Four Generations
Four Generations
- jim Young
"We didn't realize we were making memories. We thought we were just having fun." - anon
We all have a tendency to look back on the proverbial “good old days” with fondness. Of course putting a time frame on when the “good old days” actually were would be impossible. Not only do the “good old days” fluctuate from person to person, but the “good old days” can refer to several different periods of time to even just one person.
It’s all relative. The “good old days” to a five year old might be “last week” or even “yesterday”. When seniors talk about the “good old days” they may be referring to any number of years over their accumulated decades of experience. It could refer to moments spent as a child, memories from their youth as teenagers, their days of wonder and discovery as they set out on their own to seek their fortune or even the happy days of their early years of marriage and raising a family.
In my recent article “Preparing For A Visit From St. Nicholas in 1959” I wrote about writing my letter to Santa. These were but a few fond memories of just a small portion of my life experience during my childhood in the 1950s.
Inevitably Christmas’s Past is a topic that will often conjure up memories of the “good old days” in most people’s minds. However Christmas has changed over the years and “those” days that have become the topic of those “good old days” have likewise metamorphosed over time.
My oldest grandson, Torin turned 25 this year. Some of his fond memories of Christmas in his “good old days” growing up in Alberta will not include memories of Gramma and Grampa coming to visit that many children may have, as both sets of his grandparents lived out of province.
Around that time Walmart proclaimed“Christmas in Canmore is the best spot to be in Canada” in one of their television commercials and they were probably right. Torin may remember the excitement of opening presents like Nintendo Wii or Transformers. He will no doubt remember Christmases with his young sister and brother in Canmore, visits from his Uncle Greg, Aunt Mel and a couple of cousins from Calgary. Then of course there was Yaya - the name he had endeared to his father’s sister, Auntie Ange. Other cousins and family members would come in later years but those might be the earliest recollections of Torin’s “good old days”.
It’s all relative. The “good old days” to a five year old might be “last week” or even “yesterday”. When seniors talk about the “good old days” they may be referring to any number of years over their accumulated decades of experience. It could refer to moments spent as a child, memories from their youth as teenagers, their days of wonder and discovery as they set out on their own to seek their fortune or even the happy days of their early years of marriage and raising a family.
In my recent article “Preparing For A Visit From St. Nicholas in 1959” I wrote about writing my letter to Santa. These were but a few fond memories of just a small portion of my life experience during my childhood in the 1950s.
Inevitably Christmas’s Past is a topic that will often conjure up memories of the “good old days” in most people’s minds. However Christmas has changed over the years and “those” days that have become the topic of those “good old days” have likewise metamorphosed over time.
My oldest grandson, Torin turned 25 this year. Some of his fond memories of Christmas in his “good old days” growing up in Alberta will not include memories of Gramma and Grampa coming to visit that many children may have, as both sets of his grandparents lived out of province.
Around that time Walmart proclaimed“Christmas in Canmore is the best spot to be in Canada” in one of their television commercials and they were probably right. Torin may remember the excitement of opening presents like Nintendo Wii or Transformers. He will no doubt remember Christmases with his young sister and brother in Canmore, visits from his Uncle Greg, Aunt Mel and a couple of cousins from Calgary. Then of course there was Yaya - the name he had endeared to his father’s sister, Auntie Ange. Other cousins and family members would come in later years but those might be the earliest recollections of Torin’s “good old days”.
Torin’s father, my son Mike along with Yaya - my daughter Ange, have their own recollections of the “good old days”. Their Grampa, my father, would hire a local farmer to take them and their cousins on a sleigh ride pulled by a team of horses. Through a snowy field the horses pulled the sleigh load of children and adults. The bells on the horses’ harness prompted choruses of “Jingle Bells” among the children who playfully took turns pushing each other off the sleigh. Volleys of snowballs were then tossed in retaliation at the sleigh as the latest unfortunate victim struggled through the deep snow to catch up and regain his or her spot on the sleigh.
This semi-annual tradition was, in itself, an attempt of my father’s to recreate a moment from his own “good old days.”
And THAT story I will leave for my father’s older sister to relate. This article entitled “A Christmas Memory” was submitted by my Aunt Mary to the Barrie Examiner circa the 1980s and tells the story of one of her happy memories of “the good old days” in the little village of Stroud, Ontario. I’m guessing it would likely have taken place in the late 1920s.
“A heavy fall of snow had come over Christmas Eve. Now the whole world under a bright blue sky was beautiful but our childish hearts were a little heavy. Christmas morning had brought wondrous surprises delivered by Santa Claus. Stockings, once filled with magical things, had been emptied. But the next part of our day, going to Grandpa and Grandma Guest’s house at Big Bay Point, about eight miles away, was not to be. The snow had made travel by car impossible. The heavy drifts were insurmountable to the old wooden-spoked car we drove. No snow ploughs back then.
