Two weeks old in Northern Alberta.
My first home was a tiny unfinished cabin on the prairies of Northern Alberta, Canada, without running water, or electricity. We had a wood stove, but my first winter was that of bitter cold. My mother speaks to this day of my tiny purple hands in the morning. My father rode his bicycle all over the neighborhood the day I was born, calling to everyone sitting out on the porch - "I have a girl!"
Eight months old
At eight months old, in Northern Alberta, this was the only bathtub/washtub the three of us had. Water had to be pumped, and then heated on the wood stove for it. My parents managed to get a picture of me somehow.
Nineteen months old
At nineteen months, I already had a passion for dolls. Due to my parents' religious persuasion, I always wore dresses, which my mother's best friend sewed for me, and pretty things she sent, as we were very poor.
Two years old
Two years old, in the swing my father built for me. I used to imagine war games in it at four, from stories my father told me. When imaginary danger came, I would jump out of it, and run to the cabin as fast as I could, before a bomb dropped on me! Terribly exciting!
Three years old
...And at three years old in a new dress made for me by my mother's friend, and with my two favorite dolls, sent to me by relatives. We owned one very wonderful thing. A piano, which my mother would play many nights as I was going to sleep. Here I am sitting on her piano bench.
Eight Years Old
The sensitive, shy eight year old who used to write at the top of plum and maple trees. The child who could never have imagined the life that was ahead of her. That was a blessing.
© 1997 - 2004 Rosemary J. Gwaltney All
rights reserved.
