Fights happened less often in winter. This was probably because, like hockey players, the amount of clothing we were bundled in prevented much free movement and winning damage. The variety of sweaters, socks (sometimes even used for mittens), leggings, snow pants and coats, scarves, caps, and belts to keep the snow out of the snow pants mothers could pull together and cram onto one kid was amazing. They said it was to make sure we stayed warm and didn’t catch cold. The truth was they wanted us to stay out of doors for as long as possible and out from under foot. May Heaven and all its angels help the child who was nearly dressed and had to go to the bathroom. Those of us who were already dressed hated waiting for the ones who were not yet dressed. Their moms always invited us in where we got sweaty, started to itch every place too padded to scratch, and nearly passed out from the heat. Most of us were smart enough to say “No, thank you,” and wait outside.
Behind the house where Tommy and Chucky lived was a two or three lot, houseless, hill. This was good sledding if you didn’t mind the occasional large rock or stump on the way down. We would pull our sleds (not the plastic saucers and skids of today) to the top of the hill. The first couple trips down were not worth the effort as it took some time for sled runners to pack the snow and give some speed and distance to the slide. Once we had hitched our way down several times, the sleds started to glide smoothly down.Of course, not all of us had sleds so we had to share or be creative in providing passage for all the group assembled. Chucky, Danny and Russ being very young usually went on my sled. I would sit up with my feet on the steering with one or two between my knees and down we would go. I was good at steering with my feet (hmmmmm, wonder if I could improve my driving). Anyway, the one who took a passenger could make the passenger pull the sled to the top of the hill for another run. There was also the option of yelling “Magpie” and the sled owner would flop on the sled belly down; as many as could catch the sled before it actually headed downward piled on top. Four was chancy and five in a pile meant disaster somewhere in the middle of the hill. Why we didn’t have more concussions than a football team without helmets is beyond me. There would always be a lot of laughing, yelling, and correcting each other’s prowess as a sledder. For the most part we missed the rocks and stumps but someone else’s sled was as if we were drawn to each other by magnets. Surprisingly, while there were accidents and pain there were very few tears.
If the hill was snowy, and the skies were dropping big flakes of new snow, we would make our last slide to the bottom where we would lie in the snow piled up at the bottom and watch the flakes falling on us. We would excitedly point out big ones. Legs aching because of the many trips up the hill would rest and relax. If it was snowing hard, we would lie there waiting for the snow to cover us. If it was close to sundown, we watched the light in the sky change and felt twilight steal over us. There was little light on the hill because street lights weren’t put in where there were no houses. Sooner or later, a mother’s voice would be heard calling a name or two and kids would rise, shake the snow off themselves, take their sled rope and head for supper (oh, the days, of breakfast, dinner, and supper!). Mom’s would call in succession. The last child would usually go with those just called so they wouldn’t have to make the trip home alone. If I was last, I would say my goodbyes and then when I got to my yard I would see that the yard light was on and I would lie down again and watch the flakes sifting down through the light.Once inside, it took almost as long to peel out of all the wraps as it had to get into them. At our house, heated by kerosene, the stove that stood in the middle of the house would receive the wet clothing. The aroma of dinner cooking, coffee perking, and wet wool on the kerosene stove should have been bottled. I get sleepy just closing my eyes to remember. I knew it was a good night when dinner was one of my favorites: boiled macaroni and warm milk with butter, salt and pepper, or “grave-yard stew” which was milk toast. If Mom made a pancake cake, a tower of pancakes, with butter and a sprinkling of sugar or cinnamon and sugar between each cake I was in seventh heaven!
