Sharing A Room, and the Magical Properties of a Glow in the Dark Jesus . . .

With the exception of a very few years in my early teens, I shared a bedroom with my sister for most of the time I was growing up, and, for a few years, even my brother as well. His crib was over in one corner of the room, and my sister and I shared a big double bed. This was fine with me . . . I've never been all that greedy (waiting for the lightening bolt to strike me here . . . ) and I always really enjoyed the companionship of my sister and brother, at least, for the most part. I was always afraid of the dark . . . not to mention Santa Claus, so having them close by worked quite well for me.



One year, when I was around five or six years old, my father decided that it would be nice if Santa Claus could talk to us in our bedroom . . . that was when the three of us still shared a room. He had rigged up a walkie talkie, and hidden it in the bedroom. That night, after we got into bed, and were all snuggled in . . . all of a sudden Santa Claus started to talk to us. I'm sure he thought this would probably be the thrill of our lives! But . . . to me, a 6 year old child that was afraid of Santa in the first place . . . the eerie staticky sound of a Santa Claus, with a mysterious French accent, coming from under my brother's crib was terrifying . . . and so, I was glad I was not alone.



One time my mother had the stomache flu, and so my dad had to take care of us and cook for us, for what seemed like an eternity. I am sure it only seemed that way because the only thing my father knew how to cook was fried eggs . . . and we had them for breakfast . . . we had them for lunch . . . we had them for supper . . . and we had them again . . . and again . . . This was fine, and probably quite nutritious, except that, on about the third morning, my sister woke up with fried eggs in her hair. Yes . . . I'd gotten the tummy bug myself . . . and, quite naturally, the person I shared a bed with was the lucky first recipient of the news! It was a very long time before I was ever able again to sit down and enjoy a fried egg . . . and, I'm not entirely sure if she was able to either . . . although,in all fairness to me, I have heard that egg shampoo does give the hair a certain shine and glow . . .



Being afraid of the dark, I quite naturally also assumed that there was a monster living under our bed. This was not just an ordinary monster though, this was a monster that had a particular taste for little girls and boys. It loved to crunch them up and eat them, with the exception of their heads. It didn't like the taste of little girl or boy heads. I often went to bed a bit later than my sister and my brother, because I was older of course! Usually by the time I was sent in to bed they had already been asleep for a time. I would tiptoe carefully and quietly into the room, so as not to disturb the monster under the bed you know . . . and then, I'd carefully pull up the covers on each of them . . . taking special care to be sure that only their heads were showing above the satin edge of the blankets. My stuffed toys and dolls got the same treatment, as I was never quite sure if he would eat them or not. Only after we had all been tucked in safe and sound, was I able to fall asleep, and rest assured . . . the monster was never able to eat us, for only the yucky parts were showing . . . thanks to me!



I remember one time I awakened in the middle of the night, and I was certain there was a group of aliens outside our bedroom window singing their sirenic sultry song to us. I lay there in the dark . . . worry creasing my brow, and terror ruling my heart . . . listening to the sounds repeating, over and over again, for what seemed like an eternity before I realized that, what I was really listening to was the eerie sound of my sister's laboured breathing. She was recovering from Rheumatic Fever, and so her breath was whistling somewhat as it took it's journey in and out of her nose and lungs which, to my un-trained ears and due to my vivid imagination, sounded somewhat like an alien melody . . . trying to lure us into their spaceship and take us away.



Once we got to be teens . . . sharing a room with each other started to lose some of it's charm. It wasn't cool to really "like" your sister, and I am now ashamed to say . . . I found her following me around and listening in on the conversations I had with my friends hugely annoying and embarassing. By then we had single beds and we each had our "own" side of the room . . . with an invisible line dividing the room in two. Each was responsible for keeping their own half clean and tidy . . . but of course . . . neither one of us was really tidy, and if we were . . . it was never at the same time! That used to cause a few arguments, especially if my going out on a Friday night was determined by how clean and tidy the room was on a Friday morning! It's also very hard to have secrets . . . as all teenagers do . . . in a room that is shared with a person that's very determined to find out all there is to know, and then use it to . . . either get you in to trouble . . . or to get you to do something you don't necessarily want to do, such as loan them a special blouse or sweater that you really didn't want to have to share in the first place! Hence the rule my father ended up instituting . . . "No sharing clothes." It caused too many arguments. All the rule really did though, was to send the clothes sharing underground and stop our bickering out "Loud" It became a whispered art after that . . . and was very well developed!



My mother had a rich (or it seemed to us) cousin that lived in America. Her name was Lydia McNayr. During the depression, when my mother was a little girl, she and her sisters had been the happy recipients of care boxes from her cousin's family, which contained hand me down clothes and other treats. This went on for years, and after my mother had married and had all of us, Lydia would then send packages to us kids at Christmas and Easter. I remember in particular some pretty crepe paper butterflies held together by sparkly painted wooden clothes pins that my sister and I ended up using to hold back the curtains in our bedroom. They were different shades of pink, and had sparkly clothespin bodies and springy black pipe cleaner antennae. One year, she sent us these fascinating pictures to hang on the wall. Each one was slightly different than the other, but they each had the Lord's Prayer painted on them and pictures of Jesus. The background was this purple cardboard and the pictures were an odd greeny kind of white, but the best thing about them was . . . they actually glowed in the dark. Those two pictures hung on our bedroom walls (each on their owner's respective sides) right up until I grew up and left home to live on my own. There was something very comforting about those pictures, in being able to look up, when all around was dark and black and scary . . . and being able to see a magical Jesus looking down on you, His loving profile and tender words helping to scare away the bogey man, and any monsters that may have still been lingering under the bed. I wonder what ever happened to them? I like to think that somewhere they are still working, still glowing in the dark, still protecting . . . hanging now on some other little girl's bedroom walls . . . but . . . they probably are long gone . . . except in the sepia glow of this little girl's memory and mind . . .

I finally got around to making the Roasted Tomato Salad last evening for our tea. It was delicious, if a bit hard to photograph and have come out looking as tasty as it was. In any case, as bad as the pictures may or may not be, I highly recommend!



*Roasted Tomato Salad*
Serves 4

Imagine a crusty roll dipped in olive oil and the sweet juices of a sticky roasted tomato all drizzled with a balsamic vinaigrette . . . you have imagined the nectar of the Gods . . . and this lovely salad.

12 large tomatoes cut in half*
24 large basil leaves
2 fat cloves of garlic, peeled and minced
4 TBS extra virgin olive oil
2 TBS good quality balsamic vinegar
24 black olives
sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

Pre-heat the oven to 200*C/400*F.

Place each tomato into a roasting tin, cut sides up, and season each with a light dusting of sea salt and black pepper. Sprinkle the minced garlic evenly over each. Place a basil leaf on top of each one and then drizzle about a tablespoon of the oil over all.

Place the roasting tin in the top half of the oven and roast the tomatoes for about an hour, until the edges are beginning to slightly blacken. Remove the tin from the oven and allow the tomatoes to cool somewhat before dividing them amongst serving plates, spooning any juices that are in the pan onto each as well.

Whisk the remaining 3 TBS of olive oil together with the balsamic vinegar and drizzle this dressing over each serving. Top each tomato with a black olive and serve with lots of crusty bread to mop up the juices.

*Delia suggests that you peel the tomatoes first, but I never do.