Memories Of Days Gone By

The idea for this post was taken from a friend's blog. The idea was to write down all of one's memories of childhood and times far gone so as to have them on record.

I thought it was a magnificent idea and that I would do the same. 

Having lived in China for the last four years I have disassociated myself with many things that would cause me to think of childhood memories, ie: familiar places, faces, smells, sounds, etc. It is, in these next paragraphs my attempt to rack the hidden spaces of my brain and soul to recall those past times. 

So here goes, in no particular order, unedited and fully emotionalized:

• I remember when the leaves in the ditch in front of my house would pile onto one another, soggy and smelling of only the smell that smelly leaves in the fall can have. I would pile them up in front of the culvert, for secretly I had always wanted to crawl into damp darkness of the culvert but never dared to. Piling the leaves in such positioning saved me from having to make the choice. 
• I remember one Christmas morning waking up and everything felt so fresh. I ran around and rang the bells that hung on the doorknobs, feet bare on the floor, taking in the smells of early morning Christmas. 
• I remember in grade 3 making the coolest looking Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle out of those connecting blocks at recess and everyone thinking I was so cool. At the time I was surprised I had been able to pull it off as at home I was only allowed to watch Sesame Street and the like. Making big birds out of building blocks would've been easy but may have not garnered the same awe and respect from fellow students. 
• I remember one summer's day going to the Bunbury strawberry festival and winning a Bunbury Tshirt that was 4 times too big for me. I wore it nonetheless and felt so proud of my Tshirt. That same day I went over to my friend's Darrell's house and got a bag of beef flavoured Noodles from his mom. Best. Day. Ever. 
• I remember venturing into the dusty and spider filled clubhouse in our backyard only to have the door close and lock behind me and my older brother C relentlessly poke me with sticks from both windows from the outside. I can still feel the feelings of utter helplessness and fear. 
• I remember the time at the construction site where the older Stewart's live on Carriage Lane finding the goldmine of 20 or so empty pop bottles. The guilt at the time was drowned in the excitement and ensuing sugar high of buying hundreds of one cent candies. 
• I remember when Lo Foods was Lo Foods. It was summertime and I was in the store with my mother and younger sister D.  I spotted 20 dollars on the ground at the spot where the cashier was. I picked it up and looked around to see if there was an owner and then looked at my mother who let me keep it. I immediately went to the candy bin and with my younger sister D we picked the kind of candies that you weigh in those see through plastic bags. I still remember us popping candies as we turned the bend at the Rankin Park complex. 
• I remember shopping carts always jutting out at different angles from the pond that was next to Rankin Park. (Who would go and get them out?!)
• I remember my deep fear of Rankin Park, always walking quickly by to avoid eye contact with the place and anything that may live in there. 
• I remember my walks down Carriage Lane with Taboo and waving to the man in the red van. He would always wave back and I always felt soo good when he did. I learned later on that he passed away - from what I'm not too sure. 
• I remember old man Peters from across the road giving me a plant to bring home and give to my mother. I was so happy to be the carrier of this gift and had thought that my mother would be tickled pink with delight as to receive such a nice gift. She had quite a different reaction, refusing to accept it and putting me in the position to return it to him. Head down, terribly embarrassed and really rather confused I did just that. 
• I remember in April of every year in walking home from the bus stop that the melting snow in front of the Carlton's yard was always mixed in with eggshells and chicken bones. 
• I remember racing the Carlton boy on my bicycle down Tanton Drive when I was about 7 or so. I remember clearly winning and to this day still think that I won fairly. 
• I remember the way the stars would come after a hot summers day. How fresh and high they'd be in the sky. The smell of the summer's air and the feeling of ease it always brought to me. 
• I remember when doing my paper route the joy I would take in thinking of myself as a 4x4 all terrain vehicle - walking over grass, dirt, snow and all other obstacles thinking that having two legs connected to two feet with a good pair of shoes was really unstoppable. I still feel this way. 
• I remember how creepy I always thought the sales people at Radio Shack at the Charlottetown Mall were. 
• I remember making friends in grade one with a girl name Terry. We agreed to be good friends one day on the schoolyard by the jungle gym but then soon found out that girls and guys in grade one ideally don't befriend one another. We went out separate ways and to this day have never spoken again. 
• I remember how in grade 3 when I was on the top of a snow pile my big brother pushed me down forcefully, kicking snow on me as his friends stood in the background laughing. I felt really let down. 
• I remember the taste of cream cheese and strawberry jam sandwiches and how we'd make large batches for the potlucks for church on some Sundays. I don't remember church at all, but the sandwiches I do. 
