{"id":6339,"date":"2020-11-04T20:27:15","date_gmt":"2020-11-05T01:27:15","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/?p=6339"},"modified":"2020-11-04T20:30:31","modified_gmt":"2020-11-05T01:30:31","slug":"episode-158-grandma-always-wrapped-a-hot-brick-of-us-on-those-dark-winter-nights","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/?p=6339","title":{"rendered":"EPISODE 158 GRANDMA ALWAYS WRAPPED A HOT BRICK OF US ON THOSE DARK WINTER NIGHTS"},"content":{"rendered":"
EPISODE 158<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n
alan skeoch<\/div>\n
oct. 2020<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Louisa Bufton Freeman and her dog Laddie in 1957<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
EPISODE 158    GRANDMA ALWAYS WRAPPED A HOT BRICK FOR US ON THOSE  DARK WINTER NIGHTS<\/div>\n
(and she shook with Parkinson\u2019s disease while doing it)<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
alan skeoch<\/div>\n
Nov. 4, 2020<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
\u201cHere, boys, a warm brick for each of you.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cHot brick?\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cYou will need it\u2026the bed will be cold.\u201d<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
We left the wood stove  comfort of the only heated room in the farm house.  Leaving that room was Like walking into a refrigerator.<\/div>\n
Every other room in the farm house was frozen\u2026walls clothed  in  frost where the winter winds slipped through<\/div>\n
the cracks in window and door sash.  Footsteps on frozen floorboards echoed back at us from the dirt floor<\/div>\n
cellar below our feet.  <\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
\u201cTwo tired little boys.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cGrandma, it is really cold.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cClimb the stairs, I\u2019m right behind  you holding the lamp.\u201d<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
And  she began sing\u2026a song of which I only remember fragments.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
\u201cToo tired to climb the stairs \u2026 off to the land of Nod\u201d  Grandma had a nice singing voice<\/div>\n
that we just took for granted as a natural part of life.  Kids  are like that. <\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
We took a  lot more than Grandma\u2019s voice for granted.  She had serious Parkinson\u2019s disease.<\/div>\n
Made her shake all the time.  That lamp that she carried shook  as my brother Eric and I climbed<\/div>\n
those cold  stairs.  It made shadows on the wall that seemed alive and plenty frightening.<\/div>\n
But grandma never let the disease change her life  She had lived through a lot worse than<\/div>\n
Parkinson\u2019s.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
We took everything for granted.  Eric and I let grandma light the wood stove in the morning.<\/div>\n
She had  made a whole pile of twisted  paper wicks from old newspaper.  Getting that burning wick<\/div>\n
in under some kindling and a piece of split maple was not easy because her hands shook so badly.   She knew  the<\/div>\n
dangers that an error could light the farm house on fire so she was  as  careful as possible and<\/div>\n
in no time the stove was belching out enough heat to drive the frost from the walls while wash<\/div>\n
water was warming in the water reservoir attached to the stove.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Funny thing.. I just remember that her hands  were wrinkled and  the wrinkles held<\/div>\n
soot from that stove.   She was clean but the soot was deep.  Grandma and Granddad<\/div>\n
had  odd habits.  She had her tea cup and he had his.  Those cups were old and<\/div>\n
cracked but they were used every day.   The same was true of the plates and  cutlery.<\/div>\n
Seemed almost that using those old dishes was some kind  of religious act.  After they <\/div>\n
died  the farm house was  robbed.  The robber or robbers broke in on one dark mid-March <\/div>\n
evening when the fog was as thick as Cream of Wheat porridge.  Why mention this robbery?<\/div>\n
Because the thief took his time .  He sorted the dishes.  He did  not take grandma and grandpa\u2019s<\/div>\n
cracked  and  beaten plates and  cups.  He took the good stuff, I suppose  But I was glad left those<\/div>\n
heirlooms behind.  I wonder if  I will have a  favourite cup when I  get old?<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
So many memories  about her tumble out of my finger tips as I tap tap tap on the computer.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Around  1957 I was offered a summer job  working in the bush deep in Northern <\/div>\n
Quebec North west of Chibougamau.  It was a tough and lonely job as those of you<\/div>\n
who have lived in the wilderness know.   Some of our bush crew were very rough<\/div>\n
