AND THEN THERE WAS THE OUTHOUSE

Even in these freezing temperatures, I don’t put the heat on in my bedroom. I sleep better with lots of blankets and 3 big dogs sharing my bed for warmth. The floors are hardwood, so it does mean there’s a little dance in the morning until I can get the cold toes into a pair of comfy slippers. My bathroom is what one calls an ‘ensuite’, so there is no heat in there either, and that causes a short intake of breath as I plunk myself down on the chilly seat, especially in the middle of the night. It doesn’t encourage dawdling. However, as we all know, there are occasions when things cannot be rushed; the digestive system has the last word.

It was this kind of situation the other night. Haste had been required, so no time to scramble in the dark for slippers, and any warmth present in my bare feet when I got there was quickly absorbed by the icy tiles of the bathroom floor. There was no quick tinkle and a rush back to a cozy bed. This could take a while. Sitting there shivering brought back some vivid memories. Oh my!

The farm where we spent most of our childhood had no electric power nor running water. My brother and I were the youngest of the many foster children living there, and we soon learned the motto of the place was ‘The Devil has plans for idle hands’. We were still too small to milk the cows or chop wood, but we could mix the slop for the pigs, feed the chickens and geese, chase the goats out of the immense gardens and, very important, daily cut the used newspapers and catalogues into squares for the outhouse.

Each of the numerous bedrooms had a chamber pot, the bigger boys’ room contained two, which were to be used during the night only, and were to be religiously emptied every morning. The outhouse was at the other end of the long woodshed. It was quite a trek for short, little legs, so one tried not to forget the pot for the early A.M. visit, avoiding having to go there twice in a row.

In the summer the only disagreeable thing was the smell. You could get used to that though, especially if the square of comic strip you picked out of the box between the large and small holes cut into the seat was interesting, and truthfully, with that number of kids around, it was often the only place one could find some self-space for a bit.

Then there was the winter. The winter meant unzipping and pulling down a one piece snow suit, freezing fingers fumbling with the buttons of the first pair of lined pants, and usually a second pair, then the long underwear, and finally the undies, to finish by hauling yourself up onto that very, very cold hole where the wind nipped at your bottom, and sit there with your teeth chattering, trying your darndest to hurry things up. Even those squares of paper were cold!

And that was what I was remembering as I sat in my modern bathroom the other night, sleepily berating myself for not having at least a small heater in there for times like this. Still, the short distance to be covered before I could crawl back into the warmth of my bed takes no time compared to what it did on the farm, and my legs are much longer now.

I’ve come a long way, baby, and that thought makes me SMILE.

Sending it out to you, folks. A square of slippery catalogue with that?

LUV FROM THE BUSH IN QUEBEC.