Not because she let my sister and I get away with much. And not because she honestly thought food was the cure for everything. And definitely not because she scrubbed too hard behind my little ears with a washcloth and Ivory soap before bed every night. Yeah, the floating Ivory soap in the old yellow plastic washbin.
The thing that fascinated me most was the old rain barrel in her yard.
Right outside her back door, down the wooden stairs and below the long line where she hung the clothing, it was the first place I would always visit. It was the one mystery among all the places to explore and things to play with.
It leaned toward the sunset, just a bit. Never quite full on that one side, even when it was as full as it could be. I climbed up and looked into the dark water. There was never much of a reflection. A dark shadow on bright days. Nothing at all on cloudy days. I was rapt with the mystery.
The water was cold, no matter how warm the day was. I could reach into the dark, but not for long. It was too cold.
Nana used the captive rain to fill her watering cans to water her delicate flowers. Marigolds, pansies, snapdragons. The flowers were everywhere. And the mystery at the bottom of that big steel barrel never got any clearer as the level dropped lower and lower and lower into the shadow. It just became more of a mystery. What was at the bottom? I never saw it. And every time I returned to Nana’s house and ran down the wooden stairs and out the back door to inspect the big rain barrel, it was full.
It’s not there anymore. I don’t know what happened to it. One day, long before it disappeared, I just stopped looking in it. Then it was gone. Still a mystery.
I always had a job to do at Nana’s house. My job was to mow the large lawn. Her little house was right in the middle of three large city lots on a quiet street, just one house and a laneway away from the corner store where I would buy my FudgeSicles, winter or summer, but especially winter.
Two women owned the store and lived in the house attached to it. One of them was tall and had bright red hair. She looked a little like my grandfather on my Mom’s side when he took his teeth out. The other woman was shorter, plump and walked with a prominent limp. There were always family whispers about the two of them. No one ever said anything to them. And we went to their store all the time. The first day she met me, Red was the first one to call me a little girl. I was thrilled. I was always happy to see Red after that.
Our favourite game in the afternoon, my sister and I, was sitting at the top of the stairs between the kitchen and the upstairs bathroom and ‘bumping’ all the way down on our bottoms, like two giggling Slinkys. It wasn’t something we were supposed to do. I remember being told that. We did it anyway.
In the evenings, my sister and I were always invited to the kitchen table to play cards with Nana. She loved to play card games. I loved the card games. Nana loved to win.
Bedtime was so familiar, so peaceful. Nana would say, “I love you just the same.” Just the same. She said that a lot. It was the old Scot in her. Hearing it was part of the experience.
I slept in the old iron bed her mother gave to her, in the upstairs bedroom, the one with the gabled roof and the “cubby” for my clothes and no door for privacy. It was impossible to sleep anywhere in the bed except in the middle of it, directly in the middle, where there seemed to be a dent in the mattress. Nana always put a high-back chair next to the bed to make sure I wouldn’t fall out. But once I was in the dent, I was there for the night.
Once in a while, she would sing to me, an old Scottish song. I don’t think it was a lullaby.. But it was comforting. And then she said, “Shut your een.” I still don’t really know what she meant. Doesn’t matter. I sometimes say it to my son.
The thing that fascinated me most was the old rain barrel in her yard.
Right outside her back door, down the wooden stairs and below the long line where she hung the clothing, it was the first place I would always visit. It was the one mystery among all the places to explore and things to play with.
It leaned toward the sunset, just a bit. Never quite full on that one side, even when it was as full as it could be. I climbed up and looked into the dark water. There was never much of a reflection. A dark shadow on bright days. Nothing at all on cloudy days. I was rapt with the mystery.
The water was cold, no matter how warm the day was. I could reach into the dark, but not for long. It was too cold.
Nana used the captive rain to fill her watering cans to water her delicate flowers. Marigolds, pansies, snapdragons. The flowers were everywhere. And the mystery at the bottom of that big steel barrel never got any clearer as the level dropped lower and lower and lower into the shadow. It just became more of a mystery. What was at the bottom? I never saw it. And every time I returned to Nana’s house and ran down the wooden stairs and out the back door to inspect the big rain barrel, it was full.
It’s not there anymore. I don’t know what happened to it. One day, long before it disappeared, I just stopped looking in it. Then it was gone. Still a mystery.
I always had a job to do at Nana’s house. My job was to mow the large lawn. Her little house was right in the middle of three large city lots on a quiet street, just one house and a laneway away from the corner store where I would buy my FudgeSicles, winter or summer, but especially winter.
Two women owned the store and lived in the house attached to it. One of them was tall and had bright red hair. She looked a little like my grandfather on my Mom’s side when he took his teeth out. The other woman was shorter, plump and walked with a prominent limp. There were always family whispers about the two of them. No one ever said anything to them. And we went to their store all the time. The first day she met me, Red was the first one to call me a little girl. I was thrilled. I was always happy to see Red after that.
Our favourite game in the afternoon, my sister and I, was sitting at the top of the stairs between the kitchen and the upstairs bathroom and ‘bumping’ all the way down on our bottoms, like two giggling Slinkys. It wasn’t something we were supposed to do. I remember being told that. We did it anyway.
In the evenings, my sister and I were always invited to the kitchen table to play cards with Nana. She loved to play card games. I loved the card games. Nana loved to win.
Bedtime was so familiar, so peaceful. Nana would say, “I love you just the same.” Just the same. She said that a lot. It was the old Scot in her. Hearing it was part of the experience.
I slept in the old iron bed her mother gave to her, in the upstairs bedroom, the one with the gabled roof and the “cubby” for my clothes and no door for privacy. It was impossible to sleep anywhere in the bed except in the middle of it, directly in the middle, where there seemed to be a dent in the mattress. Nana always put a high-back chair next to the bed to make sure I wouldn’t fall out. But once I was in the dent, I was there for the night.
Once in a while, she would sing to me, an old Scottish song. I don’t think it was a lullaby.. But it was comforting. And then she said, “Shut your een.” I still don’t really know what she meant. Doesn’t matter. I sometimes say it to my son.
When Nana left the room, she left the soft orange glow of my night light. A little disc, about the size of a 50-cent piece that sat directly in the wall socket, glowing like a harvest moon. For years, I fell asleep in the glow of that night light.
The old house is gone. So is the rain barrel and the iron bed and the flowers and the staircase and the card games. Even the night light is gone. And Nana left us two days after my son was born.
I love spending days and nights with my son.
The old house is gone. So is the rain barrel and the iron bed and the flowers and the staircase and the card games. Even the night light is gone. And Nana left us two days after my son was born.
I love spending days and nights with my son.
-Meghan
