Recipes for Life:

Where I have come from, where I

am and what I am reaching for

Laura Earl
Education 823
June 2016

Introduction
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This literary mtissage is separated into three parts. It is an exploration of who I am,
where I came from and what I am reaching for. Three themes are weaved throughout my life
writings. The first is family. I have a large extended family, about 30 of us in total. I have
struggled with my relationship with my family. I love them, but I find them to be so different
from me. My family is dramatic and so, so weird most of the time. But Ive realized that if I
didnt have them, I would be lost. I would not be the person I am today.
Secondly, whenever I think back upon my childhood, it revolves around family
gatherings, the 30 of us all congregated around the kitchen or a table full of delicious tasting
food. My life has revolved around cooking and baking. My Grandma was a wonderful cook. My
moms recipes are influenced by my Grandma, but also have her style weaved into them. My
Dad is the best seafood cook that I can think of, although I could go without his canned pickled
herring. My Nanny and Papa didnt cook well. I dont think my Papa had ever gone near an oven
in his life. He stuck to saltine crackers and blueberries if he had to fend for himself. My Nanny
thinks she can cook, but she cannot. She cooks Christmas Turkey in a plastic freezer bag and her
pies always have a tough, pale crust, and are sparingly filled with canned pie filling from a
grocery store. They are nothing like my Grandmas picture perfect ones. Many of the poems and
writings I have included in this mtissage speak to food, cooking or baking in some way.
The final theme is my relationship with writing. For the past 12 years, I have struggled
with writing. I have come to the realization that during these years I have been afraid to write. I
am afraid of what others might think of it. When I was a child I loved writing, but as I got older,
other things filled my time. The more I had to write for school, the more it became work, and the
less I enjoyed it. I feared criticism of my writing and began to hide it, only sharing it when it had
to be submitted for a mark. These memories came up for me during this past semester. I am not
going to lie, sharing my writing to the class was challenging this semester, so I usually only
picked the easy ones to read.
This is an offering of my writing, my story. I hope you enjoy reading it and learn a little
bit more about who I am.
Laura
Earl

Part 1: Where I have come from

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In traveling a Pathway, we make stops, encounter and overcome

obstacles, recognize and interpret signs, seek answers and
follow the tracks of those entities that have something to teach
us. We create ourselves anew.
Gregory
Cajete
Before Five

I was born in late summer, on September 10, 1987, in Burnaby, British Columbia. I lived
my initial weeks inside an incubator at Burnaby Hospital after being born with pneumonia. I
think this was a sign that I was destined to be ill al the time (more on this later). I was born with
a whole head of dark hair that straight up at the crown of my head. I looked Asian although
neither of my parents are. The highlight for my mom was when Asian families would stop her in
the store so they could take a picture of me, with my funny hair and peculiar features that did not
match those of my parents.
I was a sickly child. When I finally arrived home from the hospital, still recovering from
my entrance to the world, my mom and dad took turns placing me upside down on their
shoulders and whacking my back with their firsts, so I could breathe. After my bout of
pneumonia, to the dismay of my parents, I developed seizures, and had seizures frequently. I was
in and out of the hospital, and by the time I was two, I had ridden in an ambulance three times.
My seizures eventually leveled off and I developed warts all over my hands and feet. After
trying home remedies, consisting of some magic over the counter medicine and Duct Tape, my
mom finally caved and took me to the doctor to get them removed with dry ice. If this wasnt
enough, I was also prone to vomiting when I got a cold or flu, when I overheated on hot
summer days, when I was picked up too high, when I ran too fast or when I travelled anywhere
that required being in any moving vehicle or
boat. This was unfortunate because I was
always on a boat my dad was a fisherman. A
plastic ice cream pail was permanently
stationed in between the front two seats of my
parents minivan. It became so intense that my
parents had to sell their red Caravan for fear
that the stench would never fade away.
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Since I was always so sick, I spent a lot of my childhood before the age of five indoors. I
learned to do puzzles while watching Sesame Street, Barney and Care Bears. I fell in love with
reading books after being read to so often by my mom and aunts. Eric Carle books were my
absolute favourite. I would spend hours making crafts and playing dress up from items in our
fabulous tickle trunk. I routinely waited, patiently, at the oven door for the tray of Moms
chocolate chip cookies to finish baking.
However, I was also very shy, which surprised my mom, as I consistently had to meet
new people. I was always meeting new doctors that pledged to cure the particular malady I had at
the time. I would hide behind my mom and made her speak for me. Over time, it became more
and more difficult to meet new people.
By the time I entered Kindergarten, as a result of all my alone time, I could read well and
books became my escape. I learned so much from reading. They brought me to a place where I
could imagine and dream about being a part of different cultures or travel to distant lands.
Gregory Cajete describes that myths,
legends and folktales teach us about the
nature of human life in all its dimensions
and manifestations. They teach us how to
live fully (p. 116). However, reading also
brought me to a place of solitude where I did
not have to speak to anyone. I learned to be
alone. I yearned to be alone.