Tommy’s and Chucky’s parents also made a skating rink on their extra lot. We did a lot of skating by moonlight because school kept us from being out there before it got dark. We would hold hands and sing the Skater’s Waltz at the top of our lungs and laugh whenever any of us fell. I was a lousy skater. It took too much coordination. I never really learned to stop. I stopped by falling in a snow bank at the edge of the rink or making a half turn so I was facing the opposite direction. Still I gave it my all. Since it was close to the ballet I so loved, I imagined I was graceful and adept. My friends were kind and didn’t blow my image too often.We didn’t slide down Polk Street Hill because there were just enough cars to make it not safe. In the summer the wagon rides and roller skate trips were on the sidewalk. Sidewalks were cleared for walking in the winter which meant nothing slid. Well, nothing that is except my sister Dot and occasionally me. If you made a misstep anywhere from our sidewalk to the corner of 39th Avenue, you were lost. One morning, Dot went out to put salt on the sidewalks because we had sleet during the night. In those days we didn’t have chemical salt, we used table salt. There was Dot, salt shaker in hand, sprinkling salt ahead of her own steps and walking carefully. I watched from the door as she made it down our walk to the city walk. We had two steps down to the city sidewalk. That’s where things started moving too fast to take it all in.
Dot tripped, slipped, stumbled, who knows what off our two steps. She landed on her back with her hands, feet, and babushka swathed head in the air. Skirts whirling around her, she spun in a counter clockwise rotation which seemed to be picking up speed as I watched. Ev raced out the door to help her, but by the time he reached where she fell, she was three houses down Polk Street hill. She was still rotating, screaming at the top of her lungs, and flinging salt with every rotation. She never dropped the salt shaker. Ev didn’t try to follow her down the hill, he was laughing too hard to move. I was terrified for her but I was laughing too. She didn’t get hurt (except for pride) but she was the most entertainment the neighborhood had observed in many months. When Dot slowly made her way up the hill, she saw Ev and started to laugh with him. Mom cooed and clucked over her appropriately. About an hour later, I found Mom in the back yard by the brick fireplace Dad burned garbage at every night. She was shaking and making funny noises. I approached her wondering what was wrong. She was laughing. She had her apron stuffed into her mouth and was laughing!I can remember many an icy fall down Polk Street hill. If you lost your balance at the top, you had to go all the way down; there was no grace between points. Once in awhile with arms windmilling and feet dancing as fast as they could go, I was able to come up against a boulevard tree or catch the edge of a stone retaining wall or mail box. Most times, I resigned myself to going all the way down. I don’t remember ever getting hurt but I was terrified until level ground brought me to a stop.
I attended Silver Lake Elementary which was at 41st and Tyler. During spring and fall, I walked Polk Street hill to 39th Avenue which I crossed. Then I walked to either the alley between Polk and Tyler Streets or to Tyler. I mostly preferred Tyler because the sidewalk was high above the swamp where Polk Street dead ended. I preferred that because in spring and fall, the reptiles that were headed toward the swamp and winter hibernation or away from the swamp were more than I could bear. The grasshoppers that flew and landed and bit were bad enough but the reptiles were more of a test to my courage than I could prove. But when winter came, oh my, the walk to and from school had added adventure.We would walk Polk Street because it was lower than Tyler and thus out of the wind. When we got to the swamp, we tested the wind. Then against all advice of our mothers, we stepped out onto the swamp, opened our jackets and held them wide open. The wind at our backs would blow us across the swamp! The occasional reed or raised trash that wasn’t covered by ice might trip us up, but the joy of bracing your feet and being pushed across the ice was the best of treats. We always hoped the wind had switched for the homeward trip. In truth winter winds more commonly out of the North were for a homeward glide across the swamp more often than toward school. Who wants to speed to school, anyway?
