2019 Jan 16

Funny the things you remember. 

Just now, sitting here on the couch with my dog, trying to ease myself out of a bad mood by talking to Deacon, while petting him, I suddenly, for no discernible reason, remembered my Grandma’s raincoat. I remembered that I claimed it as my own when she died. It probably didn’t fit me very well. I know it was too long, because I hemmed it myself. Seeing my amateurish stitches in my mind’s eye, now, these 50+ years later, I realize how odd I must’ve looked to my fellow 7th graders, but I felt beautiful in that coat! It was more of a fall coat, but rain resistant. It may have been a London Fog, because I have a blurry memory of the tag, though it meant nothing to me at the time. It was lightweight against the chill of autumn breezes. Colorful, but in a muted fall palette and laid out in small, uneven, rectangles, with dark borders, a kind of stained glass effect. When I think of that coat, Dolly Parton’s song "Coat of Many Colors" is the background music playing in my head. 

And remembering all of that, just now, brought tears to my eyes.

I wish I could say whether the tears were for Grandma, for the memories, for myself, or some combination, but I am uncertain of their true origin.

I wonder if she bought that coat because she felt beautiful when she wore it. I wonder, did she love the colors, and the feel of the fabric, the soft velvet collar? It was unlike most of her other coats, which were camel colored, or brown, or black. It was quite a departure from her mink stools, which I found creepy even as a child, with the poor creatures faces still attached, albeit with glass eyes replacing the real thing. I wish I could even say with clarity, that I claimed the coat because it was a connection to the Grandma I lost at age 12. I cannot. But, I am grateful for whatever quirk of memory lead me to reminisce about Grandma "Up Morningside", as we called her, on this dreary afternoon.    

This was my mother’s mother. My very proper Grandma, who wore gloves and a hat when she went to church, or shopping downtown. My Grandma who smoked Herbert Tarreton’s, but never in public, because, "A lady never smokes cigarettes in a public place, and never on the street!"  My Grandma who prayed the rosary, quietly, each evening after dinner, sitting in her Queen Anne chair, in the living room of her and Pap-Pap’s apartment. My Grandma who watched Lawrence Welk and Bishop Sheen on TV. My Grandma who went to mass every Sunday, on Holy Days of Obligation, and on anniversary dates of the deaths of loved ones. Grandma, whose paternal grandparents came form Ireland, and whose maternal grandparents were from Ohio and New York, and whose Mom & Dad were born in Minnesota and Ohio, respectively. my Grandma who was herself from a large family, being child number 5, of 7. My Grandma who married a man called "C.V.".  My Grandma who gave birth to one child, either stillborn, or who died as an infant. She never spoke of the child. This is the Grandma who adopted a 6 month old girl from Rosalia Foundling Home, and named her Jean. This was my Grandma who never hugged the grandchildren. She was kind, but not warm, or open. This is the Grandma, at whom I lashed out verbally, at age 10, hysterically screaming and crying that she liked our cousin David better than she liked us, "your own grandchildren". Poor Helen! Grandma, I am sorry for being needy, and dramatic!  

Most of what I know is after the fact. But the few true memories I have, that bubble to the surface occasionally, keep me warm, like that coat.  

Snow Days

I guess snow days don't have a magical quality when there are no school age kids in the house. And when the snow falls on days when you are already off work, it seems rather anti-climactic. I remember snow days when I was a kid, more in grade school than high school. It was a blast living on a street with a steep hill. Especially because in the late 50s & early 60s there were fewer cars, especially on our street, which had a belgian block road connector at the top which nobody traveled in snowy times.

We used to get cardboard boxes, as large as we could find and sled in them, usually with the box turned on its side.  Sometimes we got really lucky and found a HUGE box which could be cut down to provide "sleds" for more than one kid. Sometimes there was an ancient wooden sled around & we would take turns riding with one or two of our friends.

But the cardboard boxes really stand out in my memory.  In order to make them faster on the snowy hill, we would soap the area that came in contact with the snow. This was accomplished with a bar of bath soap, usually Lux or Palmolive, borrowed from someone's kitchen or bath. I remember a variation of this as we got older that involved using wax candles to waterproof our cardboard, too.

When I say we sledded down the hill, I mean to say we rode our sleds down the middle of the street on which we lived. Growing up in an urban area, there wasn't any nearby park, or unpopulated hillside on which to ride. As I mentioned, there was little traffic, if any, so we just had fun.  Our street was about 2 blocks long, so it was a decently long ride down the hill. And we kids lived throughout the 2 block area, so we could take warm up breaks at anyone's house anywhere along the way. My house was within 6 houses of the top of the street.  

