My Mother, the Tree and Me

There we were, my Mother, the tree and me. She had many things to attend to that afternoon. That's why she was taking the bus into the downtown area, and I was not going with her.

I felt deep in my heart that she was yearning for a solo trip to Kresge's five and ten cent store. She would be on that red soda fountain stool sitting primly with her slice of strawberry pie topped with a glob of whipped cream. She was every bit of twenty-eight years old, and she needed me to help her across the busy streets. Also, I was much shorter and could see the coin slot on the bus where we dropped in our fares, and I was sure she needed my steady hand for this job.

Nevertheless she was going; I was not. She had been talking steadily now for a few minutes, and I thought I had best listen so she could be on her way, and I could have a look at this day that was spread wide before me.

"Don't climb the tree, don't cross the street, don't play on the train tracks, don't climb the tree, don't yell so loud your Aunt may want to take a nap, don't climb the tree, be nice to your little brother, don't make your aunt cry this time, don't climb the tree you will fall out and break your arm!"

I saw a strange peaceful look come across her face as she hopped on the lowest step of the city bus, then she was gone. For me, freedom! My Aunt did take a nap. Little brother was otherwise occupied, and I was alone.

Now I had always felt that my Mother was way, way, too protective of me, and I actually considered that it was up to me to think for myself. At eight years of age, I should have the right to make many of my own decisions. I was smart enough to know that the most important thing missing from my life right then was the cherry ice-cream soda I was losing out on at Kresges. My Mother should be half way through with her pie by now, "She should be ashamed" I thought as I ventured across the street.

The gnarled ancient tree was luring me. No one would ever deliberately aim to block a daring girl's adventures, would they? I felt sure that my Mother had mentioned the tree only because it was in a list of things she thought would impress me. I doubted she even remembered saying anything about the old tree.

Succulent honeysuckle covered the base of the tree, and I sucked the nectar deliberately and steadily as I thought over my next move. It was quiet in the neighborhood, and quiet is something I could hardly tolerate; I sang a snatch of several little ditties that I knew, it was akin to "whistling in the dark."

Suddenly, without completely knowing what had happened, I was in the tree! Had an angel picked me up and put me here? "Yes" that is just what happened since I couldn't remember the climb, not even the first lunge to the lowest branch, why I actually scratched my cheek without knowing it, so it must have been an angel. I knew about angels from Sunday school and my Mother had told me many angel stories. My Mother... oh, oh! Reality set in.

I was higher in the tree than I had ever been before and my knees grew a little shaky as I began the decent. I was on the last (rotten) limb before jumping to the ground when all of the sudden with a loud snap, crackle, and falling with tangled feet, I popped!

My Aunt was awake now and coming into the yard as were most of my sedate neighbors. They came out on their porches and wondered where the attacker was hiding; surely, someone had tried to kill me because I was screaming bloody murder!

After that, things passed quickly in a fuzzy blur, I do remember my Mother stepping off of the bus and another strange look crossed her face, yet somehow it was different from the one she wore when she got on the bus. I came to full awareness in my Doctor's office. I wore a heavy plaster cast and a sling on my broken left wrist for about a month, but by week two, with the help of a pencil, I had loosened the adhesive that had held it stuck tight to my arm and now the cast would spin around like my heirloom charm bracelet. I healed anyway.

I do not remember getting in trouble for this major disobedience; it is possible that I may have blocked this from my mind. I do not remember being sorry for the transgression, surely I was, but I don't think so. I do remember being in awe of my Mother's prophetic powers; she said it would happen, and it happened. I respected her abilities for at least two days, but you know how it is, a girl has to do those things she feels compelled to do urged on by the strange force she can't understand and doesn't want to think about too much.

As for my Mother, she loved me much and held on tight, for the ride continued. She prayed through the years that I would become more like her two compliant and gentle children. Was that prayer ever answered? Well, at seventy-four I can say for sure, I gave her a life of excitement as we traveled many unexpected pathways, and I am not sure she would have ever changed a thing.

"Mom, right now in my heart I am holding your hand, and we're walking down Main Street. Kresges is in site and I have been good all day!"

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As you can tell I have been stuck in nostalgia for a while, I have just decided to enjoy it and let it work itself out of my system. After all the olden ways and olden days have brought me to this place, to this day, and though I liked it there, I “love” it here.. so I won't stay away too long!




I am “loving” the old time radio shows and music I recently found. I enjoy the memories that flood back, the sounds of the voices missed now for almost a whole generation, the clean hokey jokes, the feeling that we all knew each other. Sitting around the radio was an intimate thing to do, you gathered close, elbow-to-elbow, with chin in hand and eyes glazed, then you were out of there, gone! Listening to the same program or the same song took everyone in different places. Bound only by the words and mood of the music, you could fly, no pictures to distract, no one else’s ideas or barging in. Just you, the melody; the story; the Ajax cleanser; the Ipana toothpaste; and the Duz detergent together for a while.



