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| Blarney Manor House and Tree |
It reminded me of something . . .
The Stringam kids loved a scary story.
Okay, yes, it usually meant that Diane
couldn't sleep afterwards.
And needed to leave a light on.
Or, better yet, crawl in with my
parents.
But still, I loved to be scared.
And my older sister, Chris was a master
at scaring.
One who knew dozens of deliciously
frightening tales.
It was a perfect partnership.
The scare-er and the easily - and very
vocally - scared.
Chris would gather whatever siblings
were near by.
And, with them cuddled close, launch
into her current favourite.
Her soft voice would wind through the
story, slowly spiralling up in volume and suspense . . .
Or suspenders, as my dad used to call
it.
. . . to the end.
Her reward? Several squeaks of alarm as
she loudly barked out the climactic line.
“I've got you!”
Eeeeeeeeeeeeee!
“Bloody boots!”
Eeeeeeeeeeeeee!
“Ivory soap floats!”
“Eeeeeeeeeeeee!”
Okay. I admit it. We were easily
scared.
My parents were building a cabin on St.
Mary's Lake.
The fact that it wasn't quite finished
didn't deter us from actually using it.
In fact, our summer was usually spent
. . . finishing.
We had finally gotten to the painting.
Had actually spent most of yet another glorious summer morning doing
just that.
Lunch was finished.
Chris had gathered my younger brother
and I on our parent's bed.
For a few delightfully shivery minutes,
we could have story time.
I should mention that, unbeknownst
(Oooh, good word!) to us, Mom had finished the lunch dishes and
returned to her painting.
Right outside the window of the room we
were gathered in.
But I digress . . .
Chris was building to her usual grand
finish.
“Bloody
boots!”
Blair and I were completely absorbed.
“Bloody boots!”
We barely breathed.
“Bloody boots!”
Mom stuck her head through
the window. “Bloody boots!”
Her timing and delivery were perfect.
Eeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Our story teller proved that she was as
capable as any of us of being startled.
And Mom was rewarded with three
squeaks of alarm.
A reward indeed.
