I was receiving and processing journals at work today and found a couple of surprises when I opened the latest issue of 'Minnesota History'. First, the magazine, (my cat is ALL over my keyboard and hand right now - driving me crazy!) perhaps the binding glue, smelled like newly done drywall or paint. It was a flat white smell.
Then, while flipping through it, there was an article about returning WW vets. One photo showed a 'village' of quonset huts. For about a year when I was five or six years old, my family lived in a quonset hut on a farm near Union Grove, Wisconsin. Seeing that photo brought back memories: my father was working in Chicago and came home occasionally. He was a bartender and musician (played the trumpet and had his Bill Sage's Dixieland Jazz Band). My mother and we children, I think three at the time. The quonset was one large space with rather open door space between rooms. I don't remember actual doors, except doors to the outside, one at each end.
Some memories that come immediately to mind: my brother, a year older, was in second grade and I was in first, in a one room school - two in his class, and only me in mine. Parent/Teacher meetings were like parties - the neighbor would take us in his Buick, I think, one of those bulky cars, so round and curvey in its shape. Adults would ride in the seats and we kids would be piled in the trunk with the trunk lid propped open with a large pole or stick! People would take pies or cakes and so a cakewalk to raise money for the school.
We were totally dependent on neighbors for rides to town, so we did a lot of scrounging. My mother was one of the most creative people I've ever known. For my birthday, she peeled silver paper from cigarette and gum wrappers. Then she glued the thin, small sheets onto a cigar box and then 'engraved' my initials onto the lid. I still remember how I treasured it; it may well have been sterling for the joy I felt.
We had a dog named Duke at the time. He was a tiger-striped boxer that would chase chickens every chance he could. My mother used to complain that 'Duke was at it again and got loose from his chain' and we had to eat a chicken he chased and killed. Turns out that my mother would actually let the dog loose at night so he would bring a chicken home! Dad wasn't the best about sending money home, and though my mother did what jobs she could get in the rural area, they were mostly jobs like forking corn from the wagons to the corn crib. The vision of her doing that is as clear as watching her clean the feathers from the chicken in a big tub of water over an outdoor fire...or using a washboard in that same manner, to do our laundry. She was an amazing woman in many ways.
During our time there was the only time I every remember seeing my mother and father embrace and kiss. Obviously, with two more children, it had to have happened at least one more time! My father had come up for a visit and he had brought a band member with him. I remember two things about the visit - seeing the drummer passed out at the table with his face in his plate of partially finished food, and seeing my parents embrace.
No comments:
Post a Comment