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Tuesday, 18 March 2014

Years Ago

By Old Bill Weatherstone who blogs at The Diesel Gypsy

Old Bill here, resurrecting a little of my past life experiences.

I’m just sitting here waiting for the chef to get the lead out and create a gourmet meal especially geared for my pleasure.

Good reliable staff seems to be harder to come by these days especially since I am the complete entire staff, chief cook and bottle washer as well as any other occupation required to keep up a household.

I broke down today and bought the Toronto Star newspaper, Saturday edition, which takes a pick up truck to carry home it’s so thick.

Being up here in the North Country, naturally everything is more costly, like $3.50 per Saturday issue. After signing over my pension for this month, I considered this a luxury item.

It also awakened me to what age bracket I now occupy. (OLD) The evidence: In 1948 when I first landed in Toronto (the big city), I bought the Toronto Star newspaper from a street seller and paid $.03 (that’s pennies by the way).

Today 100-plus times as much. Man, am I old. Whew.

Once I hit the comic section, I came across a small cartoon showing a small child in diapers running out of the room claiming he is going to run away. The next frame he is asking his mother to do up his coat zipper so he can get on with his attempt to leave forever.

A giant bolt of lightning hit me when I read that. Holy cow, I can relate to that incident 100 percent.

If your interest is still there, I will explain what happened to me at four years old.

This may sound like a murder mystery is about to take place as I describe the time and location of my monumental experience.

It was a dark and stormy night in the middle of winter while the snow was coming down so hard it was blowing sideways. In front of the house at the street intersection there was this one lonely street light bulb with the sort of daffodil corrugated disk reflector, the only light in the darkness.

There were no cars, pedestrians or even a stray dog - just dark, windy and snowing like hell.

The one thing that I cannot remember is the cause that triggered my proposed departure (forever).

So. As I argued with my mother, I informed her that I was going to run away from home.

“Oh, is that final>” was the response.

“Yes,” was my answer as I grabbed my coat and toque. (Wool knitted hat if one doesn’t know.)

She did not hesitate and went to the closet and got out a very small suitcase and set to fill it with the necessary socks, shorts, etc. etc. and talking to me asking where I was planning to go to in case my friends wanted to know where I was.

I just got more determined and cranky, grabbed the bag and headed out the front door as my mother bid me farewell.

I stepped out the door onto the veranda as she closed the door behind me. I was left looking down the abandoned street barely being able to see the lonely street light through the snow storm.

The door closed firmly behind me, I was now completely alone. I went down the steps and with the snow almost up to my knees, I thought for a moment and then turned around and headed back.

The door was locked and I had to knock to get in and as my mother opened the door, I brushed by and told her that I was going to run away tomorrow.

She won the day with her diplomatic approach to my problem. The sun rose on a new day and all was forgotten (until now).

I think I can still see her smiling on my re-entry.


[INVITATION: All elders, 50 and older, are welcome to submit stories for this blog. They can be fiction, non-fiction, poetry, memoir, etc. Please read instructions for submitting.]

Posted by Ronni Bennett at 05:30 AM | Permalink | Email this post

Comments

You start my day with a smile. Thanks.

Thank you. I have a black & white photo of my youngest, wearing a scarf and carrying her little suitcase, ready to hit the road..without the family.

You painted a wonderful description of your life now and at age 4. Great writing.

I have missed your writing, am glad to see you are back A nice story. I enjoy your conversation in the stories you write.

Like? Yes, like - definitely! Oh so charming.

When I was eleven I announced to my dad I was thinking of leaving home. He said, "When you are sure, let me know, and I'll help you pack." That certainly to the air out of my tires!!

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