Then the phone rang. It was Uncle Lyall saying that he would bring the horses and sleigh to take us down to the Point. Oh joy!
We hustled to get ready, our spirits soaring again. It did not seem long (we had our Christmas toys to play with) until the two big horses harnessed to a box sleigh appeared at the front door.
Although it was Highway 11, there was nary a car in sight.
A heavy snowfall with drifting generally kept folks at home in those days.
The box sleigh, close to the ground, would allow us to cuddle together, sharing our warmth against the crisp coldness of the day. Uncle Lyall was on a raised seat at the front of the sleigh with the reins in his hands. The horses stamped the ground, their warm breath sending plumes of steam into the crisp air.
Down the Tenth Line we went. The whole world was an unbroken panorama of snow. There were no tracks on that road - save for the ones made by the horses and sleigh on their trip to pick us up. The sun shone brightly and its rays were reflected off the pure white snowflakes, which had settled on the drifts.
Our faces had been lovingly covered up to our eyes with soft woollen scarves under our caps. A furry buffalo robe kept out the cold. The sleigh bells jingled and clumps of snow from the horses’ hooves sailed over our heads.
Across the Lower Sideroad we sped, past the quiet houses of neighbours, around the double jog in the road, down the hill. Through the gate-way and up the lane we dashed. The horses knew they were nearing the warm stable and galloped along. We were there.
As we went through the door many aunts, uncles, cousins and friends as well as our dear grandparents welcomed us. The aroma of cooking goose and evergreen filled the air. We made our way through the kitchen to the dining room where the splendid spruce, adorned with remembered decorations and laden with hidden delights stood in the corner. Our eyes darted about the room, spying oranges, red grapes, nuts and hard candies in special dishes. It was a warm world of loving and sharing and being together. I would wish the same for you.” Merry Christmas! Mary A. Greeley
And I too wish the same sentiment to you. These four generations of remembrances of the “good old days” are but a drop in the bucket of lifetimes that will continue to collect memories to add to the “good old days”.
Yes, my friends… Those were the days, just as surely as these days are destined to one day become those days.
And THAT story I will leave for my father’s older sister to relate. This article entitled “A Christmas Memory” was submitted by my Aunt Mary to the Barrie Examiner circa the 1980s and tells the story of one of her happy memories of “the good old days” in the little village of Stroud, Ontario. I’m guessing it would likely have taken place in the late 1920s.
“A heavy fall of snow had come over Christmas Eve. Now the whole world under a bright blue sky was beautiful but our childish hearts were a little heavy. Christmas morning had brought wondrous surprises delivered by Santa Claus. Stockings, once filled with magical things, had been emptied. But the next part of our day, going to Grandpa and Grandma Guest’s house at Big Bay Point, about eight miles away, was not to be. The snow had made travel by car impossible. The heavy drifts were insurmountable to the old wooden-spoked car we drove. No snow ploughs back then.
Then the phone rang. It was Uncle Lyall saying that he would bring the horses and sleigh to take us down to the Point. Oh joy!
We hustled to get ready, our spirits soaring again. It did not seem long (we had our Christmas toys to play with) until the two big horses harnessed to a box sleigh appeared at the front door.
Although it was Highway 11, there was nary a car in sight.
A heavy snowfall with drifting generally kept folks at home in those days.
The box sleigh, close to the ground, would allow us to cuddle together, sharing our warmth against the crisp coldness of the day. Uncle Lyall was on a raised seat at the front of the sleigh with the reins in his hands. The horses stamped the ground, their warm breath sending plumes of steam into the crisp air.
Down the Tenth Line we went. The whole world was an unbroken panorama of snow. There were no tracks on that road - save for the ones made by the horses and sleigh on their trip to pick us up. The sun shone brightly and its rays were reflected off the pure white snowflakes, which had settled on the drifts.
Our faces had been lovingly covered up to our eyes with soft woollen scarves under our caps. A furry buffalo robe kept out the cold. The sleigh bells jingled and clumps of snow from the horses’ hooves sailed over our heads.
Across the Lower Sideroad we sped, past the quiet houses of neighbours, around the double jog in the road, down the hill. Through the gate-way and up the lane we dashed. The horses knew they were nearing the warm stable and galloped along. We were there.
As we went through the door many aunts, uncles, cousins and friends as well as our dear grandparents welcomed us. The aroma of cooking goose and evergreen filled the air. We made our way through the kitchen to the dining room where the splendid spruce, adorned with remembered decorations and laden with hidden delights stood in the corner. Our eyes darted about the room, spying oranges, red grapes, nuts and hard candies in special dishes. It was a warm world of loving and sharing and being together. I would wish the same for you.” Merry Christmas! Mary A. Greeley
And I too wish the same sentiment to you. These four generations of remembrances of the “good old days” are but a drop in the bucket of lifetimes that will continue to collect memories to add to the “good old days”.
Yes, my friends… Those were the days, just as surely as these days are destined to one day become those days.
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