A Memory of My First Time Cooking

By: Christine McFarlane

My stomach grumbles, my head feels foggy, and it’s the first time that I have ever cooked. 

The task is simple. I have to boil some noodles and stir in some sauce. It’s only supposed to take me ten minutes but instead it takes me twenty.

I shuffle over to the kitchen, and though I read the instructions on how to cook these noodles, my thoughts are scattered and foggy. I’m not all there, I’m lost in thinking about what tv show I am going to watch next.

 I pull out a pot, put it under the kitchen faucet and fill it with water. I dump in the noodles, put the pot on the stove, turn on the heating element and promptly leave the kitchen. Who knows what the hell was going through my head, because the instructions say- only ten minutes is needed to cook these noodles, and I leave the kitchen as if its going to take an hour for these noodles to boil.

Five minutes later, the smoke alarm goes off- BEEP…BEEP and in a race to stop the shrill alarm- I stumble and almost trip over the fan that is conveniently placed between the short distance from my living room to my kitchen. You see, I live in a one-room apartment, and there’s not much room to move around.

I pull the pot off the stove and tell myself

“ Damn! There goes another dinner, down the drain.”


Before I can scrape the noodles from the pot, I have to grab my kitchen chair and drag it to where my smoke alarm is. I hop on the chair, and stretch as much as my 5 foot 1 frame can stretch and in the process of turning off the alarm, knock its cover off onto the floor. Swearing under my breath, I scramble to grab the alarm cover, and then hop back up and put it back up where it belongs.


I'm sweating at this sudden workout, and I have to laugh because it reminds me of those commercials you see at 3 in the morning-those ladies in ridiculous tights, with their taut abs and sinewy arms, doing their step aerobics- STEP UP...STEP DOWN, all while disco music blares.


I shake my head and get back to the task at hand-my cooking. After pulling my chair back to my kitchen table, I cross over to my stove once more. I scrape the burnt noodles from the pot into my garbage, and begin all over again. 

This time, I don’t leave my kitchen, and success in my first cooking lesson comes shortly afterwards. Mmmm. noodles.. You gotta love those noodles!

CALLING GUEST WRITERS TO MY BLOG

I have decided that once a month I would like to feature one to two guest posts on my blog. To add variety to what I already focus on,  I am looking for a variety of genres-poetry, fiction, creative non-fiction from fellow First Nations, Metis, Inuit writers.

If you are interested, please feel free to email me at chrissy.mcfarlane@gmail.com

I am hoping that this experiment will take my blog to a different level, and engage more readers. Please pass the word around!

Chi miigwetch

Christine

I'm Going to Miss:

By: Christine McFarlane

I'm going to miss

Mountains

Crisp clean air

Wind whistling

Sun beaming

Kissing my skin

Walks

Down gravelly paths

Trees

Standing tall and proud

Laughter

Good times

Good bye Banff

Hello world!

Be Proud Of Who You Are

By: Christine McFarlane

BE PROUD 

OF WHO YOU ARE

AND ALWAYS

FOLLOW 

YOUR DREAMS

NEVER GIVE UP

OR TELL YOURSELF

YOU'RE NOT WORTH

THE FIGHT

BE PROUD 

STAND TALL

TAKE THAT CLOAK

YOU HOLD WITH SHAME

UNFURL IT

SHAKE OFF IT'S DUST

SMILE

AND LET YOURSELF

DANCE

A Poem:

Blackness rolls in
And rolls out

Thunder beings yell
Lightning flashes
Making their mark
Across the sky

Cascading rain
The sky is weeping
And deep down
So am I

A Step By Step Guide to Annoying Your Teenage Daughter:

A Step By Step Guide To Annoying Your Teenage Daughter:

By: Christine McFarlane

First…. You require a daughter, preferably your own and not someone else’s. After all you could  get murdered by the other girl’s over zealous protective aunt.