people.  The meals we made for each other were less than perfect\u2026fly larvae lived<\/div>\n
well in our kitchen tent.   To kill the taste of some of  our meals  I lathered it with<\/div>\n
Worcester sauce.   That killed  the taste.  Eating in the bush reminded me of Grandma\u2019s<\/div>\n
meals.   I always ate what was put in front of me.  Still do.   Grandma always had<\/div>\n
a great lump of beef hanging  in the Dairy.  Now there is a misnomer.  The Dairy was a<\/div>\n
dark room in the dirt floored cellar of the farm house\u2026a room that acted as  a refrigerator<\/div>\n
The slab of beef was always well marbled with congealed fat.  Grandma and granddad<\/div>\n
loved that.  I  did  not.  I found that a slab of that beef and  fat on my plate discouraged<\/div>\n
eating so I lathered everything with Worcester sauce.   Grandma notice, of  course, and<\/div>\n
she told  Mom  on several occasions.  \u201cElsie, did you know that Alan loves Worcester sauce?\u201d<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
What is the connection among these disparate comments?  They all came together when the<\/div>\n
bush plane landed with our mail on that lonely lake.  Every time there was a letter from<\/div>\n
grandma.  I took those letters  for granted.  Just writing a letter was a  chore for her.<\/div>\n
her hands  shook so badly.  It would  have been easier for her to use Parkinson\u2019s as<\/div>\n
an excuse for not writing.   I took those letters  for granted just as I did everything else<\/div>\n
about Grandma.   I never said  thank you\u2026never asked  about her shakes\u2026never <\/div>\n
commented on the cold  marbled roast beef.   All I said was, \u201cGrandma, where is<\/div>\n
the Worcester sauce?\u201d   <\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Now I do not remember Grandma asking  if I had a bottle of Worcester sauce on<\/div>\n
that mine exploration job.  She probably did.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
I remember so much  about her.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
This is  just my opening Episode about Grandma.   Her early life was  not very nice<\/div>\n
and initially I was  unsure I should even make into an Episode.   Maybe she would not<\/div>\n
want the bad  times in her life put before those of you who actually  read these Episodes.<\/div>\n
No, I don\u2019t think she would  mind.  She loved  me.  I knew that.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
alan skeoch<\/div>\n
Nov. 4, 2020<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
\n
POST SCRIPT:   1885 A Child\u2019s Garden of Verses<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
I Don\u2019t remember the song she sang but the lyrics fitted  the<\/div>\n
Land  of  Nod  as written by  RoBert Louis  Stevenson in 1885<\/div>\n
\u201cNod\u201d is a very interesting biblical name.  The Land  of Nod was supposed gel<\/div>\n
East of  the Garden of Eden.  Only mentioned once in the Book of Genesis but<\/div>\n
it has fascinated biblical scholars  Did the Land of  Nod exist?<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
\n
\n

The Land of Nod<\/h1>\n<\/div>\n
\n
BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON<\/a><\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
\n
From breakfast on through all the day 
<\/div>\n
At home among my friends I stay, 
<\/div>\n
But every night I go abroad 
<\/div>\n
Afar into the land of Nod. 
<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
All by myself I have to go, 
<\/div>\n
With none to tell me what to do \u2014 
<\/div>\n
All alone beside the streams 
<\/div>\n
And up the mountain-sides of dreams. 
<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
The strangest things are there for me, 
<\/div>\n
Both things to eat and things to see, 
<\/div>\n
And many frightening sights abroad 
<\/div>\n
Till morning in the land of Nod. 
<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Try as I like to find the way, 
<\/div>\n
I never can get back by day, 
<\/div>\n
Nor can remember plain and clear 
<\/div>\n
The curious music that I hear. 
<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

EPISODE 158 alan skeoch oct. 2020 Louisa Bufton Freeman and her dog Laddie in 1957 EPISODE 158    GRANDMA ALWAYS WRAPPED A HOT BRICK FOR US ON THOSE  DARK WINTER NIGHTS (and she shook with Parkinson\u2019s disease while doing it) alan skeoch Nov. 4, 2020 \u201cHere, boys, a warm brick for each of you.\u201d \u201cHot […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-6339","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6339","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=6339"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6339\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=6339"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=6339"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=6339"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}