Prince Albert Voice
A fellow I know well was doing a minor repair. Finding himself with both arms above his head holding a piece of material and needing a tool he called to his nearby wife, “Honey I need you, I’ve only got two hands,”
“Oh, are you sure?” she replied. “From the first time we started dating I was sure you had at least 14 hands.”
So far away--it seemed--was my childhood home from Saskatoon that I never saw that city (nor any other except in rare visits to P.A.) until, in 1957, I was 19 years old. Young country bumpkin was I, much amazed at the sights and sounds of what seemed like a huge city. My jaw dropped in amazement so often I lost the straw I was chewing. You’d have thought I’d landed in New York.
With the possibility of my second childhood coming up (who knows?) I find my mind often going back to my first one.
My early childhood was spent on a homestead farm, and I remember it as being as carefree and happy an existence as any child could hope for. Many an unburdened hour I spent roaming the woods and fields at will, climbing the trees, swimming the creeks and biking the back roads, sometimes alone, sometimes with my younger brothers and a cousin. On rare trips to “town”, a tiny village, there were movies to see, treats to buy, stores to explore--all the excitement of novelty.