 5, 2013 3

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Feeling Nostalgic