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When I was a little girl, some of the happiest moments in my life were early on a weekend morning. Scotty and I would often end up in bed with my parents in the morning. There were a lot of windows in their bedroom, and the early morning sun coming through the curtains gave the room a warm, cheery glow. My daddy worked away during the weeks, so spending time together as a family was a both rare and special. We had a sandwich game--two pillows and one wiggly little person and we'd get eaten all up by ferocious parents. Fish sandwiches. I remember being the prey more often than Scotty.. sometimes he joined in on the fishing, but I was always the blue gill. I had a hard time with the letter R, so whenever I would say "girl", it would come out "gill", and therefore, I was always the blue girl catch of the day. I'm sure that there were mornings that my parents would really rather have slept in than played with us, but they never let on--they weren't that kind of parents.
It was there on one such morning when the call came about a new job.. not long later, we were living in a motel room in Michigan while searching for a house. It was summer, and Mom, Scotty and I spent very many hours every day there in the second-floor room, slowly going stir-crazy. I was seven years old and quite a champion Rummy player--I also spent much time every day trying to evade my tickling brother. We finally found the house--very tight housing market at the time. I remember scrubbing horrific red Kool-aid stains and worse out of the refrigerator. We lived across from a school with a lovely park, but we were never allowed to play there by ourself. During a cookout one afternoon while our parents were busy, Scotty and I snuck off down the road on his bicycle--I was on the handlebars. When we returned, we were very very sorry we had left, for we were in much more trouble than we had anticipated. Much later, I found out that the reason we weren't allowed to play outside by ourself was more than just the fears of a small-town mom living in a big city--at least one child had gone missing that summer in our neighborhood. There was a steak and eggs restaraunt up the road where we ate sometimes, but I never understood who would eat steak with eggs. One time, on the way to K-Mart, we watched an old man on a bicycle get hit by a car--we don't know what happened to him, but we still talk about him. I had a blue map of the United States on my bedroom wall, and a comfy twin-sized bed that swayed becomingly in the middle. Scotty and I played a wonderful game where he would lift me up and throw me off of his shoulders onto the bed. This was a lot of fun until the day I landed wrong--I can still feel the pain of having the breath knocked out of me and being queasily uncertain about where my next bit of air would come from. My mom was terrified that I'd broken my back, but luckily, I lived to see another day.. otherwise, I bet he would have been in an awful lot of trouble..
We would always spend Thanksgiving with my grandparents on my dad's side, and there would be a second Thanksgiving with my mom's family on Friday or Saturday. The first Thanksgiving was a little more formal than the second; for my grandmother was always fix-y. She always did everything on her own--I don't even remember any of the women being allowed to help with the dishes. I got to set the table with the special plates that spend most of the rest of the year in the china cabinet in the kitchen, and the silver spoons hanging on the wall. (They were washed first, of course.) I also had the duty of filling small bowls with nuts and mints to set around for pre-meal snacking. After-dinner mints, or butter mints, they call them. We had them at my wedding, and M's mom loved them. To this day, I can't look at one of those without thinking of Thanksgiving. It's been at least five or six years by now since we had Thanksgiving at their house--my grandmother has Alzheimer's now, and the only meals at their house these days come in a paper bag from the drivethrough. As a child, I thought Thanksgiving was an over-rated holiday--now I appreciate having a day to reflect on the things I'm thankful for, and I suppose, a holiday to shepherd in the Christmas season (although I'm beginning to think that's what Halloween is for..)
(You have reached the end of part one. This is a series of somewhere between one and fifty, depending upon future nostalgia and less sleepiness than I'm feeling right now.)
It was there on one such morning when the call came about a new job.. not long later, we were living in a motel room in Michigan while searching for a house. It was summer, and Mom, Scotty and I spent very many hours every day there in the second-floor room, slowly going stir-crazy. I was seven years old and quite a champion Rummy player--I also spent much time every day trying to evade my tickling brother. We finally found the house--very tight housing market at the time. I remember scrubbing horrific red Kool-aid stains and worse out of the refrigerator. We lived across from a school with a lovely park, but we were never allowed to play there by ourself. During a cookout one afternoon while our parents were busy, Scotty and I snuck off down the road on his bicycle--I was on the handlebars. When we returned, we were very very sorry we had left, for we were in much more trouble than we had anticipated. Much later, I found out that the reason we weren't allowed to play outside by ourself was more than just the fears of a small-town mom living in a big city--at least one child had gone missing that summer in our neighborhood. There was a steak and eggs restaraunt up the road where we ate sometimes, but I never understood who would eat steak with eggs. One time, on the way to K-Mart, we watched an old man on a bicycle get hit by a car--we don't know what happened to him, but we still talk about him. I had a blue map of the United States on my bedroom wall, and a comfy twin-sized bed that swayed becomingly in the middle. Scotty and I played a wonderful game where he would lift me up and throw me off of his shoulders onto the bed. This was a lot of fun until the day I landed wrong--I can still feel the pain of having the breath knocked out of me and being queasily uncertain about where my next bit of air would come from. My mom was terrified that I'd broken my back, but luckily, I lived to see another day.. otherwise, I bet he would have been in an awful lot of trouble..
We would always spend Thanksgiving with my grandparents on my dad's side, and there would be a second Thanksgiving with my mom's family on Friday or Saturday. The first Thanksgiving was a little more formal than the second; for my grandmother was always fix-y. She always did everything on her own--I don't even remember any of the women being allowed to help with the dishes. I got to set the table with the special plates that spend most of the rest of the year in the china cabinet in the kitchen, and the silver spoons hanging on the wall. (They were washed first, of course.) I also had the duty of filling small bowls with nuts and mints to set around for pre-meal snacking. After-dinner mints, or butter mints, they call them. We had them at my wedding, and M's mom loved them. To this day, I can't look at one of those without thinking of Thanksgiving. It's been at least five or six years by now since we had Thanksgiving at their house--my grandmother has Alzheimer's now, and the only meals at their house these days come in a paper bag from the drivethrough. As a child, I thought Thanksgiving was an over-rated holiday--now I appreciate having a day to reflect on the things I'm thankful for, and I suppose, a holiday to shepherd in the Christmas season (although I'm beginning to think that's what Halloween is for..)
(You have reached the end of part one. This is a series of somewhere between one and fifty, depending upon future nostalgia and less sleepiness than I'm feeling right now.)
