Together we can get it right. Learning a new tune, like coming to a new country, is not easy. It takes time, and effort. Mistakes before success. Living in harmony is no different, because, Understanding, like music, comes with learning. Together, we can get it right. 1+ Multiculturalism Canada 4 I mennonite mirror I march 1983 Multiculturalisme Canada Canaaa
My Mother Breaks Her Leg by Hannah Friesen My mother was a heavy-set lady. She was tall, large-boned, handsome. She was a proud woman who didn't like to depend on others for help. Self-sufficiency was her motto. She liked fresh air. Every evening before going to bed she would go outside and stand on the steps for some deepbreathing exercises. Like some people take their nightcap <strong>of</strong> brandy, every night she took fresh air. She would stand up perfectly straight, noisily breathe in through her nose, and then breathe out through her mouth. She did this maybe ten times, every night, winter and summer alike. She said it was much healthier to sleep with lungs full <strong>of</strong> fresh air than with lungs full <strong>of</strong> stale air. She always encouraged us, her children, to do the same. Sometimes I did but I could never make it to the count <strong>of</strong> ten before I got dizzy and had to retreat inside the house to sit down. My mother loved to go for walks. In winter especially. She thought staying indoors was a most unhealthy thing to do. So in the evenings after supper in the winter's early darkness we bundled ourselves up in boots, coats, scarves and mitts, and went walking. Sometimes there was just her and me, sometimes a whole group <strong>of</strong> us. I was always halfscared in the cold darkness, for we could quite clearly hear the coyotes howling across the river. When we walked I always walked in front - in case some unknown creature came from behind I would have a chance to get away. I never told my mother I was scared on these walks. I didn't feel she would understand. She expected everyone to hold their own. She was extremely impatient with whineyness. My mother was not careful <strong>of</strong> what she wore on her feet- unlike my father, who was practically neurotic about his footwear. On rainy, or cold, or dry days he had exactly the right pair <strong>of</strong> shoes to wear. He kept them in exactly the right place, too. Some in his closet, some under his bed, some under his desk. <strong>No</strong>ne in the front hall where everyone else left their shoes. If he left them there, there was a chance my mother would slip a pair on to make a quick trip to the kitchen, which was located in the centre <strong>of</strong> our community. Once when my cousin stayed with us to help with some carpentry in the house my mother slipped into his rubbers and went to the kitchen. I heard him say to my father, "Uncle Joe, I'm sure I left my rubbers in the front hall, but I just can't find them." Without looking up my father said, "Your auntie will be back with them shortly." My cousin left it at that, but I saw a puzzled look on his face. The kitchen was located in the centre <strong>of</strong> the community. Each family had its own home but went to eat in a common dining room next to the kitchen in the centre building. All except little children up to the age <strong>of</strong> five, sick people, or special visitors. They ate at home. Food was brought from the kitchen for them. On such occasions my mother carried the food to our home. Sometimes my big sister did, too, but most <strong>of</strong>ten it was my mother. There was a big central bell. When meals were almost ready the bell would be rung. That was first call. It meant, "Wash up, come and get food for whoever is at home." When the second bell rang it was time to go straight to the dining room to eat. On this day it was winter, crispy cold. There was a patch <strong>of</strong> ice in front <strong>of</strong> our steps. My mother knew it was there, <strong>of</strong> course, because she· had asked my father several times to remove it but he hadn't gotten around to it. <strong>No</strong>w she was late for dinner. The second bell had gone; she was supposed to have her food already at home. Hurriedly she grabbed a pair <strong>of</strong> shoes, loafers with slippery soles and heels, and ran to the kitchen. She filled her dishes with food, then returned quickly to her home. She was walking fast, concentrating on doing her job. Then her slippery mennonite mirror / march 1983 / 5
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