My first "real" New Year's experience

So January has been sold to another generous bidder. Literally, a bidder…..remember my story about my parents playing bridge in the Yukon? Okay so F. and A. Lemphers are like my second parents – if I haven’t said that before. I would say “they practically raised me” but as you may recall, the TV and beta max raised us when we were out on the Marge of Lake Labarge and our parents were playing bridge. Okay…not exactly but it makes for a good story.

 As promised, if you donate to CUSO-VSO, I will sell you a month. I’ll try to find a wacky and maybe even hilarious story to tell online to thank you publically. This month is no exception. I think that January was the perfect month to sell the Lemphers because this story is about the first New Year’s Eve that I threw up. Yes, full, in the toilet barfing and it’s all Mrs. Lempher’s fault! Stories of New Year’s Eve and throwing up shouldn’t really sound any alarm bells. After all, isn’t that what it’s all about? So, you’re thinking “she must have been a teenager and snuck into the liquor cabinet while her parents were playing bridge and too much Drambuie?”  Not exactly. First of all, I was ten. Second of all, there was no alcohol involved.

 It was New Year’s Even 1989. We were about to ring in the decade of grunge music, the Gulf War and a Liberal return to power. This year, as with every year, we were getting together with the Lemphers. But instead of making the trip out the Lake Labarge, they drove into the metropolis of Whitehorse (Tamarack Drive, specifically) and settled into a game of bridge at the dining room table almost immediately. My brothers and the Lemphers boys headed downstairs to watch some “boy” movie like Batman or Indian Jones and the Last Crusade and I, because I was 10 and way to mature for them, hid in my parents room watching made for t.v. Christmas specials. I had some chips and some pop and was pretty comfortable. I even grabbed one of these sweet scone type things with a sweet nutty icing on them that Mrs. Lemphers brought over. They were about the size of the palm of my hand. Now, I remember them being the size of an adult palm but I was ten. Either way, they were big. So I settled in and took a bite of the scone. OMG it was so good. I gobbled it up and went out for another. Back to my parents’s room to watch more t.v. I ate my second scone and washed it down with some Pepsi. A third one might have been a bit gluttonous but even my 10 year old self reasoned that any New Year’s resolution wouldn’t officially start for another four hours or so and today was all about indulgence. So, I had a third. Now, you must understand that each time I headed to the kitchen I had to pass the bridge game in the dining room. Thankfully they were so engrossed that a simple “hello” or nothing at all sufficed. I think I made no less than six trips to the kitchen for Mrs. Lempher’s scones. SIX. Yes, my little ten year old body managed to put away six scones! But not for long.

 As I sat there, watching some show – probably that Christmas show with Abby the little girl and her poor mom played by Mary Steinberger and the angel named Gideon, which is a show I STILL love to watch every Christmas but can never remember it’s name but always remember the line where Abby’s brother threatens her by saying he’ll punch her “Pow. To the moon, Abby. To the moon” – my stomach began to rumble. And rumble. And uh oh….right around the part where Abby and her brother get kidnapped by the bank robber, I got up and ran to the washroom. All six scones came back up as did that sweet nutty icing taste that made them so tempting in the first place Ug. Thankfully, the washroom was not on the way to the dining room so I managed to be inconspicuous. I flushed the toilet, brushed my teeth and quietly headed back to lie down and keep watching t.v.

 I clutched my stomach as we rang 1990 (…in Ontario! My parents never let us stay up until midnight but rather convinced us that it was just as great to celebrate with Torontians and then head to bed at around 9 o’clock).  I think that neither the Lemphers nor my parents, know this story and are reading it for the first time, as you are. I know one thing for sure, though. I’ve never asked Mrs. Lemphers for that recipe. I don’t think I ever will. While I may never thank you for the great baking of 1989, I will send a big thank you for your support to CUSO-VSO. And remember, if you would like a blog post dedicated to you just donate to CUSO-VSO and let me know!