Forgive me---this post isn't about machining. One of the OTHER things I do besides machining models and engineering work is write short stories. and for most of these stories, I reach back into my own past for inspiration. Today, its a story of old relatives---dead and gone, but still very much in my memories---Brian
Aunt Helgas Jam Jar
Back when dinosaurs still roamed the earth, and I was about 10 years old, I had a lot of relatives. I had cousins to the nth degree, and a plethora of aunts and uncles who mostly lived close to the village I grew up in.
We were all uniformly poor, and for that matter, probably all uniformly dirty, because at that time there was no electricity in the part of Ontario where I grew up---Which meant of course, that water had to be pumped outside at the well, carried inside, heated on the woodstove, and poured into a tub in order to have a bath. MOST of us managed to do this at least once a week---or at least managed a swim in the nearest lake, if it wasnt froze over.
However, even then, there were some whose idea of cleanliness was certainly a long way from Godliness----if indeed it existed at all.
I had one aunt and uncle, and I never counted how many kids they had, because they were never all in the house at the same time. Some were older than me, and working out away from home. Some were close to my age, and attended the same public school. Some were little rug biters, forever crawling around on the roughsawn wood floor of uncle Eds house, and it seems that Aunt Helga always had at least one still on the tit!
On Sundays, my father and mother had determined some kind of family rotation, whereby we would visit at least one of mom or dads brothers or sisters. That way we got around to all of them at least once a year.
Aunt Helgas house always stands out in my memory as one of those places that, had it been struck by lightning, would probably have left everyone better off. They never had any screens on the windows, which were always left open from early spring to late fall. The kitchen table was never cleaned off, as there were so many kids that they eat in shifts, and consequently nothing was ever put away. I dont remember even seeing an ice-box, but then, that could be old age playing tricks on me.
Being a 10 year old boy meant that I was consequently always hungry. Not that I was in any way underfed----Thats just the way 10 year old boys are. Aunt Helga kept one of those half gallon sized jugs of Wagstaff Strawbury jam on the table at all times, and if hungry was mentioned, she would quickly tell you to Help yourself to a nice jam sandwich.
Honest to God, I never ever seen a lid on that jam jar. And there was a crust of black houseflies which had become trapped in the jam all around the rim of the jar on the outside, around the top edge, and at least one inch down into the inside of the jar as well!!!
That never seemed to stop her kids from slurping up as many sandwiches as they could get away with before Uncle Ed would roar at them to Go easy on that bread---Theres more to be fed than just you!!!
I dont think any of those kids ever died from eating off aunt Helgas table. Hell, I dont seem to remember any of them getting sick, for that matter.---But Ill tell you one thing for sure. On the Sundays that dad announced it was time to Go down to Ed and Helgas for a little visit., I made damn sure I ate as much as I could eat at our house before we left, and generally made a sandwich and hid it away in the glove box of dads old International pick-up just in case I got a bad hungry on while we were visiting there.
Ed and Helga have been dead for years now, and their many children have dispersed to all ends of the earth. They were sweet old people in their way, and never done anyone a stroke of harm.
And here I am, getting on to being an old man, thinking back over all the many good years Ive had on this earth----And when I think of Aunt Helga and Uncle Ed, the most vivid memory of the entire family is that damned jam jar!!!
Brian Rupnow---May-2010
Aunt Helgas Jam Jar
Back when dinosaurs still roamed the earth, and I was about 10 years old, I had a lot of relatives. I had cousins to the nth degree, and a plethora of aunts and uncles who mostly lived close to the village I grew up in.
We were all uniformly poor, and for that matter, probably all uniformly dirty, because at that time there was no electricity in the part of Ontario where I grew up---Which meant of course, that water had to be pumped outside at the well, carried inside, heated on the woodstove, and poured into a tub in order to have a bath. MOST of us managed to do this at least once a week---or at least managed a swim in the nearest lake, if it wasnt froze over.
However, even then, there were some whose idea of cleanliness was certainly a long way from Godliness----if indeed it existed at all.
I had one aunt and uncle, and I never counted how many kids they had, because they were never all in the house at the same time. Some were older than me, and working out away from home. Some were close to my age, and attended the same public school. Some were little rug biters, forever crawling around on the roughsawn wood floor of uncle Eds house, and it seems that Aunt Helga always had at least one still on the tit!
On Sundays, my father and mother had determined some kind of family rotation, whereby we would visit at least one of mom or dads brothers or sisters. That way we got around to all of them at least once a year.
Aunt Helgas house always stands out in my memory as one of those places that, had it been struck by lightning, would probably have left everyone better off. They never had any screens on the windows, which were always left open from early spring to late fall. The kitchen table was never cleaned off, as there were so many kids that they eat in shifts, and consequently nothing was ever put away. I dont remember even seeing an ice-box, but then, that could be old age playing tricks on me.
Being a 10 year old boy meant that I was consequently always hungry. Not that I was in any way underfed----Thats just the way 10 year old boys are. Aunt Helga kept one of those half gallon sized jugs of Wagstaff Strawbury jam on the table at all times, and if hungry was mentioned, she would quickly tell you to Help yourself to a nice jam sandwich.
Honest to God, I never ever seen a lid on that jam jar. And there was a crust of black houseflies which had become trapped in the jam all around the rim of the jar on the outside, around the top edge, and at least one inch down into the inside of the jar as well!!!
That never seemed to stop her kids from slurping up as many sandwiches as they could get away with before Uncle Ed would roar at them to Go easy on that bread---Theres more to be fed than just you!!!
I dont think any of those kids ever died from eating off aunt Helgas table. Hell, I dont seem to remember any of them getting sick, for that matter.---But Ill tell you one thing for sure. On the Sundays that dad announced it was time to Go down to Ed and Helgas for a little visit., I made damn sure I ate as much as I could eat at our house before we left, and generally made a sandwich and hid it away in the glove box of dads old International pick-up just in case I got a bad hungry on while we were visiting there.
Ed and Helga have been dead for years now, and their many children have dispersed to all ends of the earth. They were sweet old people in their way, and never done anyone a stroke of harm.
And here I am, getting on to being an old man, thinking back over all the many good years Ive had on this earth----And when I think of Aunt Helga and Uncle Ed, the most vivid memory of the entire family is that damned jam jar!!!
Brian Rupnow---May-2010
