I am bilingual.
Oh, not in the way you imagine.
My second language really isn't that
practical.
Truth be told, I don't even know what
I'm saying.
But the fact remains that I can speak
another language.
Maybe I should explain . . .
My kids and I loved spending time at
Fort Edmonton Park.
It's a stroll through Edmonton's
history.
There's a bona fide re-creation of an
1846 fort.
And a small town.
Comprised of 'dated' streets.
1885 Street, devoted to life in
Edmonton when dust and mud were king and electricity was something
only Jules Verne imagined.
1905 Street, when modern dreams were
beginning.
And 1920 Street, where modern
conveniences and votes for women have become reality.
There are shops and residences with
actors portraying very real Edmontonians of the past.
It was (and is) fun.
And we loved it.
We spent nearly every Thursday there
throughout the summer.
Walking on stilts.
Playing games.
Eating baking fresh from the ovens.
Visiting the shops.
Inter'acting' with the actors.
It was a great way to spend a day.
Then we found the flock of turkeys
behind one of the residences.
And that's when I discovered that I
could speak a second language.
Turkeys make a distinct
'mmmmbladladladladladladladladl' sound.
And I could mimic it.
Really.
You want to talk talent?
We stood at the side of their large pen
and I 'talked' to them.
The male got quite animated.
He ruffled his feathers and puffed up
his facial dangly bits and marched around importantly.
It was very entertaining.
The kids would urge me on. “Come on
Mom! Say something else!”
And I'd do my
mmmmbladladladladladladladladl.
And the turkey would get apoplectic.
We even drew a crowd.
“Look! That woman can talk to the
turkeys.”
Okay. Sometimes, you have to look for
your entertainment.
And you have to admit that not everyone
can talk turkey.
P.S. Guinea Pigs and I also have a
history.
Bonus:
Gram and Gramp . . . and Me.
From Delores' wonderful Monday
PhotoPrompt.
 |
| Delores' picture of she and her grandparents |
Gram was in the kitchen, cooking so
efficiently,
Gramp was in his easy chair and I was
on his knee.
Their kindly ways and gentle spirits
touched so tenderly,
Way back in the early days of Gram and
Gramp . . . and me.
He was a rancher, cattleman; and honest
to a 'T'.
She helped and worked right by his side
and served so faithfully.
The two of them raised children strong
and loved their family,
E'en before those early days of Gram
and Gramp . . . and me.
When I was four, my Grampa died; he
passed on peacefully,
Gram carried on as best she could,
preserved his legacy.
But when I stop and think at bit, I
cannot help but see,
There weren't enough of those early
days of Gram and Gramp . . . and me.
 |
| My own Gram and Gramp` Stringam on their 50th wedding anniversary |
