A weekend in Manuels

When I was growing up, I spent a lot of time at my Aunt Jean and Uncle Vic’s house. I had three cousins there and one, Robbie, was my age, so we spent a lot of time together. We were in band together, had the same friends and did everything together.

I spent weekends at their house, so I would get picked up Friday after school by my Uncle Vic. I knew he was in the driveway when I could hear the murmur of CBC Radio blaring from his car. Once I opened the passenger side door, it would be an overwhelming sound of the radio and the strong smell of my uncle’s cologne. It was a musky, spicy smell that at first was strong enough to make me sneeze, but I would eventually get used to it. Then we would leave for the half hour drive to his house.

It was inevitable that I would fall asleep on the way. We wouldn’t be more than ten minutes into the drive before my head would be bobbing and I’d start having a nap drool, which is worse than the regular night drool. With my forehead pressed against the window and the seatbelt cutting into my neck, every bump in the road would disturb me, but not enough to wake me up. With my eyes closed, I could feel the bumpiness when we drove over rocks and the smoothness when we would get to a stretch of new pavement. It was a good nap, but not a peaceful one.

We would finally arrive at the house and my Aunt Jean would have supper ready to go. As we walked into the house, I would take a deep breath to smell what was for supper. On the days I smelled pizza, I was a happy girl. There were too many instances when my Aunt would decide stew was a good choice. I hated stew and she knew it, but thought if she made it enough, I would start to like it. That never happened.

As soon as you enter the house, you feel like you’re in a zoo. There are two budgies chirping, a dog barking, a fish tank gurgling, and a cat that just slinks around your ankle. After a few minutes the animals would calm down and my uncle and I could get ourselves out of the porch and into the kitchen.

I love sleeping in, but at Aunt Jean and Uncle Vic’s house, there’s no sleeping in. My Aunt would wake me up about 7:00 Saturday morning and drag me to the super market with her to “get the good meats,” she would always say. I didn’t mind because it meant I got a Long Treat and hot chocolate at Tim Hortons. Saturday’s also meant there were chores to be done. As I would be eating my breakfast, I would hear my uncle outside with the chainsaw cutting wood. I knew that was mine and Robbie’s cue.

Before too long we would hear our names bellowing from the basement to get our outside clothes on and start helping. Our outside clothes were usually old clothes my aunt and uncle used to wear. It usually smelled musty and old, and was rough to the touch because of all the times it was worn lugging wood. As we got dressed, we could feel little pieces of sawdust hit our faces and get stuck into the bottom of our socks. The sawdust pricked our feet like needles but with my aunt and uncle, there was no slowing down.

Robbie and I would make our way to the shed, pushing our trusty wheelbarrow as the vibrations went up our arms. My uncle would hand us some work gloves which always had little pieces of wood in them that would hurt our hands. The smell of fresh cut wood was comforting though and we couldn’t wait to get it inside to get a fire started in the woodstove. The smell of the wood burning and the sight of smoke rolling out of the chimney would make me want to go inside and curl up under a blanket. Of course that wasn’t an option because there were still too many chores to be done.

Once we brought in our share of the wood, it would be time for lunch. The smell of hot dogs filled the air every Saturday. I would put so much ketchup on mine that I could feel the bun getting soggy under my fingers as I ate. I would top off my lunch with a cold glass of milk that felt good going down my throat after a long morning working outside. After lunch we were set free and it was time to play.

Robbie and I would spend a lot of time playing cards, board games and Nintendo. We would have to pick our location wisely because the cat and dog always wanted in on the game, and thought walking over the board was a good idea. We could hear the dog coming, running down the hall towards us. He would jump all over us, his soft fur getting all over our faces, and unfortunately in our mouths. His rough paws would dig into our legs and his whipping tail would sting our arms. But eventually the dog would get bored and go way. He would always leave the smell of dog in the room which hung in the air and never seemed to go away.

In the night, we would usually do something as a family and my cousins would invite friends over to join in the games. The house was filled with laughter and the smell of popcorn as everyone enjoyed the night together. Once we went to bed, my uncle would sing Puff the Magic Dragon to us as we drifted off. We all slept well after a busy day.

Until I finished high school, I continued to spend the weekends at my aunt and uncle’s house. The chores changed and my aunt stopped trying to feed me stew, but the fun was always there. Whenever I hear CBC radio, I still think of those Friday evenings in my uncle’s car, driving to his house for another great weekend.