Yesterday Momma called me to ask "a rather odd question", as she put it. "When did Daddy die?"
I told her, "in 1989, so it's been 20 years."
"Really?"
"Yes," I told her, "it was the day after Memorial Day, a few months before Meg was born."
"Well, okay. I just wanted to make sure he was... dead."
Monday, August 3, 2009
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Endless Summer
When we were small, summer lasted forever. Maybe because the heat, which generally began mid-April and lasted until mid- to late October, seemed to last forever, especially before central air-conditioning.
Toward the end of the school year, the mid-day heat would climb. We would come into the classroom after second recess smelling of sunshine, fresh air and sweat. This aroma mingled with the moist wintergreen-scented sawdust that the school maids put down (a process which was always a source of fascination to me), sprinkled out of the coffee cans they kept on their carts, to catch and retain some of the chalk dust and playground dirt we carried in with us from our play, then swept up with those broad brooms they used. We sat at our desks, usually for reading or arithmetic or geography (the population of _ is this, its main product is this, its main export is that, its main import is this... ), something capable of producing a near-coma by itself, but add to that the oscillating fan, whose drone was both comforting (when it blew in your direction and you were fleetingly cooled by the small breeze) and cruel (when it was pointed elsewhere), and it took all of our will-power not to doze off.
At home the heat continued, tempered by the shade and the cool grass in the yard and the one window-unit air-conditioner in the house. The air-conditioner was located in the den/boys room (which, for you grandchildren, became the dining room at Grammy's house). The unit did its best to cool off the den, kitchen and living room, but didn't reach as far as the bedrooms or bathrooms whose doors remained shut to retain the coolness to the main part of the house. At night the windows were all opened and the attic fan was switched on to bring a steady (if not always cooling) flow of air to all. As soon as the sun started to rise, punctuated by Daddy switching on our room overhead lights and declaring, "Rise and shine, Sunshine!", the fan was switched off and windows were shut as we emerged from our humidity-dampened sheets.
We played most of the time outside anyway, but if Daddy felt like the traffic was coming and going too much and we were "letting all of the cool air out" we were locked out for a time. He literally locked the door and we were refused entrance. We generally sat in a commiserate group on the grass awaiting the time we were to be readmitted.
Our time was spent in varied activities. In our yard, we climbed the mimosa trees. We would hang-out on the large, smooth-barked branches for hours, fanning ourselves with the fern-like leaves and shucking the seed-pods. On the vacant lot next door (now the Ellis') we discovered a "clay factory" (a deposit of clay on the banks of the channel) where Marty and I mucked about while the older kids made works of art. We had a rope swing that swung out over the channel from the high bank (loads of fun, unless you happened to swing wide and smack into a large cypress tree on your way back), and we constructed "survival" shelters (I'm sure for some Boy Scout requirement). We rode bikes either up and down Laguna Lane or around the "circle" of our driveways and Laguna and South Lakeshore. We played or fished at the pier and, for a time when it was legal, we even swam at the piers (which, for Marty and I, who didn't swim, consisted of Daddy's form of lessons, i.e. throwing us in). When swimming in Cross Lake wasn't legal, the boys devised a way to still have some watery fun: they took out the little sailboat we had and tipped it over. Then when the Lake Patrol came by, they had a legitimate excuse for being in the water, swimming, "Our boat tipped over!" (Of course, you were taking your chances with the alligators while in the water, too.)
We had our share of chores to do. Mowing the lawn, edging the driveway, weeding the flower beds, picking the green beans, dusting the furniture, vacuuming the carpet, helping with supper preparations, setting and clearing the table and washing, drying and putting away the dishes, helping to wash the clothes (first at the laundromat, then later, with our wringer-washer and series of rinse water tubs) then hanging the clothes on the lines and, of course collecting them from the lines when they were dry, folding and putting them away, making our beds (which I discovered was easiest if you only slept under the bedspread instead of the sheets and blankets), caring for the pets, and always, taking care of anyone younger than yourself.
We had another military family, the O'Malleys, Mary Pat, Nancy and Timmy and Katie, down Laguna, as well as Gayla Benson, Cynthia Martin and Alton Parker. At the O'Malleys' house, we acted-out songs like "Ahab the Arab" (complete with costumes) for our own entertainment, then drank iced Kool-Aid in colored aluminum tumblers. In the evenings, when the temperature would become more tolerable, we would rally the neighborhood kids to play badminton, crack- the-whip, Mother, May I?, and Red Rover in our backyard, or we would play baseball on the lot next to the Benson's house. As it waxed closer to fall, we would switch to football. We played until dark, or until someone got called home, signaling that we should probably all do the same.