Most often on the walk home, I walked alone. The boys didn’t want to be seen walking with a girl even though we played together all the time. Tommy and Chucky attended the Parochial school, Terry and Normie were sent to a private school, and that left the tougher Dickie and Gary and Dickie was often sick too often to attend school. One particular day, Ellis was headed the same direction I was going. He didn’t live on Polk Street hill so he must have been going to play with someone after school. He started picking on me. I tried ignoring him but that wasn’t working very well. He threw a snowball at me and I pelted him back. Then he started trying to wash my face in the snow. I had enough and was loaded for bear! I rushed him but I slipped and got a few good punches in before I lost footing completely and fell. I bumped my head hard enough to see stars and Ellis took advantage. He jumped on top of me and started trying to wash my face with snow even though I still hadn’t quite caught my breath from falling. Suddenly he was gone! I cleared the cobwebs out of my brain and looked up to see Gary pounding Ellis while he was on his back in the snow. To say I was shocked puts it mildly. I watched and it seemed to go on forever. I got to my feet and walked over and stopped Gary. Ellis had a bloody nose and was crying. I asked Gary what he thought he was doing. He didn’t answer me but talked to Ellis. “You took advantage – bad enough with a guy but you did it to girl!” he hissed. I blinked. I didn’t need championing but I was on the receiving end of it. I tried to move Gary away and toward home but he wasn’t budging. “You little coward! If she hadn’t slipped on the ice you’d look worse than you do now! Don’t you let me catch you on our street again!” Whoa, Bubba! I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. That was some left-handed compliment. I finally got Gary moving toward home. I learned later from Dickie that Gary went back after he walked me all the way home and made sure Ellis was OK. Dickie told me Gary followed Ellis all the way to his own house. To this day I wonder if Ellis was glad Gary came back or if he would have rather stayed in the snow bank.Some years, the swamp had a warming house and attendant so the swamp could be a skating rink. It was bigger than the extra lot Tommy and Chucky had and kids from the attendance area of Silver Lake Elementary came to skate there. There were also street lights near by so it seemed lighted. It was great to skate and then go into the wooden warming house, hear the skates clomping on the wood floor boards, and get your mittens warm if not dry. Again, we opened jackets and the wind ride was even faster on skates. We would put our boots on in the warming house and tingling toes were only surpassed by the cramped calves from skating too long. Eddie and I were having so much fun skating one late afternoon, he froze his ears. He didn’t want to quit and he didn’t have a cap. Several times I tried to talk him into stopping but we were enjoying each other and stopping meant he would go to his house and I would go to mine at opposite ends of the attendance area. We would make short stops in the warming house and then back out. The next Monday at school, Eddie was there, but his ears had huge white bandages on them and I imagine they were a life-long source of pain to him from then on. We had never been playmates nor friends prior to that day nor after it. We just didn’t live close enough to spend much time together.
There was a particular site of pleasure for me. On Polk Street, between the swamp and 39th Avenue was a house that had several large pine trees, Spruce, in a corner of the yard. Once the early frosts of autumn started I would stop by the pines. I would hold my breath and listen to wind whisper in the pines and smell the pitch. On a walk home after school, with the North Wind blowing at my back, the stop at the pines was even better. I would push my way into the center of the closely planted pines. Silence! Soft pine needles underfoot, pine fragrance all around me, no wind except that whispering in the tops of the trees, and pine cones to play with gave me a chance to warm a bit and then head home. I loved those pines! When thick slushy snow fell, the center of the copse was dry and warm. When the big lacy flakes fell the wonderful warmth and dryness of that little haven was bliss. I would often go in there, sit down and watch the snow fall and listen to the wind soughing. By this time, maybe fourth or fifth grade, there were rumors of Russia becoming an adversary (we had regular drills for atomic attack at school and evacuation maps adorned the walls of every kitchen); and the world was becoming smaller and more frightening. These pines were my Sanctuary away from the things that frightened me. Everett was moving to Detroit MI, Dot had married Will and Rob was my 1950 Christmas present that was both a joy and a nuisance; he stole my status as “youngest”. There was talk Normie’s family might move away. Life was changing. I DO NOT LIKE CHANGE! Inside the pines I could make the world go away.One day had been particularly trying at school. I was a fair student and accepted the grades I could obtain easily and didn’t bother to reach for A’s. The blizzard started three hours before school was to let out and I could not be out in it playing! The class bully had once again had to be put in his place for picking on a smaller kid; and I got scolded for beating up on him. The cheek of some principals! I was walking home alone and the pines were waiting. They were already looking like a Christmas card with branches heavily coated in high mounds of snow. I crawled in so I wouldn’t dislodge the snow on the branches thereby spoiling the beauty. Once inside there was no blizzard, no angry principal, no class bully, and all was quiet. I remember singing Silent Night and O, Little Town of Bethlehem. Then I talked to myself (a regular practice that included debates and stories). It was becoming twilight when I woke. Considering twilight comes early in the winter and this was a dark sky throwing down one of its best blizzards, it was probably 4:30 PM. I crawled out and discovered the rest of my one and one half blocks was going to be in knee deep snow and in some places almost hip deep where it had drifted.
