SeeingRred
Note: So fitting that this past Wednesday, July 24, 2019 was International Cousins Day and the day we celebrated the life of one of mine (Rest in peace, EP)❣️
It was always so much lighter and livelier and lovelier when the cousins came. However long they stayed, we knew it would be a special time for everyone. From days ahead– No. Weeks. The preparations would begin. It would start with a full Saturday of shopping, our route defined by the pile of flyers on my young lap, all circled to highlight the weekly deals. Me growing taller and skinnier with every stop, wedged between grocery bags, boxes and bins in the back of our very practical and very brown station wagon. Driving my own wheels at Knob Hill Farms, coasting through endless aisles of abundance, our excitement would rise every time another item was added to our train of carts. Surrounded by every imaginable delight, normally we would strain our necks, eyes looking back with longing and saliva tongues. But, not this day. When the cousins were coming, there was indulgence and overflow.
Litres of Mazola for frying, vinegar to wash the meats. Goat and back-attached chicken on sale, ill-begotten and over the limit with too many trips to the butcher counter, and just enough to stay under the radar. A necessary trip to Nicey’s for essentials like bandania and thyme, Madras, Kala Brand or Chief. We would drive all the way to Weston Road for fresh crab, shrimp or kingfish. Heading back, with the majority of our goods in hand, there most certainly would be a final stop-off at Woolco or Savettes. Mom would sashay along, a smile on her hips, as she sought out the basic necessities and even some frilly things. Packed and fully loaded, we would sit triumphantly on our thrones for the long ride home. I would wait with bated breath for what might come next, the very best part of the day. Dad would pull over onto the gravel shoulder by the lake on Hwy. 2 to sit quiet like water lilies and watch the graceful swans as the three of us happily shared one burger, large fries and a strawberry shake from McDonalds.
Pine Sol-ed, Pledged, SOSed and Vimmed — days and days of scrubbing, washing, folding and hiding away. Everything in order for our guests. The boys preened with freshly pressed pants and starched collared shirts. Us girls in brand-new, matching but individualized dresses, sewn together into the wee hours of every morning before work. With the final stitches done, Mom would check the pots one last time and then dash to the shower with only minutes to spare. All shiny and perfumed, in a Von Trapp line, we stood full of anticipation and shy nervousness ready to greet the cousins.
Silk flower arrangements and garden bouquets in Crystal D’arques
On crocheted doilies and embroidered lace table cloths
Fresh salads of greens, carrot daisies and tomato roses
Whet the appetite; polourrie, saheena, doubles with tamarind sauce
French White Corningware brimmed with spicy stew and curry
Chokas, pepper, chutney, achar and mango talkarie
Styrofoam coolers warming mounds of silky paratha and dahl pourries
Atop the bar, Johnny Walker, Bacardi, Baby Duck and Spumante
Hot channa, chips and corn curls, a metal nutcracker in a bowl full of nuts
Sorrel, Peardrax, fruit punch, and every rainbow colour of pop.
Jello-ed fruit cocktail, cookies with icing, sugar biscuits in tins
Fudge, coconut ice cream, sweet saywine with maraschinos and almonds.
Sponge cake, black cake, sugar cake, kurma and Cadbury delights
Take, take! Lavish spread, replenished all throughout the night
The adults would stay on one side. Belly laughs and sing-songy talks about the old days resounded in the air. And, when the night rolled on and the liquor played its part, in secret, they would boast about their children. Not within earshot, released from rules and reprimand, we were free! And only after a few minutes, the discomfort that comes from disconnect and distance, would dissipate. Then on to the important business of deciding what to do and “dukes in” to see who. Racing down the sidewalk and wrestling on the lawn till the sun sunk low, until the adults bellowed for us to come inside.
By this time, the music would be blasting its way out the windows and the older siblings jammed together amongst the towers of records stacked in order of song request. Tiptoe-sneak-crouch-listen for all the juicy details that were not meant for our wholesome ears. Smash the door open, giggle and RUN! But, each time the sounds of celebration and all the intrigue of the basement dark, would call us back. Two by two, girl and boy cousins paired off by age, would make their way to the dance floor. From sways (How Deep Is Your Love, Stairway to Heaven, Careless Whisper) to grooves (Ring My Bell, Another One Bites the Dust, That’s the Way(I Like It) to funky moves (Funky Town, Super Freak, Kiss ), we would strut our stuff and belt out the tunes in an unspoken showdown. But, with just a few notes of Brown Girl in the Ring, We Are Family and Holiday, people of all ages would come from every direction to lock arms, swooping from one side of the dance floor to the next until everyone was part of the family chain. One song after the other, way past the rising sun, we would fill ourselves up with Family and Connection until our yawns forced us to find a space somewhere to make a bed. And, when we awoke to sweet aromas, our minds still giddy with music and memories etched of a glorious night, we were lighter and forever changed. How we loved and lived for these joyful times with the cousins!
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