She must be going through a case of raging hormones, moments of flightiness and attitude problems. The kind where if she says another “OH WHATEVER” to you when you ask her to clean up after herself, you want to take your hands and wring her bloody neck.

Second.. she must have lots of friends who come over on a regular basis. There’s nothing like annoying your daughter amongst friends. After all, you believe it builds character. 

You will play Stomping Tom Connor music and yodel right along with him in an off key voice, while your daughter tries to yell over the music

MOTHER! YOU’RE EMBARASSING ME!”

Third…. When your daughter least expects it, like when she is on the phone with her latest crush, you decide to yell

“You’re out of deodrant and you need a new box of tampons”

I mean why not announce it to the world that your daughter has become a woman. It happened to you!

Fourth…When your daughter is about to leave with her friends, make sure you fawn over her, wipe that stray piece of hair that you see covering her mouth, or take your finger, spit on it, and wipe that dirt mark you see on her cheek., or better yet say

“Dear, do you want me to clean your eyeglasses with my magic cloth, I don’t want you to not be able to see where you are walking, you could trip and hurt yourself.”

Fifth…. This is the fifth and final step. Tell your daughter you’ll bring her shopping and as you’re in the car, roll down all the windows, and blare your daughter’s music. Promise her you won’t sing but then as the rap music comes on yell

M. to the O. to the M. and say “what does that spell?”

And then tell her

“This music is sick”

(this is a stab at writing a comedic piece)

Nokomis Just Doesn't Get It!

Nokomis Just Doesn’t Get It

By: Christine McFarlane

The wind, whispering yet screaming cold makes Nokomis and her great granddaughter pull their jackets closer to their bodies, shivering as they brace themselves against the cold air.

They’re going to dinner. After all, Nokomis had just received a big fat cheque in the mail from the government. It was her payment to compensate her for what happened at the residential school she attended many years earlier. The scars though not visible, lay beneath the strong façade she presented to the world around her. Never letting anyone get too close, flinching if she heard raised voices, or saw conflict in any shape or form. If it wasn’t for her children and their kids, Nokomis was sure that she would have picked up the bottle. She had seen so many of her relatives who had gone through the same thing succumb to the drink because it was easier to drink, than to deal with the feelings of what was lost to them head on.

There is an uncomfortable silence, as Nokomis and her great granddaughter head out. Nokomis breaks the silence between them when she asks Michelle

“Are you ready for the new school year?”

Michelle, who is walking in tandem beside her Nokomis towards the car shakes her head and replies, “Yeah I am sort of, but I gotta get some more clothes. Last year’s clothes, they’re just not cool.”

They arrive at the car, a small-dilapidated K-car. The kind of car that gets you to point A and point B, and that almost everyone on the reserve has.  Michelle often wondered if the K car was an Indian special and if the Chrysler corporation had dibs on everyone who resided on the reserve, because even when your car died, everyone went out and got the same car again. Or maybe, Michelle thinks, “we’re just too cheap to get a car that will let us drive farther.” Let us escape from reserve life and go somewhere more exciting.

Nokomis and Michelle open the car doors. They are immediately assaulted by the smell of the worn out leather, and the staleness of cigarettes previously smoked. They settle into the seats, Nokomis taking the wheel and Michelle riding shotgun.

They’re on their way.

There is silence for a few minutes, but then the gravelly voice of Nokomis breaks the quiet “You know Michelle, back in my day, I only had one uniform for school. I had to wear it whether I liked it or not.”

“I know,” says Michelle as she rolls her eyes. She’s heard this talk before. About how lucky she has it in today’s world. She gets to wear different clothes every day, she has a tv and a computer, her parents are both educated and have well paying jobs.

Oh she knows she’s lucky, but her Nokomis just does not understand that to make it in high school, you gotta have the latest fashions and brand name clothing. I mean, “come on” Michelle is saying in her head, “I would die if I was labeled a nerd. It ain’t cool and it means a certain death.”

(short fiction story written in Banff, Alberta) a work in progress.....