• I remember in grade 6 being extremely sick but going in and doing my science fair presentation on Static Electricity anyway, mucus, popcorn, balloons and all. After doing huge amounts of prep and practice I easily won the first prize but ended up splitting it with the handicapped girl in the class who I believe hadn't even completed her project. That was when I started to understand the flawed school system of purposely special attention to those with handicaps. 
• I remember waking up early just automatically and going down to watch the cartoons. My younger sister D would often join me. On some mornings if it was especially early I'd find my father in his beige bathrobe sitting in the living room in his reclining chair all quiet and such, wondering what he was doing. Now I know that he was meditating. 
• I remember dipping fingers into the bird baths on hot summers days when the grass was freshly mowed wondering how many birds had drank that day. I also always remarked at how the grass grew long around the very edges of the bird bathes - as the lawn mower could not reach those limits. 
• I remember saving up and buying my first CCM bike from Canadian Tire. It cost $220.00, an unthinkable amount of money back in that day. I was racing down Mason road one day and when cornering really quickly into a driveway I discovered that one needs to slow down first before turning and spun out of control - hitting the asphalt and rolling, propelled by some force, rolling again and again on the asphalt. I felt so let down by my bike, so frustrated as I got up, scraped and ashamed I walked bloodied home never to tell this story until now. 
• I remember how excited I was every time that Irene came over to pay my mother a visit, for visitors were very seldom. I would walk around the house with them as they talked about the plants and flowers, basking in the morning sunlight and enjoying the feeling of my mother's friendship with Irene. 
• I remember how excited I was sitting the back seat of the Taurus station wagon with my little sister D driving to Montreal. Our level of excitement did not wane for the entire drive as we waved at motorists from our special perch in the back. 
• I remember walking down East River Drive with Gent and my friend Kyle Garland. Gent started barking loudly at a middle aged woman who exclaimed loudly "Put a muzzle on him!" To which I quickly replied without due thought "Why don't you put a muzzle on?!" The lady was shocked. Kyle and I kept on walking in hysterics. I think this was when we were 15 or so. 
• I remember clearly walking towards the Quik Pick when I was 9 that my entire life was out of order. How I wished when I was older that I would be tall, handsome and charming. How I wished people that people would like me. Suffice to say that little JK would be most pleased with the results of big JK. :) 
• I remember playing basketball in the torrential rain of a summer's thunder and lightning storm. Calling it "rain ball" and having such a good time together getting wet and throwing a ball around.
• I remember talking to the horses on Clifton for 10 minutes at a time, finding them such avid listeners. 
• I remember eating those "honey" flavoured flowers at the coaxing of my older sister D. 
• I remember having a whispering competition with my older sister D and whispering the word "elephant," her getting it right and me lying saying I didn't say "elephant" to avoid a sure loss. 
• I remember watching America's Funniest Home Videos on summer nights with my little sister D. 
• I remember when I was 7, the feelings of fear I had when I thought my family had abandoned me at Victoria Park. The feeling of adventure as I walked back home, the feeling of quenching thirst as I stopped for a glass of water at the drive thru window at Wendy's by the bridge and the feeling of accomplishment as I rounded the turn into our driveway - just to have the feelings go full circle and have the feeling of fear instantly return as my mother and father ran out of the house towards me. 
• I remember when my Uncle Andre visited and we sat outside on the picnic table, the plates of burger patties, processed cheese, tomatoes and pickles. The bottles of mustard, ketchup, mayonnaise and relish. The smell of smoke from Andre and his wife mixed with exotic smelling perfume. How I felt so much love and interaction with everyone at the table that day. 
• I remember once in the basement when the entire family was watching David Suzuki's Nature of Things on "Genes" I found it fit to make a joke in reference to my "jeans," the ones I was wearing. Nobody found it funny and I was told to shut up. I felt immature and excluded. 
• I remember going to the "Armchair Travel" group at the Confederation Library as a kid on Sundays and seeing so many foreign people, tasting foreign food and having such a fascinating time. No wonder I am where I am now. :) 
• I remember how there was a free KFC sandwich special at the Library and if you took out 5 books you would get a free sandwich. Our entire family took advantage of the situation and we had chicken sandwiches for several weeks on end. It was like going from a drought of fast food (never really having eaten it before at the time) to a flood of flavour packed, brain numbing, tongue tingling fun. And then drought again after the offer ended. 
• I remember Fudge-e-o's (or however they are spelled) and Oreo's after a hard fought eating of a meal (we would often have HUGE portions and rather strange blends and mish mashes of food). 
• I remember how my father would come home with a different joke everyday from work, with one of them one day being the classic: "what is black and white and read all over?" Can you guess? ;)

