On Mother’s Day I remember back to when my mother was my world. From our house in 15th she limited us by Alberta on the south and Killingsworth on the north — both were artery streets with high traffic. Alberta even had a tavern, which we considered the den of Satan. In between were Sumner (I never knew who he was) and Emerson (very fuzzy idea). Vernon Elementary School was at 20th on Killingsworth and the park across from it was called “Alberta Park.” I was confused because when I was little I thought everything should be logical and orderly. A park on Killingsworth should be Killingsworth Park.
This small patch was marked by adventure. One Mother’s Day I came to a beautiful garden on Emerson and got the idea that I should pick some flowers to take to my mother. But just taking them would be stealing, so I went to the door and asked the lady if I could have a handful. She was perplexed. “Doesn’t your mother have a garden?” she asked. She turned me away.
At a later more daring age, an accomplice and I rang the doorbells of houses and ran away. Just as we thumbed one bell, the radio in the house sang, “Blue Bell Potato Chips!” with great vigor. We thought it was a burglar alarm. At the same age we liked to telephone people and then hang up or direct them to release Prince Albert from the can of pipe tobacco. We didn’t know Alberta was named for a daughter of Queen Victoria. We didn’t know much about royalty until Elizabeth was crowned and one of the first TV sets was brought and set on the edge of the auditorium stage. It was too small to see, except for the teachers who were devoted to England in general. The TV was really for them.
There were two points of anguish on this set of streets. The first was the day after my aunt walked me along the route to my new kindergarten at Vernon. My mother had been anxious to get me enrolled and gone for half-days because she was nearly overwhelmed by my two younger brothers. But one demonstration was not enough. I turned north from Sumner when I thought I was supposed to, but the school was simply not there. I sat on the curb and wept. Soon two big girls came along (they must have been 2nd graders at least) and took me in hand. There were no street signs but they reminded me that I could count.
The other tragedy was when I was in maybe 6th grade. I had a bicycle which the boys wouldn’t ride because it was a “girls’ bike,” meaning no reinforcing bar from seat to handlebars because girls wore skirts. New gravel had been spread along the sides of Sumner which wasn’t fully paved. One day I rode my bike furiously as far as 33rd, my new limit, the wheel caught in the gravel, and I crashed. Tears ran down my face and blood ran down my bare legs as I walked the bike home. My mother was not sympathetic. Hurting made her angry.
It was not all painful. A friend and I found a string of pearls in the grass in front of a house. We knew nothing about imitations and thought they were treasure drawn from the sea. After a day or so of fantasizing, we went back to the house and reported the necklace. The lady was very grateful and her guest, who had dropped the jewelry when the clasp broke, was so pleased that she sent us each a pretty handkerchief.
My mother loved me, but she considered me an extension of herself as compared to the two boys, who were treasure. In later life she would rail against primogeniture, the Brit policy of putting the oldest boy in control, mostly because her sisters both married warring rancher brothers and fought because one gave birth to no boys while the other had three. When our mother died at 89 the older of my two brothers took charge as stipulated in her will and made all the decisions. But he divided the estate fairly and did the work of selling the house.
On Sumner there was a house with a little reflection pool, the kind that was later banned because toddlers drowned in them. This one had a big turtle I enjoyed visiting until the people got a collie who didn’t like me being there. I was reading Terhune books at the time, so I was respectful. A chow dog at the end of my block would bite and so would an airedale on the back of the block. In those days if you were bitten, you were blamed for it.
Down the street Mrs. Crowder kept chickens and we bought eggs from her. Another old woman who kept chickens was on the street that ran to Vernon School (20th) and we bought eggs from her as well. In that block was a yard with a fig tree which my mother admired. The lady there was outside one day and she gave my mother a sack of figs. I was talked into eating one, but that was my first and last. One block on Sumner had a row of pollarded locust trees that shed long pods. That I knew this meant someone had explained it. The monkey puzzle tree was a few blocks up by the water tower which was not on legs because it was on the highest point of land. I didn't know that at the time.
Even then, because my mother always kept the four directions in mind, I knew I was walking east or west on Sumner and Emerson, but that 15th was north to south. Because my father was interested in geology and explained about glaciers, I knew that 15th was running from a high bluff that now overlooks the Banfield Freeway down a slope across Killingsworth to the Columbia River. This was useful when my mother returned to college while I was in high school. She was determined to complete her own academic history that the Depression had interrupted, and to make sure I had a college degree since it was likely no one would marry me. She bought an old green coupe that had a faulty starter, so when she had an early class, the boys had to come out in their pajamas and give it a push. Rolling down the street would start it. A previous owner had installed a truck horn which my mother enjoyed very much.
From our bedroom windows on the second floor, we could see many mountains with Mt. St. Helens and Mt. Hood the most spectacular. Rainier on a good day. My father joined the Mazamas and climbed the most basic four mountains but I forget the names. Maybe the South Sister, Jefferson, Baker and Adams? My little world was small and gridded, but its horizon was high and far. I’m still that way. When I married, my mother was pleased but not optimistic. Me, neither.
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