I don’t think I fully realized how narrow my escape until many years later as an adult. I remember the look on Mom’s face when I told her I fell asleep. She didn’t scold. She asked if I felt better. I think she realized that I have that same solitary streak my dad had and that it would do no good to tell me not to do it again. She knew I was aware it wasn’t good to go to sleep outside in a blizzard and that I would be more careful. I still like to sleep outside. I was 55 years of age before I got to sleep in a tent the first time. The very next spring, Dave bought me one so I could camp out in the backyard with our granddaughters! I would love to go winter camping, but I know I don’t have the stamina to hike into a snow-bound camp area. My heart knows I would love to dig in and sleep under a winter sky. Sometime I’ll tell you about falling asleep on a rock near Ely, Minnesota.There were snowball fights galore, we built snowmen and women (does it surprise you they were real to me?). The Judy Garland movie from which the song Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas came from has a scene where the little sister, Margaret O’Brien, is upset at having to move. She runs into the yard and destroys the snowmen she built earlier in the day. The scene made me sob out loud at the Columbia Heights theatre and still brings tears when I watch today.
Chucky agreed to be a model for a snow sculpture. You would think a kid sent down a hill in a truck tire would have figured out he would be the sculpture! We started piling snow around him. We used shovels and packed each layer of the heavy wet snow with our hands. He started yelling when he could no longer move his arms and we didn’t appear to be stopping. His mom happened to look out her door the same time my mom came flying out of ours. They clawed Chucky loose and promised him he didn’t ever have to be a sculpture. Tommy and I were threatened with dire consequences if we ever tried something like that again. Later, after having to shovel a path to the clotheslines and clear under the clotheslines as punishment, I heard Mom telling Dad what we had done. Dad in his very quiet voice said, “Good you made them promise not to do it again, that would be boring! I like it better when they think up something new!” Mom was pretty upset with him for thinking it was funny.A yearly thrill I had was not out on Polk Street hill but in our house. Since I now knew there was no Santa, Mom allowed me to unpack the Christmas ornaments and dust each one. Our tree was a hodge-podge of ornaments collected over the years. There were special ornaments for each child born. Dot and Ev had German birds with wire legs ending in clips that fastened them to the tree branch. Theirs were red. I think Betty and Pat also had birds that were more “real” in appearance. I had a pink sort of tear drop ornament with spirals of sugar glaze. Each year a new ornament was purchased for the tree. I stood by Dad’s and Mom’s bed which was covered in newspapers and carefully dusted each ornament with a soft cloth then placed it on the bed to await trimming the tree. When they were all lined up I would gaze at hundreds (well maybe not that many) reflections of me. Irresistible! I would burst into carols. There I was a one-person choir. I would direct and each globe would direct back! I was out of the way, having fun, and being useful all at once.
The trees of my life have come and gone but each has been “the best ever”. Each Christmas I sigh at the work of putting up the tree, but I always see it through. I still like the odd reflection thrown back from the round globes of glass but I don’t direct any more. I see the comparison of us reflecting God’s likeness to others. He takes us out of the sinful life we were wallowing through, dusts us carefully, and sets us out in the world to reflect Him. He doesn’t do this only at Christmas, but all year long. We are to represent Him in our every-day business, actions, and interactions. We are to do this with family, friends, neighbors, and strangers. Sometimes we fail miserably and our reflection needs a little more dusting. Sometimes we glitter brightly like the ornaments with sun twinkling on them. Our brightest is when we quit trying so hard to be perfect and let God shine through from the inside. Take some time to find the child you put away when you became mature and adult. While you are doing that, I have to go stand by the tree. I have a choir to direct!
No comments:
Post a Comment