I'm going to write until here today as my brain is asking to return to reality. Fair enough brain, you win this time. But we'll be back for more childhood memories soon. 

Until next time, little JK is out. :) 

Leia Mais…

Digging up the Past

Written in January of 2006 when I was in Ukraine, this piece of writing I find both highly amusing and symbolic of a time of great personal growth when I was in my early 20s. 

Enjoy: 

Found in Translation

This day marks a victory unlike any other won. One not fought with
sharp blades or bullets, blood or tears but a simple dish rag and
steadfast determination.

In a country of changing technologies, changing politics and changing
youth I sat in the kitchen of a small town with a spoon in my hand and
food in my stomach. The fridge churned and the kettle groaned on the
old oil stove as steam rose from its aged figure. Across the table sat
an older lady, a tired lady, a lady who held a million stories. For
weeks I had lived startled in a country with different sights, smells,
sounds and tastes, for weeks I had been treated so very kindly, meals
were prepared for me, my dishes washed and my clothes cleaned.

In this kitchen I sat, spoon in hand, stomach full, thinking back on
the times when I had offered my help and they were immediately
refused. The times when I had offered once more and also refused,
these times were all the same as I took the easy route, I accepted
these refusals.

In a country of changing times, changing politics and changing youth
one thing has not changed, the roles of women and men in the house.

I stood up, taking the dirty dishes to the sink. The lady across the
table seemed perplexed, and she immediately told me "Oh no, I will do
that" in the tongue of her country. Tonight was going to be different,
the thoughts and roles would be washed by my hands. I looked her
softly in the eye and said in the broken little known language "No,
thank you, I can." She reached for the dishes uttering in disbelief
"No, no, you can not;" "I can, its fine." Knowing not what else to do
she offered a "Thank you" in awe and retreated to the living room.

I turned on what was only cold water and started down this unchartered
path, carrying a large smile. Not so soon, apparently this lady had
backup as her astonished 17 year old grand daughter rushed in offering
to take the dishrag and I offered a "Thank, but no thanks" in return.
This was curtly rejected by her wagging hand motioning, make that
demanding for the dishrag and her intent eyes pleading.

 With an unexpected motion she snatched up the rag from my unknowing
hands. My arms crossed and my eyes grew sharp and unbudging, my feet
firmly planted. The sound of the cold water splashing on the dishes. I
told her that I would never move, she said nothing but moved neither.
Minutes passed, both unbudging, water splashing. I pointed to the
water and showed how it was wasting away with the time, she pointed to
her newly acquired dishrag, smiling. I smiled too, but because I saw
my trophy. Out of the corner of my eye sat behind a forgotten teabag a
lump of green washpad. It was worn as it had seen many dishes in its
life, blackened and beat, trying to retire. I wasted no time in
snatching it up, at closer inspection we could both see it was
absolutely filthy, with this my smile grew bigger, hers receded.