Grandpa

Grandpa
I did not know him very well

Grandpa was a tall, lanky man, reaching about 6 foot 5

Although he did have a recognizable belly
Most likely from enjoying a few good beers
Or my Grandmas meals

Grandpa had course gray hair

That stuck straight up from his head
He wore large, black square shaped sunglasses
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Upon his nose that was something else

Grandpa grew up on the Sunshine Coast

In Earls cove in the small house on the hill,
right next to the water
He had a mother, father and two brothers
A very peculiar family people would say

Grandpa rowed to school when the weather

allowed
But stopped in grade 5 as he was needed
more at home
His father, Thomas Egbert, was killed
By a tree in the forest

Grandpa was a fisherman

Learned his trade, slowly working his way up from a deckhand
To captaining his own boat, the Ocean Troller
He loved the water so it was a perfect job for him

Grandpa trolled the Pacific seas for months at a time

Hunting his treasure of salmon
Coming back resembling Tom Hanks Castaway
Oh, how he belonged on water

Grandpa had a strange English dialect

Which I could barely understand
Basically nodding yes to everything he said
No doubt due to him living his childhood isolated in the bush

Grandpa had a temper

When he was cross
Would always go for a nap
Waking up with gray flyaway hair

Grandpa died
When I was seventeen
He fell off a chair one day
Heart completely shut off

Grandpa
I did not know him very well
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Five

I was four when I entered kindergarten. I turned 5 a week later. The start of school was
always like this. The start of school was exciting, not just because of the smell of freshly opened
loose-leaf paper, sharpened HB pencils and new lunch kit, but also because it meant that my
birthday was soon.
In kindergarten I could already read, and read well, so Ms. Davies sent me off to read
independently while all the others learned. This is probably where I learned to enjoy, no, crave
solitude and books.
My fear of talking to new people was at its peak during this time. I once went to a family
party and kept my eyes shut the entire time. I walked around with my eyes shut. I spoke to my
cousins with my eyes shut. I was so shy and would have preferred to sit in the room alone. I had
some close friends. I think my mom made a point to set up play dates for me so I would actually
socialize with others. A few times per month I would spend time with Andrea, Monica, Emily
and Ann afterschool. We would demolish our afterschool snacks, watch Saved by the Bell or
Full House on T.V., and explored the backyard.
I was also developing my artistic side at this time. I drew a lizard for my dear
kindergarten teacher, Ms. Davies. She posted it on the wall behind her desk and when I went
back to visit her in grade 7, she still had it up on her wall. This made me feel cared for. In grade
1, I had the old lady Mrs. Faulk who was just on the brink of retiring, or I hoped she was. She
gave me an F on a colouring page because I drew outside of the lines. When I saw that, I felt bad
about myself. A six year old felt bad about herself for colouring outside of the lines. However, I
kept drawing, ever determined to prove that lady wrong.
As I got older, afternoon play dates turned into sleepovers (if I could make it through the
night without crying). Sleepovers at Emilys house were the best because we could sleep near the
turtle habitat at the bottom of the stairs and I could listen to her practice her violin before bed. It
was such a lovely sound. Life at age five was simple, even though, at the time, I believed it to be
so intense.

Imagination

Imagination
When you are a child is limitless
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Timeless
Dress up, dancing, forts in the backyard
With friends you could imagine everything
Imagination
When you are a teenager turns to dreams
What you will be when you grow up,
Where you will live, who you will be with
Imagination slowly turns into stress
Of grades, of where you will go to school,
Or what you will declare to be
Imagination
When you are grown up is rare
Life gets in the way, busyness
Bills, career, chores, children
No time
So, lets imagine that we are children
Make time
And begin to imagine once again

Strawberries

I have always had a fondness for Strawberries. Fresh. Local. Strawberries. Their ruby red colour
and sugary taste was what got me every time. Strawberry season also meant the ending of school
and the start of summer. My sister and I would accompany my mom to Surrey Farms to get the
pick of the crop. Later, we would stem and hull our delicious bounty to can fresh jam, make
strawberry shortcake or package and freeze them to use for smoothies. Since I was mildly
allergic to the berries, my mom would set aside a small custard cup of the sweet tasting fruit. I
would pop one after the other into my mouth, and when she wasnt looking I would fill up my
bowl once again and eat them until my stomach hurt and I was covered in hives. Nothing could
keep me away from my sweet, crimson treasure.

Plump, red strawberries

Sweetness commandeers my tongue
Cannot eat just one

Grandmas House

It took about forty-five minutes

From Cloverdale to North Vancouver
Over the Second Narrows Crossing
Up the Steep Cut, an adventure for a small child
To get to Grandmas house