Saturday, February 7, 2015

Cornering Memories


















Here I am in the middle of the night in the music room/turned sunroom, sitting in my barber's chair looking out on a corner from my childhood. Insomnia is a demon and sometimes a friend. The strongest memory I have of this corner is how my friends and I reenacted the last scene from West Side Story out in the middle of the street. We were thirteen and very dramatic. We would take turns being Tony and Maria running towards each other. Tony would get shot and Maria would kneel over him sobbing. Then we'd sing "There's a Place For Us."  I'm sure if my mother had known we were doing this out in the middle of the street, she would have had a fit.

You would think my strongest memory would be seeing a woman get hit by a car here, walking in the crosswalk because the driver of the car had the sun in his eyes. I had just completed a First Aid course at the University of Utah and ran to her with a rolled up blanket to stabilize her head. She wanted to get up and kept saying, "My head hurts so. My head hurts so." My mom had called 911 and I sat with the woman, holding her hand and trying to comfort her. She stayed conscious, so I thought the prognosis was good. Wrong. A couple of days later, her obituary was in the newspaper.

This corner was a source of aggravation for my parents because they were forced to have their property extended out into the street because of this accident (and others). The city added bushes, lawn and more sprinklers, forcing my parents to pay for the considerable maintenance of property they would not own.

As I sit here, overlooking what I call 'my manor,' I'm filled with nostalgia. Is it lack of sleep, my age or the fact that I chose to inhabit my childhood home? When my mom was dying, she kept talking about wanting me to take her home. When I mentioned this house, she said, "Oh no, silly. Tenth East." That was her childhood home. My uncle died a month before Mom and he talked of going there too.

When I'm dying, will I want to go back to 11th Avenue - a home filled with intense, loving memories? A home where my sisters and I roamed the neighborhood freely, playing Kick the Can and other childhood games?  A home where my father would scoop me up by the bottom with his huge hands to show me this was not the best way to pick up our cat?

This is a picture of my sisters and I in our backyard - so happy and free of concerns.


...and on the right, is, of course, the very dress I was wearing -
still in my possession, like the memories.

23 comments:

  1. My father was military so we moved a lot. When we finally settled I stayed at home another 9 years and it seemed to be my favorite. Each home we had, had something special, but this was home to me. When I drive past it I can almost hear childhood voices and memories galore.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. There's nothing like sweet childhood memories to brighten our lives.

      Delete
  2. That you still have that childhood dress seems remarkable, a skill for retaining, preserving. I imagine the past and present are constantly seeping into each other if one lives in the home where they grew up. Memories that feel like time travel are strong enough without all that a house must hold. I hope you are very, very happy there. xo

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Marylinn - Mom had used the dress as a rag and that's why it's so worn and yellowed.
      Hmmm, time travel, indeed. I AM happy.

      Delete
  3. Lived in five different places growing up.The one I have the most affection for is the place I lived from ages 1 to 8, the home and neighborhood where the memories are the vaguest but, paradoxically, resonate the most. I guess because I was just at my most innocent. That was my Eden, and the move from there was my Fall from Grace. And I didn't even get an apple out of it!

    Very thoughtful piece today. And you were a cute kid, not surprisingly.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Oooh, a fall from grace. I hope we get to hear about that some day.

      Delete
  4. Quite a touching post, Kass. Brought up lotsa emotions. I get where you're coming from. There's magic in our places past. I wish that were true for me, too. My childhood home, 10203 South 88th Avenue is gone. The entire area redeveloped. It's as if my past was obliterated.

    I'm glad you still have your touchstones. We all need them, but some fade out of reach...

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. So many things fading, but we're still reaching, Jonas.

      Delete
  5. Oh so lovely, Kass! I'm so glad you still have Nanny's house. I know I would still have my memories of it, but with you there, I can see it still living instead of frozen in time.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Marcia, it's true, things do carry the life of our memories.

      Delete
  6. lovely to read this wash of memories, those that come in the sleepless valleys of night. i have access to none of the places i grew up in, and yet i can place myself on my grandmother's bed for a nap, or on the staircase listening to the grown-ups downstairs laugh and talk, t eice cubes chinking. i think sometimes insomnia can be a wonderful ride, as long as you have no obligations the next morning, and you take it where it leads you.

    so happy to read your posts, kass--always. xo

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Yes, Susan. Insomnia has taken me on many adventures. How wonderful to remember your grandmother's napping bed.

      Delete
  7. Its rarely what we think it will be… the things we hang on to, and the things we let go. Grease was our movie- and we ran outside, late at night, as well. My mother would not have been happy to know! This has been a week of re-telling those stories of old and so I really relate to this post- its wonderful to hear your writing voice speak so beautifully.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Oh yes, Grease. That would be a good one, too. "You're The One That I Love."

      Delete
  8. The research I worked on basically was rotation of buffalo herds in large prairie areas, making sure they were not depleting species. I did this during the summer, when I was teaching, camping all summer.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. So glad someone is protecting our wild friends.

      Delete
  9. Hi Kass...I loved West Side Story too...my girlfriend and I recorded "our version" of the entire movie, playing all the different characters ourselves. She still has it on reel to reel tape. We did it when we were ten years old.

    I grew up in Pasadena, CA a couple blocks from the Rose Parade route....I saw a woman drive through an intersection and crash into a tree...she half fell out the driver's side. I was waiting on the bus bench waiting to go to school with my younger brother. I thought she had Mercurochrome on her head...I didn't realize it was blood.

    We lived in Pasadena until I was 5, then moved to Washington state and moved back to California when I was ten. My Mom still lives in that home we grew up in...58 years ago...There is no place like home. It just feels so safe...fun...my best laughing and conversations were always at home...

    We are kindred spirits...I really enjoyed sharing your memories with you.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Donna, yes we are kindred spirits. I just left a comment on one of your blogs so I hope you check it, even if, like me, you only occasionally blog.

      Delete
  10. I think we all just want to go home when we're close to the end.

    ReplyDelete
  11. A profoundly moving post, Kass. Thank you for sharing your memories - a privilege to read and take the corner with you.

    ReplyDelete

It's nice to know you've stopped by. Thanks.