Pigs and Ink . . . or Ink and Pigs . . .

When I was growing up, we didn’t get things given to us simply because we wanted them. Well . . . not unless you counted the gifts we got at Christmas and on our Birthdays, but then again, those were a completely different kettle of fish. Even then, we didn't get everything we wanted . . . but we surely appreciated what we did get given.

Most things we wanted, we had to earn and save up the money for. This was far better in many ways, but the most important thing it did for us, was that it taught us the value of hard work and money. It also meant that we had time to think about the things we wanted, and to decide if we really did want them after all, not to mention, in the end , whatever we had saved for became a real treasure to us, because we had worked really hard to have it, it’s worth magnified by the many hours of toil and patience spent before we could hold the item in our grateful little hands.



When I was ten years old, on one of our bi-weekly forays into town, I saw something at the Rexall Drug store in downtown Gimli, Manitoba, that I wanted more than anything in the world. A simple ordinary fountain pen. Bright orange in colour, it beckoned to me from the big glass window in front of the store, just as if it were a siren of the sea luring a captain and his ship into the sea’s watery depths. I stood in front of that window for what seemed like hours, dreaming of all the prose and words I could put down on paper with that beautiful pen . . . Imagining somehow that just owning that pen would cause my words to flow with greater speed and intelligence, and that they would somehow come out looking more beautiful on the paper than they normally did.

I can’t even remember now how much it cost . . . but I am quite sure it was only a few dollars. It would have probably been really easy for my parents to just buy me the pen in the first place, but lessons needed to be learned.



I had an old black piggy bank in my room that had seen better years. Formed of hard black moulded plastic, and decorated with red paint it was cracked and broken in several places, it’s cracks and crevices had been taped together with narrow pieces of masking tape. It had a big slot in the top of it, right in the middle of the pig's back, whereby you could insert the coins you were saving ... and a round opening in the bottom that you could take the money out of, closed by a black rubber plug. Every week, for weeks it seemed, I would put all of my allowance into that piggy bank, sacrificing other things I might have wanted . . . like liquorice whips or jaw breakers, and Saturday afternoon matinees at the local cinema. I think at that time I was only getting about twenty five cents a week for my allowance, which to my ten year old mind seemed to be a veritable fortune.

At first the reassuring shakes after I had inserted my money only made a little noise, a hollow empty sound, but as the weeks passed, it began to sound like I had a large treasure in there, as the coins jingled and jangled against each other and against the hard plastic. I cannot remember how long exactly it took me to save up for this pen, but I can remember the day when I finally had enough money saved to buy it, shaking the coins out onto the nubbly coverlette on my bed and running my fingers through their silver and coppery wealth, counting them up one by one.



I can remember the moment that beautiful fountain pen finally became mine for good. I actually had enough money leftover to buy a glass bottle of aquamarine coloured ink to fill it with and a plastic standing American Indian piggy bank to replace my sorry pig that was falling apart. I’m not sure now which gave me more thrills or excitement . . . the pen or the brightly coloured Indian. The Indian stood proud and tall and had the word Rexall stamped into the moulded plastic just above the money slot cut into his magnificent coloured plastic back. He had a real feather stuck onto the back of his black painted hard plastic head. Oh, but the ink and the pen . . . what glorious prose would be soon flowing from the sharp tip of it’s shiny nib . . .



I carefully brought it home and unscrewed the orange plastic ink holder from the end of the pen, investigating every crevice and contour. Inside was a plastic bladder. You held the tip of the nib into the ink and squeezed the bladder gently, and it sucked up ink into the pen and filled it. the trick was not to overfill it. It took me a few tries to get it just right. Oh . . . the beautiful swirls and lines I drew on my paper that night, all in a glowing aquamarine colour. You can imagine my disappointment the next day when my teacher at school informed me that I was not allowed to use it at school. The colour was too bright and the ink too messy, and the whole thing altogether too distracting to the other students . . . not to worry though, as I got loads of hours of fun and enjoyment out of that pen at home when I was writing one of my many stories and letters, as well as the proud little Indian boy that held my treasures and wealth in his plastic heart for many years to come.

Oh the magic of childhood, the innocence . . . and the ability to get so much pleasure from such small things . . . it's too bad we have to grow up!!



I painted another little Christmas Angel yesterday afternoon. You can see her in all her glory over at The Artful Heart.

My Todd loves Sausage Rolls, although I’m not quite sure that they are that good for him to eat very often. Sometimes though, I treat him to these and he loves them too. They’re delicious and not quite as bad for his cholesterol, as I use baking mix instead of puff pastry.



*Pigs in Blankets*
Makes 6
Printable Recipe

These are quick to make and fun to eat. I have used a packaged baking mix here but you can replace it with any scone dough or American biscuit dough recipe you have. I often do, but used the baking mix the other day for ease and convenience. They taste really good either way!

1 cup bisquick baking mix (available in the baking section of the grocery store)
¼ cup of milk
3 TBS grainy mustard
6 fat good quality Pork Sausages (I used the Bramley apple ones)
1 TBS melted butter

Pre-heat the oven to 200*C/400*F. Separate the sausages and place on a lightly greased baking tray. Bang them into the oven and bake for about 15 minutes until they are just starting to brown. Remove from the oven and set aside to cool a bit.

Combine the bisquick and milk in bowl, adding more milk as needed to form a soft dough. Turn out onto a slightly floured surface and knead until smooth.

Roll the dough into a rectangle about 9 inches by 13 inches, and cut into 6 equal pieces, rectangular in shape. Spread each piece with some of the mustard and place a sausage in the centre of each. Roll up in the dough to cover the sausages, leaving the ends of the sausages peeking out at either end. Seal the edge together.

Place, sealed edge down, on another lightly greased baking tray, brush the tops with some of the melted butter and bake in the heated oven for 10 to 15 minutes longer, or until the “Blankets” turn golden brown and the sausages are done. Serve hot with more mustard or ketchup for dipping.



It's breakfast time in The English Kitchen today. Who's up for a delicious Autumnal Apple Pancake?