I lunged for the soap and raising it to the pad she realized she had
met defeat. Her hands flew up as she handed me the dishrag and sat
down bewildered by what had just happened. I finished the dishes,
shutting off the water and turning around. She watched as if she had
just seen this for the first time, and I think she had. I explained to
her in the broken language and with many gestures that we were the
same and if I sat to eat, I rose to do the dishes. She replied, "This
I like very much" and ran back to the living room to fill her
grandmother in on what had just happened, time passed and I heard them
chatting fervently with each other.

In finishing cleaning the kitchen I walked through the living room on
route to my bedroom. With huge smiles and the brightest of eyes I was
stopped and offered two very warm "Thank you's." It was perhaps the
best prize I had ever received for such little work. Maybe my
continued efforts will go unnoticed, but my hope is that they will
perhaps change if only a few minds on the embedded thoughts of
centuries past.


This journal entry is dated from Mid December, published with my
desire to expose the gender inequality in Ukraine today. This is only
one instance, and there are far more where a similar situation played
out. It is of great importance to strive for equality for the moment
you start delegating roles is the same moment where you rise yourself
above another.

I spent Ukrainian Christmas (January 7th) in Kolya's native village
which is 20 minutes from the major central Ukrainian city of Cherkasy.

Here are the points I recall about Ukrainian Christmas:

1.      Ukrainian Christmas is by the Orthodox Calendar, therefore on the
7th of January.
2.      Santa Claus is called Father Frost
3.      13 traditional Ukrainian foods are prepared for Christmas
4.      There traditional foods are left at the end of the night for the
spirits of yesteryears to snack on while we slumber
5.      Church is a long affair, having to stand for five enduring hours
(Luckily I only went for the Christmas mass part and stood for two).
6.      Expect carolers at any given time, it has turned into a Halloween
of sorts with the little tykes demanding sweets or money for their
sung melodies. Then again, they seem to work harder then just saying
"Trick or treat."
7.      Usually one farm animal can expect to lose its life at the expense
of Christmas dinners (sadly to say Ol' goosey got the axe this time
around).
8.      Christmas trees are Charlie Brown style making Canadian trees look
extraordinarily extravagant.
9.      Gifts are traditionally given on New Years, more so than Christmas
eve or day.
10.     Unlike Canada, stores are open and buses run as usual, as is said
"If there is money to be made, they will make it."
11.     On an unrelated note, It cost the equivalent to $10.00 USD to
travel 9 hours each way (18hrs total) to Cherkasy by passenger train.

Last week for our weekly Educational Activity Day we visited a primary
school to participate in a class with the children of grade five. The
school and children were warned ahead of time and apparently had many
things planned for us, and our planners for this day said they were
very anxiously awaiting our arrival. Before I unravel the events, I
would like to explain I live in a small town, a town where some people
live their whole life and die without meeting anyone not Ukrainian.
The Ukrainians in our group explained that they still remembered their
first time when they saw Canadians and how big of a deal it was. As we
arrived to the school and the first Canadian stepped in the doorway
sheer pandemonium broke out, kids stopped in their tracks, books
descending to the floor as their eyes ascended to these unearthly
creatures standing before them. "Uhh… hello" I stammered and they
erupted in a storm of giggles, dashing off to recruit their friends to
look at the Canadians.

We were quickly ushered into an office by a staff member who feared as
we did that if we stood around any longer we may very well be mauled
like Justin Timberlake taking a stroll through an all girls school. In
the office there was a high window that I could only peer out of if I
stood on my tippy toes. Jumping up and on piggy backs the children
looked through the window screaming with glee and pointing. The bell
for break rang and the children went back to class to resume their
studies. In walking to the class we were invited to attend on every
side of us there were faces pressed up against the classroom windows,
fighting for space to stare at these marvelous foreigners.

I waved this way and that feeling much like the queen. We arrived to
our destination, a grade 5 classroom with 30 young children, standing
and chanting in unison "Good morning, good morning to you, we are so
very glad to see you." After applauding them, we made our way to the
back of the class to sit facing the front with the students backs to
us, but all their faces turned in wonderment. The English lesson for
the children quickly turned into a competition of sorts with the
students battling each other to impress the Canadians with their
drawings and wonderfully executed English. We spoke a little with the
avid students and handed them out some inspirational sayings we had
prepared in English and in return they presented drawings they had
worked on for us. Songs were also performed, as well as verses and
conversational pieces with each other, leaving us very impressed! I
would like to mention there was also this mustachioed doll dubbed "Mr.
Language" with whom they also took turns conversing with in front of
the classroom speaking on his behalf as well as their own. Mr.
Language seemingly had a more difficult day than usual, and may have
developed a severe headache by the barrage of questions he was in
receipt of.