I can remember a lot of times sledding after dark, too.  That always seemed to be the most fun.  So, if we hadn't had a snow day, after school, we start sliding down the hill and trekking back up, until supper time. Then, after supper, out we'd come again, until we got too cold to move, or until someone's Mom decided it was time for everyone to head to their own homes. When we were out there after dark, parents would turn on porch lights so we had some visibility, since the street lights were about 10 houses apart. 

We had special ways of trying to keep warm and dry. One method involved wrapping our feet in newspaper and waxed paper inside our boots. This later evolved to wrapping our feet with saran wrap. I don't think any of us had real snow pants. I remember staying out until my pants just became too snow logged and cold to bear with any comfort. Then you went in for awhile to warm up and hope your Mom didn't see how red your legs were. We would wear double pairs of pants in an effort to stay warm longer and be outside longer. There is also a vague memory of wearing a pair of pants, covering them with plastic cleaner bags, followed by another pair of pants. There was serious effort to remain warm & dry as long as possible.

Every year there was at least one accident, usually involving one of the boys and someone's parked car. I remember the year that one of the Autore boys slid under someone's car and got scraped up pretty badly.  The girls were a little more cautious.

Of course, even the girls got to be daredevils at times. The bottom of our street intersected with Butler St, which was the main thoroughfare through our area of the city. It was the street on which the trolleys ran. There was a time, probably in the early to mid 60s, when all of us got a little more daring in our sledding down 57th Street hill to Butler St. If our parents had known, they probably would've revoked our sledding rights.  Someone, I'm not sure who, discovered that if the light was green at the intersection and you were traveling fast enough, you could make it across Butler St, instead of aborting into the curb at the bottom of the hill. Timing was oh so important!  I remember the time I came down at a pretty good clip and found I had a green light. Wahoo! My first time making across Butler St! Good times!

Wonder when I began to see snow as more of a challenge than a plaything?  Time to renew my attitude of childhood, I think. 

Open Letter to My Daddy

December 2010

Dearest Daddy,

This is something I wish I had written long before now. But I'm letting you know now, so at least that is something good.

You have always been a great role model. You taught me so many things just by your actions through the years. Your attitude has always been encouraging, even in the times when you may not have realized it. You were always there. You never drank or swore. You made lots of things seem like fun. You were the person I always wanted to spend time with. You played games with us. You sang beautifully. You were a

great Daddy! You still are!

You were always the person who seemed in control of himself. Indeed, on those rare times when you would loose your temper, it seemed like an event, rather than some day-to-day occurrence. It always seemed to me that you must've taken each bit of anger and disappointment and stuffed it away inside. And when you

could hold no more, POW! you erupted. I can only remember two or three eruptions over my whole life, though. You taught me something about self control and anger management, though you probably didn't realize it.

I remember that we were poor, but also that it really didn't matter much. We never went hungry or lacked for a roof over our heads. I DO remember surplus food and you telling me that if I was really hungry, I would eat the surplus government pork. Since I don't remember eating it, I guess I never was REALLY

hungry.

I remember a time when our gas was turned off and it was early March. You made it seem like fun! I remember you letting us kids go under the dining room table as you draped blankets over it and warmed the air under the table with an electric space heater. It was an adventure and we had our very own warm 'tent'.

I remember that you often seemed to acquiesce to Mummy. Those times taught me the need for compromise. I remember that you sat with me all night when I was in terrible pain because of my teeth. I remember that you came to all my graduation ceremonies. I remember that you loved music. I remember playing games and cards as a family. I remember a time when a drunken relative made a hurtful comment to me and you came immediately to my defense. I remember us playing records and singing. I remember that family was important to you. I remember fun times.

I remember once when the electricity was turned off and we got to use Pap-Pap's old railroad lanterns to light our way to the bathroom. Another adventure! It may have been stressful to you, but you never let on. You made the whole episode seem like a great fun escapade!

You taught me that all people are equal and deserving. You instilled in me a desire for a relationship with God. You showed me that it is important to be who you are and to speak your mind at times and to hold your tongue at other times. (this is a lesson I am STILL learning)

Through your example, I learned that even death is a part of life. You showed me how to grieve and still survive, even when the lose is painful.

You aren't perfect, but you're close enough!

I know that through the years I have been a brat, an incorrigible, a trial and a pain in both your heart and your butt. I am sorry for the times when I caused you pain. I know that you have always been on my side even when I acted like you weren't. I am sorry for the times when I was thoughtless. I am sorry for causing you shame and for being so headstrong and stubborn.

Most of all, thank you for always allowing this prodigal to return to your family.

I love you, Daddy and I always will.

Your oldest "pain in the ass" *

JeanMarie

* a direct quote from you, regarding children & parenting. :-)