It was a simpler time. We didn't have a lot of luxuries like central air conditioning, automatic washers and driers, dishwashers (Mommy always said she had seven), but we had all we needed... we had each other, and all the days of the long hot summer.
Toward the end of the school year, the mid-day heat would climb. We would come into the classroom after second recess smelling of sunshine, fresh air and sweat. This aroma mingled with the moist wintergreen-scented sawdust that the school maids put down (a process which was always a source of fascination to me), sprinkled out of the coffee cans they kept on their carts, to catch and retain some of the chalk dust and playground dirt we carried in with us from our play, then swept up with those broad brooms they used. We sat at our desks, usually for reading or arithmetic or geography (the population of _ is this, its main product is this, its main export is that, its main import is this... ), something capable of producing a near-coma by itself, but add to that the oscillating fan, whose drone was both comforting (when it blew in your direction and you were fleetingly cooled by the small breeze) and cruel (when it was pointed elsewhere), and it took all of our will-power not to doze off.
At home the heat continued, tempered by the shade and the cool grass in the yard and the one window-unit air-conditioner in the house. The air-conditioner was located in the den/boys room (which, for you grandchildren, became the dining room at Grammy's house). The unit did its best to cool off the den, kitchen and living room, but didn't reach as far as the bedrooms or bathrooms whose doors remained shut to retain the coolness to the main part of the house. At night the windows were all opened and the attic fan was switched on to bring a steady (if not always cooling) flow of air to all. As soon as the sun started to rise, punctuated by Daddy switching on our room overhead lights and declaring, "Rise and shine, Sunshine!", the fan was switched off and windows were shut as we emerged from our humidity-dampened sheets.
We played most of the time outside anyway, but if Daddy felt like the traffic was coming and going too much and we were "letting all of the cool air out" we were locked out for a time. He literally locked the door and we were refused entrance. We generally sat in a commiserate group on the grass awaiting the time we were to be readmitted.
Our time was spent in varied activities. In our yard, we climbed the mimosa trees. We would hang-out on the large, smooth-barked branches for hours, fanning ourselves with the fern-like leaves and shucking the seed-pods. On the vacant lot next door (now the Ellis') we discovered a "clay factory" (a deposit of clay on the banks of the channel) where Marty and I mucked about while the older kids made works of art. We had a rope swing that swung out over the channel from the high bank (loads of fun, unless you happened to swing wide and smack into a large cypress tree on your way back), and we constructed "survival" shelters (I'm sure for some Boy Scout requirement). We rode bikes either up and down Laguna Lane or around the "circle" of our driveways and Laguna and South Lakeshore. We played or fished at the pier and, for a time when it was legal, we even swam at the piers (which, for Marty and I, who didn't swim, consisted of Daddy's form of lessons, i.e. throwing us in). When swimming in Cross Lake wasn't legal, the boys devised a way to still have some watery fun: they took out the little sailboat we had and tipped it over. Then when the Lake Patrol came by, they had a legitimate excuse for being in the water, swimming, "Our boat tipped over!" (Of course, you were taking your chances with the alligators while in the water, too.)
We had our share of chores to do. Mowing the lawn, edging the driveway, weeding the flower beds, picking the green beans, dusting the furniture, vacuuming the carpet, helping with supper preparations, setting and clearing the table and washing, drying and putting away the dishes, helping to wash the clothes (first at the laundromat, then later, with our wringer-washer and series of rinse water tubs) then hanging the clothes on the lines and, of course collecting them from the lines when they were dry, folding and putting them away, making our beds (which I discovered was easiest if you only slept under the bedspread instead of the sheets and blankets), caring for the pets, and always, taking care of anyone younger than yourself.
We had another military family, the O'Malleys, Mary Pat, Nancy and Timmy and Katie, down Laguna, as well as Gayla Benson, Cynthia Martin and Alton Parker. At the O'Malleys' house, we acted-out songs like "Ahab the Arab" (complete with costumes) for our own entertainment, then drank iced Kool-Aid in colored aluminum tumblers. In the evenings, when the temperature would become more tolerable, we would rally the neighborhood kids to play badminton, crack- the-whip, Mother, May I?, and Red Rover in our backyard, or we would play baseball on the lot next to the Benson's house. As it waxed closer to fall, we would switch to football. We played until dark, or until someone got called home, signaling that we should probably all do the same.
It was a simpler time. We didn't have a lot of luxuries like central air conditioning, automatic washers and driers, dishwashers (Mommy always said she had seven), but we had all we needed... we had each other, and all the days of the long hot summer.
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