After the class finished we were hurriedly ushered to the auditorium
with scores of children in tow and presented a well executed short
play. The children sat squirming in their seats, and as soon as the
play finished they raced off out the door somewhere in droves leaving
an eerie silence like the eye of an enormous storm. We stood
perplexed, until we heard the stampede rushing back in, children
piling in and filling up the auditorium again, this time holding
cameras, pens and paper. No sooner had I said "Uh oh" was I surrounded
by little kids shoving pens and papers in my face demanding me to give
them my Canadian mark. So I did the only thing there was to do, I
inhaled a deep breath and started signing for the little tykes. Here
is some sample signing dialogue:

 "What is your name?" "Mmmhmm, yes I live here" "Of course its
beautiful, its Canada" "Hmm, nice try  I already signed for you" "I
like pizza too" "Thank you, I think you have a pretty name also"

So I and the other Canadians carried on, pens a flurry, children
reaching over one another pleading. After much time had passed our
tour guide teacher showed up to shuttle us away in order to check out
the school but not without a large congregation of wild eyed kids in
tow. After the tour, the kids started to dissipate and we managed to
sneak out to go for a much needed lunch break. So in conclusion, I
either felt like a strange Canadian circus act or a member of the Back
Street Boys (Back when they were young and cool).

Leia Mais…

One Yuan

One Yuan, something like 15 cents.

One yuan for me is a tool to take the bus, buy an ice cream or a bottle of water.

I also like giving them to beggars.

One yuan for a beggar I assume is different. I cannot know for sure as I am not a beggar. I can only guess that they may buy something to eat, perhaps cigarettes or maybe they give it at the end of the day to their boss?

One yuan for children from what I see is used to buy food coloured sugar water in plastic tubes, toys and trinkets or various parts of pig (?) smashed and smushed and presented as a hotdog on a stick.

One yuan for a farmer may be saved away for Spring Festival or maybe for his daughter's education.

One yuan stuck to a stone is often mistaken as a leaf to the stone.

What an odd post. Where did all that come from?

Leia Mais…

Run JK Run!

Kids love to run. Perhaps it's the exhilaration of the run. Or because all the other kids are running. Or perhaps it's the feeling of the wind in their hair. Or because you can simply get to places faster. Whatever it may be kids love to run.

Adults, unless on treadmills or running to lose weight or running to relax (what a notion for someone who isn't into exercising!) or running a marathon don't have the same spirit of running.

Ask a kid. 

In January I ran my first marathon. I did it for many well thought out reasons. You can see the difference already. When I was a kid I wouldn't plan my run, researching on the net, strategically getting the map and music ready, I wouldn't blog about it, and I wouldn't think to the next day of my waiting aches and pains.

I would just run. 

It wasn't until just recently that I reignited the running kid within. I'm talking fits of unplanned - un"adult"erated - running. Most of my credit goes to the "Run Lola Run" soundtrack from the hit movie by the same name. It somehow found its way onto my MP3 player, and one day when hitting the street I just started running. I had no reason to run, I wasn't missing the bus, I wasn't doing training, I wasn't racing any of the neighbourhood dogs - I just let the music move me and I ran.

It was one of the best runs I've ever had. Since that day I find myself being grabbed by the urge to just run.

And I do just that. 

Now mind you - the weather is going to get hot. And hot as we all know means sweat. And sweat as we all know means sticky icky icky. And sticky icky icky as we all know, well... means sticky icky icky. C'mon.

So May, while it is still coolish I hereby name the month of impromptu running!

So, my friend - a question for you. When was the last time you really ran? 

*Note: The "Run JK Run" title is in reference to me - my name is JK. :)

Leia Mais…