However, the title of “Tammy’s Favourite Cat” was dubious because they all died. Natural causes. Alright, semi-natural.
My history with cats is traumatic – and a tad gory. Feline lovers, you may require tissue.
I grew up on a dairy farm in the hamlet of Geysir outside Arborg, Manitoba. Hamlet sounds so quaint.
Our farm was overloaded with cats. In the evening when all 70 to 80 meowed at once – it was Alfred Hitchcock-like. A main contributor to the feline population was Puffballs, a tabby tomcat who visited every winter. Then he’d ship off, and lo and behold, the following spring would bring baskets of kittens! Most resembling Puffballs. Luckily, we had a large barn.
Like a beehive has its Queen Bee, we had a monarch cat: Lucky. A sleek and sophisticated tabby with her own sleeping area and milk bowl. When Lucky birthed kittens, a hush fell throughout the farm. Lucky’s kittens were coddled – and the first-born was held up by a mandrill … wait, that was The Lion King.
Lucky birthed my first favourite kitten, Rainbow, who was brown with orange dots. We kept Lucky’s kittens in a silicone castle with padded carpet. So, an extra large red plastic crate with straw. One day, I couldn’t find Rainbow. Until I dug into the straw. What kitten dies when they’re barely a month old? The start of the curse.
I moved onto Gizmo, who looked similar to Rainbow.
Gizmo, far right-hand side. Isn’t he adorable. Just look at the fear in his eyes.
A month ago, I watched a snippet on Facebook of Family Feud.
A contestant stood beside Steve Harvey, and his family watched in horror as they lost by two points at the end of the show.
Name an animal that gallops. Horse. Cheetahs. Dogs. He said, “Giraffe.” The arm chair game show watcher could easily say, “What! You could’ve said… another animal!” But that ACGSW isn’t under pressure. The person on television knows clock is ticking. (Technically, a giraffe does gallop)
For example, does anyone remember that early-1990s beep?
It could only be … Supermarket Sweep!
The Canadian version of the Price is Right. Even though, Supermarket Sweep originated from the United States. Minor deal.
My television selections were comprised of five channels, six on a clear day – and two stations were the same. Those who survived Farmer Vision will remember the slider on the back of our televisions. And maybe the what stations were on channels 2 and 6, and channels 5 and 7. Good times.
I’ve kept a journal since the middle of July 1986.
It was a five-year diary. One of my best friends in elementary school was moving to Winnipeg, and the diary was a goodbye gift.
The diary had small spaces, and I wrote little context. Sometimes just, “Had a good weekend,” and “Saw a movie.”
In a diary, you never ponder, “Will I know who *Carey K was in 2020?” Or why you left a party upset? How about what LOL and OMG. There is a chance we could forget.
After reading some of my older diaries, I wrote in a current diary, “… and I just thought OMG (future Tammy: Oh my, God) why would you do that?”
My first three diaries. The far blue one is from the summer of 1986. While my other two have more context, it’s “Having fun in South Dakota, we went into this cool cave.”
Here are some tips for your journal. I wish I thought of these when I first started.
Did you see a movie? Write a quick movie synopsis, Did you like the movie? Why or why not? Did you go with anyone? Who? First and last names, please. You. Will. (Possibly) Forget. Or not.
Write in pen. Never pencil. This seems like a simple “why would anyone write in pencil.” When I was in grade eight, I wrote in pencil. The words are faint and blurry.
If you had an awesome night, describe everything. When you’re 25, you might write a short rundown. But your 40-year-old self is reading back, you’ll wonder wear you went, the reason, and maybe what you were wearing.
Went to a bar? What was the name? Restaurant? Same question. What if those restaurants and bars aren’t around in five, 10, or 15 years? Even better, where was the bar, restaurant, establishment. Street names, town, and so forth change as well.
Don’t pressure yourself into writing everyday. I recommend writing at least every second or third day. Because writing about what happened over the course of four months is difficult. Trust me on this one.
Write about the highs and lows in your life. I didn’t write about my high school graduation for two months – and it wasn’t in detail. I barely wrote about grade 12, period. Not a word about moving to Winnipeg the first time. Nothing the day before my wedding day. I wrote about my adolescent brain tumours – though I lost one section about the second tumour.
If you’re going on a trip or a close series of trips, I recommend buying a special diary to write about your experiences.
My post-high school diaries in 2019
It’s not creepy to staple obituaries in your diary. Or to keep stickers from voting. Or stickers from open houses. You control your diary.
Buy different styles of diaries. Coil, binded, magnetic closure. It’s supposed to be an enjoyable process. And you want to write in something that’s nice.
Invest in comfortable pens. Or a diary specific pen. Make sure it’s comfortable for those night when you vent in your diary for an hour.
A journal is a creative outlet. If you can’t express your feelings through words – draw or sketch.
You don’t have to buy expensive diaries. They’re sold at Dollarama and Dollar Tree, and they’re just as pretty.
Keep track of your dreams too. In fact, if you have vivid dreams, start a separate dream journal.
Note down what # means. It went from the number sign to a hashtag, and it could change again. Think about your future self.
Remember, diaries are meant for pouring out your feelings. However, when you have two or three diaries with the same theme, it’s time to switch gears. Write about your feelings, but write a solution to the issue.
Hopefully, these tips help you journal or modify your diary style. Remember, your diary keeps your secrets. Highs, lows, crushes, disasters, regrets, fears, accomplishments, and so forth.
It’s your best friend.
And some days, a diary can feel like your only friend.
Boarded up with chipping paint. Far left, Stefan’s Store. Middle building, CJ’s, Far right, Stefan’s former house / Credit: Tammy Karatchuk, 2017
There’s a small white building at the corner of Hwy 8 and Provincial Road 222 in Hnausa, Manitoba.
When I was a child, that white store was Stefanson and Son General Store. However, most people called it Stefan’s. Stefan and his father, Sigurgeir, ran the business until Stefan went solo. Meanwhile, his brother John operated The Dog Patch in Arborg, an eight-minute drive from Hwy 68 and Hwy 8. However, Stefan catered to a different clientele. Cottagers. Campers. Fishermen. Kids at the beach. Teenagers who wanted to shoot pool.
I grew up near Hnausa during an idyllic time. When Hnausa Beach was a beach, not a Provincial Park. When you could enter year-round rather than a gate blocking access at the end of summer until camping season.
One constant was Stefan’s store though. The only thing that changed was the colour of the building. Until the early-90s, it had a Walmart blue door, matching the bottom half of the store.
Stefan Stefanson was a gruff and tough man with a heart of gold. Whenever he’d tally my Mom’s purchases, he’d allow my older sister, Jenn, and I behind the counter to choose from an array of chocolate bars, bubblegum, and novelty candies – such as candy necklaces.
During the summers, our Mom would make an early morning pit stop before dropping us off at Hnausa Day Camp. We’d arrive at camp with lipstick candy and lollipop rings. Stefan’s store used to have a go-cart track behind his store. As camp was winding down, the older kids could be heard for miles zipping around that track. Stefan shut down those go-carts in the mid-80s, deeming them a liability. Stefan’s was the only place to buy gas in Hnausa, but those tanks were more of a hassle. He let them run dry, and he kept them for decorative purposes.
Tammy W. Karatchuk 