Welcome to the Club - Fall 2021

Many of the articles are from the archives of Daytripping Magazine.
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Reverse
Osmosis
and Alkaline
A Small Miracle
from Daytripping November-December 2004 issue
by Jean Leedale Hobson,
West Vancouver, BC
Welcome to ...
THE Club
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There wasn’t much Christmas
spirit in my heart the year that
I had started kindergarten. I
was covered in red spots, my
tummy hurt, my head was
hot and achy and I had to
stay in bed instead of being
at the class party with all
the other children. Well - not
quite ‘all’ - three others, my
mother told me after talking
to the teacher, where also in
the thick of measles. Not the nicest of
Christmas gifts to have been exchanged
in a classroom of five-year-olds.
One event did brighten the scene,
though - my beloved Gran’s arrival
on the earliest train she could catch.
Mother must have had her hands full
with a miserable little girl in bed, and a
two-year-old boy determined to sneak
into the sickroom and play with his
sister. She probably welcomed Gran
as fervently as I did as I relished in the
personal pampering, the lavender water
dabbed on my forehead, and all the TLC.
Snakes and Ladders, Parcheesi, Old
Maid and Snap kept Gran busy in her
role of amusing me, intended to make
up for missing the party on the last day
of school. Hardly a prima donna, the
dear lady entertained me with off-key
renditions of carols old and modern,
although joining in the choruses made
my own scratchy throat sore.
She told me all the familiar stories
over and over, but I don’t suppose I was
as caught up in the birth of the Baby
Jesus as I was in the dismal thought
that Santa Claus might not stop at
our house. Would he dare to come
down our chimney? Would I have an
empty stocking at the foot of my bed
on Christmas morning? And, oh dear,
would my little brother miss out too, all
because of me? Gran tried to assure me
that the venerable old gent was immune
to children’s germs on his important
mission around the world, and anyway,
the cold air around his sleigh would
freeze any little nasties flying around.
She was right, of course. On the big
morning I woke to find my stocking
overflowing with bounty from his bag,
and a note was attached. In a hasty
scrawl was printed: “Get well soon.
Love, Santa. XXX.”
After some porridge and juice, Mother
took the tray away, replacing it with a
stack of gifts on the bed. She
and Gran rolled their eyes and
threw up their hands as my little
brother came in and clambered
up on the patchwork quilt to
join in the fun.
Gran’s present was a doll,
the kind that today would be
a collector’s item, an antique
of considerable value if only
it had not, in time, gone to
its well-deserved rest in dolly
heaven. The face was fine porcelain, the
features painted to perfection, with skyblue
eyes that really opened, thick lashes
feathering her cheeks when her eyelids
closed. Long golden ringlets were tied
with blue ribbon bows. The clothes she
wore were the height of fashion at the
time, and Gran had knitted and sewn
others. She was beautiful! I instantly
named her ‘Sylvia’ after my current
best friend.
Naturally I wanted her in bed with me
that night, even though Mother and Gran
gently advised against it in case Sylvia
caught measles too. My pleas won out,
and her golden head lay beside mine
on the pillow, the need to keep my new
friend close to me selfishly overriding
the risk of contagion.
Next morning, though, when I woke
up, the china face was covered with
red spots! Mother, Dad and Gran raced
in at my initial shout, but instead of
saying “We told you so,” they burst
out laughing. Gran took a wet cloth
and wiped the spots away, and Dad
grinned as he showed me the smeared
red palette and wet brush he’d used
from the new paintbox Santa had left
me. Sylvia’s remarkable recovery was a
make-believe medical miracle. My little
brother, though, when unfortunately his
turn came, was most upset that his red
spots couldn’t be erased as quickly as
the dolly’s.
Sylvia eventually succumbed, as
dollies do, to too many years of
undressing, dressing and hair-brushing,
but I like to think that the story of
her remarkable recovery has brought
smiles to many a measle-marred
little face over the generations since
it happened. It’s a tale this grandma
dusts off and brings out of her store of
memories whenever she gets the call
to go and help the latest victim of the
childhood malady.
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