A true childhood tale: The girl, the empty house, and the nasturtiums
 |
| ...not my nasturtiums |
Ober-Eschbach, Germany, 1971: It was a sunny Saturday morning, but I dragged my feet walking home from school (a quaint German tradition — school on the weekend), because I knew that I was walking towards an empty house. A house gaping with rooms with no one in them to greet me.
Quite unusually, my parents were off on a shopping expedition in Frankfurt (the big city) and wouldn’t return until early afternoon. My siblings were at friends’. I was on my own. Alone. In the house. And I was fearful of entering it. My 11-year-old imagination was fertile with goblins and monsters and generally bad people coming from the shadows of the laundry room to get me.
My mother, knowing of my trepidation at being home alone, was clever: She had planned ahead with me. We had decided that I would enter the house through the basement door at the back of the house and would go directly to the play room at the end of the hallway. There, Mum would have left me a snack. All I had to endure was a few hours alone in that room, with the TV for company.
I arrived home from school and went to the backyard. I steeled myself to walk down the concrete steps, surrounded by incongruously cheerful nasturtiums, and into the house through the basement door closing it tight behind me. There. If a monster came in that way, it would have to open the door and I would at least be warned by the noise.
I can remember the conflicting feelings of fear at the untold number of awful things that might happen to me alone that house, and the knowledge that there was simply no avoiding being alone in that room in the house. I simply had to let time pass.
I stayed in that room, sitting on the bed with my back against the wall, eating the snack and watching TV, until Mum and Dad returned. And everything was safe again.
--------------
Of course, I survived that experience. These days, I don't mind being alone in the house, though I still, sometimes, think monsters and baddies might rise up out of the darkest corner to get me. Mostly, I keep those thoughts at bay and just appreciate my own company.
What triggered this memory from so many decades ago was my own nasturtium plants that are bearing the most delicate of very early buds. They are the first nasturtiums I have planted, and I do not know why I have waited so long. My mother's nasturtiums tumbling down the basement stair railings, softening the harshness of the concrete steps is a vivid snapshot in my from-long-ago memory archive. On my plants, the leaves are prolific and lovely, though the buds are few so far. I am hoping the squirrels stay away so I get to enjoy the colour and delicate beauty of these blooms...
 |
| ...my nasturtiums, close up to see the buds. I hope the plants will trail over the raised bed in which their clay pot is placed. Fingers crossed... |
............................................................................................................................................
To receive my weekly blogpost in your inbox, use the SUBSCRIBE feature (above, in the left-hand column), or email fiveyearsawriter at gmail dot com. Put SUBSCRIBE in the subject line.
Land acknowledgement: I respectfully recognize that I live on the original lands of Anishinaabe, Cree, Oji-Cree, Dakota and Dene peoples, and on the homeland of the Métis Nation.
Today your words triggered two childhood memories both of my mom. When we were out the summer cottage I slept in a spooky bunkhouse in the back. I was afraid of the dark and the bunkhouse with no electricity was plenty dark to encourage the dark side of my imagination. What I remember as bringing comfort was that if I did wake up afraid there was always a bedside snack. This meant my mother had come into bunkhouse at some point in the night to check on us. Seeing that snack made the world safe again. The other memory was my mother's round flower bed up the front sidewalk. I had to walk around the circle, I had a choice which direction to take to get to the front door. It was its shape that I loved.
ReplyDeleteNasturtiums are flower of my childhood, and this brought back so many fond memories and tastes! You do know they’re yummy in salads?
ReplyDeleteI have no fear of being left alone although the first time I was completely alone all night, no kids nor cats, was at 36. My partner took our two young boys with her to North Dakota on a consultancy. That first night I slept with all the lights on! But nobody tried to break in and I survived.
With the busyness of life I currently relish and deeply inhale my alone time.
ReplyDeleteI remember the first time my parents left me alone at home while they briefly went out during the day. I was 9 years old and because we lived up north in polar bear territory I was instructed to remain indoors and not answer the door or the telephone. I don’t remember how I initially spent my time but I do remember climbing up onto the kitchen counter beside the sink where I could look out the window and watch for our dark red/orange CN truck which would signal their return. My mom kept these brown panel like canisters next to the sink filled with baking ingredients. I lifted each silver metal lid to look inside. Upon discovering flour in one of them, I spent my remaining waiting time continuously sifting the gloriously soft flour through my fingers. My mother would not have been impressed had she found out!
Shannon, you made me smile, seeing you sifting the flour through your fingers.
DeleteIt’s surprising the things that can soothe us.
Those sad lonely fearful memories. This can be quite traumatic to a young child. I did not have a bedside lamp, but an overhead light that I had to turn off at my bedroom door. I made sure my closet door was jammed tightly shut, had my bed turned down with stuff animals just so. I then switch off the light and landed in one long huge jump into bed. I was so fearful something would jump out of the closet. Bed was a safe haven as long as I kept my feet away from the edges. What a deal, and I sometimes still feel that way about having a foot hanging over the edge. Thank you Amanda, and I love Nasturtiums!
ReplyDelete