Archiveology: Digging into my Age 10 Autobiography
“Where are you?” Kim hollered out from the kitchen. We have over 3,000-square-feet to play hide n’ go seek in here. Our layout is open concept so Kim and I can normally see each other at all times or at least hear each other—even when I’m on the spin bike and she’s boxing in the room beside me.
“The bedroom!” My voice sounded muffled so she came in to make sure I was okay and upright.
“What are you doing?”
I had dragged out two of the low profile hideaway Tupperware bins from underneath our bed to put some 1990s obits and my official Orthodontic Diploma from 1989 (estimated value: $4,000) that my mom had sent me home with. What should have been a simple one-minute task turned into an accidental time capsule ride back to 1984.
In a Manila envelope of take-home and do-with-what-you-will miscellanea, my mom had included several pages torn from the “Burford Heritage Cookbook” (circa 1994) with a note attached. “Your friend Suzanne’s meatloaf recipe is in there.” I sent Suzanne a Facebook message to tell her about the resurfacing of her “Pop’s Meatloaf”—we’ve been friends for over 40 years (*this is the same Suzanne who used to wolf whistle students in from recess with her own fingers, not a Fox 40). She immediately responded and said after a long lapse she had just made the meatloaf a week ago.
My mom wrote on the top of another page (also from the Burford Heritage Cookbook), “You’ll love these!” The recipes listed under Home Remedies, Tonics and Cures makes me wonder how anyone survived. It seems like cholera or the Spanish flu would have been a better option over the likes of the Remedy for Debility. One quart of “good ole rye whiskey” poured over two pounds of beef steak (*cut up small). This was to stand for 24 hours before being strained into a bottle and administered in a questionable dose of one teaspoon or a wine glassful three times a day. It sounds like drinkable steak tartare. And if you piss the bed afterwards (see “WET BED”, well, the old wives suggest pumpkin seeds.
I had a scream reading these—I can’t fathom serving raw egg white to someone to prevent full-on choking. “If one egg does not answer the purpose, try another.” Imagine! “I know you’re already choking on something but here’s something else to try and swallow!”
I do appreciate a good old timey remedy. I was game to try anything after I returned from the jungles of Costa Rica with three types of intestinal parasites (later determined by the Tropical Disease Center at McMaster University).
For six months prior to that I entertained any suggestion like licking a 9-volt battery (a British friend said his mother made him do it when he had pinworms as a child). I drank wormwood tea which tasted like Buckley’s cough syrup gross cousin from the east side, across the tracks. Worse, in the throws of my debility (and unaware of the steak steeped in rye cure above), I tried a concoction designed for tapeworm removal. Several friends agreed on this one, so surely it had to work. “Just soak a piece of bread in milk and tape it to your bum overnight.” By morning, any worms were supposed to crawl out to feed. Yeah, it was the stuff of nightmares. Worse, I was lying in bed with a sopping hot dog bun hockey taped to my ass. I didn’t have any bread and a sesame seed bagel seemed pointless due to the hole in its middle. I figured a hot dog bun would do in a pinch and hoped skim milk would suffice over 2%.
It was pure agony that night, waiting for a population of worms (or one giant worm) to emerge. After a fitful sleep, I awoke to the mess of wet bun crumbs and no worms. There’s a reason why the recipe for taping bread to your butt did not get published in the Burford Heritage Cookbook.
However, these tonics and remedies had to be saved for future reference and that’s why I was on my knees in the bedroom deciding which bin to ‘file’ the pages in. I sifted through some artwork and opened one of those standard-issue Exercise Books with a Subject heading of Autobiography. Of course I’ve been in and out of my archives over the years but I can’t resist a good nostalgia refresh. This book (circa 1984) was full of what I presume to be prompts to help students write autobiographies (yes, at age 10).
Name and Appearances
Beyond the obvious blonde hair, blue eyes and 134cm height descriptors I really dug deep on this one.
Talk soft, circle-shaped head, short eyelashes, bushy eyebrows
Small nose, short nails, slender legs, hairy arms
Medium-sized hands, walk fast, run fast, see faraway
All is still true except for “see faraway” and I think I was being generous with a small nose.
My eyebrows are truly a growing concern and need tending to prevent morphing into Brooke Shields or worse, Eugene Levy.
Nicknames: Punkies, Miss Mew, Horse (so flattering!)
Habit: Biting people (also flattering! I’ve stopped that.)
Family and Health:
Fish died
Dax had anamonia for 10 days (I wonder what cookbook remedy would work for that?)
Personality traits (for me, not the dead fish):
Organized, serious, curious, inquizitive (I like this spelling, actually), inward, independent, manners—used often
Talents: writing stories, drawing pictures, gym
This is just the bare bones, generic stuff. Let’s move on to the gold nuggets.
Hobbies (in part): Studying animals, collecting feathers, reading books, travelling, researching, collecting rocks, writing novels, drawing pictures, running, soccer, cutting grass, studying birds, going for walks in the country on railroad tracks and oddly—snowmobiling, horseshoes and sking (*with one ‘i’ which is much harder).
I haven’t aged a day!
Likes: Reading, collecting, snowmobiling (again!), fairs, exhibitions, good news, rugger pants, some teachers and films
Dislikes: Medicine, dentists, doctors, messy rooms, dead animals, long hair and shoe odour
(I can’t make this stuff up)
I nearly wet my pants over my Fears page. Quick, somebody get me a handful of pumpkin seeds for Wet Bed.
Fears: Rats, cobra snakes (untamed), creaking floors at night, my cat’s eyes glowing in the dark (at night), footsteps (at night) and alarm clocks.
I swear. Alarm clocks! They remain to be my biggest fear and I totally love snakes (tamed and untamed) now that I’m older. And rats.
As for my “Schooling” bullet notes I liked raising pennies and collecting cans for the dance (I sound like I’m 98-years-old!). My first day of school was September 6, 1979. Reactions? Cried.
Ups and Downs
Fish died—we bought a new one
Special Events
Getting my hair cut off
My cat having babies
There’s a page dedicated to my pets and their description (considering the pet’s interests, behavior and habits, clearly).
Dog: Xanadu, active, slim, strong, drags his feet
Fish: fat, always hungry, swim in dark, friendly, goldfish. Names: C Plus, Butterrum, Goldy)
Cat: Moker, sort of fat, always hungry, watches birds, sits on the newspaper when you read it (*apparently she also liked to play dress-up with me or I talked her into it, provided I doled out some Meow Mix)
Occupation
I am a student now. I hope to be a wildlife photographer. I would like to learn about wildlife more.
Hey, 10-year-old self, I think we’re holding our ground on that front! See below!
Oh, the halcyon days of 1984. Though I technically published my first memoir in 1984, a grittier version was released by Caitlin Press in 2019. In Free to a Good Home: With Room for Improvement, I revisit this precious pocket of time with additional insights and background and mostly proper spelling.
It’s a journey of emotional geography that begins on an unpaved country side road in Southwestern Ontario, on the edge of corn and tobacco-fringed fields near Mount Pleasant, where I grew up fearful of untamed cobras and alarm clocks.
I’m currently somewhere in Ha Long Bay on a traditional junk boat in Vietnam but wanted to ensure that you had something to pair with your coffee and buttered toast this morning. I’ll respond to all questions or comments about steak and rye tonics, rugger pants or my brother’s anamonia when I return home in the last week of March! Until then, tell me about your childhood loves, fears and dreams! I’m all ears, despite my circle-shaped head.
Oh my, the tapeworm ‘treatment’ had me snort-crying-laughing in my coffee this morning!
“Family and Health:
Fish died” 😆😆😆