There were happy sounds coming from the speakers; swing, big band and jazz, put you in that Saturday glow. The laughter came often, Gracie Allen was so silly, I imagined her with platinum tight curls hugging her head and short silk dresses with big flowers or birds printed on them, George Burns, I could smell his cigar, gruff old Rochester with a door- man’s suit on, though I think he wasn’t a doorman. "Queen For a Day", so exciting I pictured all the women who won prizes looked like my Walker Grandmother; and that’s when I first heard of a Norge washing machine, and it was electric and had "bells and whistles", she sure could have used one.



I remember a particular nighttime road trip with my family and an uncle and aunt and their two kiddos that made nine of us in that car. I do not remember being uncomfortable, I do remember the music and the feeling of being lifted away to some exotic land—gazing at the moon and wishing on a star— it might not even have been on earth. I remember looking at the moon and seeing the man there, he was looking straight at me, my mother always saw the side view of him, I could see both but this night I choose his full face. I always wished on him rather than the stars—he was bigger more powerful—and this night I ask him, silently of course, “The Question” and I waited for his answer.



Sammy Kay’s, Harry James the orchestra guys, Bing Crosby the crooner and Bob Hope the comedian, the best of times. My Mother listened to a soap opera, but I tuned that out. The Westerns, Tom Mix, Lone Ranger and Tonto, Gene Autry—my hero—and the young upstart Roy Rogers but Dale Evans won my heart. The western music the Sons of the Pioneers, breath taking, you could smell the campfire.



I miss the radio, my imagination has been in neutral for so long now, well maybe not too long, but television certainly does not challenge it at all. I do play my radio in the car but then there is so much reality going on I do not dare get lost in my thoughts. I miss the look of our radio, the sound of it, and yes the feel of it, all of the little tubes that made it work, got hot.



Could it be what I am really missing is my childhood, now that I am getting close to my second one I am lingering around in thoughts of my first one, background music and all?



Oh yes, that old moon man answered! I did marry the most handsome man and we swung around on the stars and nibbled  moon cheese, and from time to time….

Saturdays in my world.

Turn the other radio down and punch this button and have a nice listen while reading!




How about a musical trip down memory lane? Today this beautiful, almost warm Saturday brought such a physical renewal, and a sense of well being, and both of those powerful emotions put me into a wonderful state of mind. Hearing one special song was all it took, and back in time I went!



I began to remember the Saturdays of my childhood, I loved them, the best days of the week and the radio was mine. Our radio looked like many of the old wooden tri-level art- deco(ish) style. At the time, I could care less what it looked like, but it sounded wonderful—like Saturdays-—like freedom, like Daddy was home, like we may ride the bus to town, or chase bumblebees for my little brother to carry home for me, in his hands, as long as he could. Yes, freedom, pain, sunshine and music all tumbled together.
Glorious.


I would lay flat on my back, feet propped up on the front of the radio cabinet with its curly-cue design, the serials that I listened to usually came on in the evenings. Entertainment came on Saturdays mornings too—this is the day the teddy bears have their picnic—I cannot remember the title of the “program”. but this was the song, it was great. But listening to all the “programs” was only the beginning.



My Daddy was not often home on the weekends but when he was and if I was good, we danced. He put swing and big band music on the radio, he would hold my hands and around we would go. My Dad would have loved to have been a “soft shoe” dancer, and in his own way, he was, and that was good enough for me. I never felt the beat, I have no natural rhythm, but he could move to the music whistle the song and sing it all at the same time. My legs were stiff but I could snap my fingers, not exactly to the beat, but they popped!



Now for some reason this was always embarrassing to me, he would grab my Mother by the waist and they would dance, face to face. Gee whiz, then he would sing to her, “For I Only Have Eyes For You” it originally came out in 1934 and it was one of the many songs he sang to her, it gave me a strange feeling. Acting like they were girl friend, boy friend or something when they were only Mother and Daddy, and she really needed to be in the kitchen or taking care of my little brother.



It would be my turn again soon and it would be time to teach me how to dip, what I really liked was the fake “dropping me” part. Daddy would either wear down or I would get into trouble. “How?” you say, on a beautiful happy day with all the dancing and music, could I get into trouble? It was so easy, I think I won’t go into it now, suffice to say it takes two, and it happened when the other “one” (the younger, pesky, male one who related to me) came into the room, almost every time! I was not a gentle or patient child.



I can still hear my Daddy’s soft tenor voice as he sang and the way he would get my Mother to sing with him, and my feeble efforts to join them. The way he teased with her and my odd feelings about that, they were so old to be acting that way, strange, but they were young, and I am old, funny how things are switched.



As I said Saturdays were my day, often it meant Kresge’s and cherry sodas, but what I really loved was the feeling of freedom, sunshine, the radio at full blast, dancing feet and that soft lingering tenor voice singing that he, only had eyes for her.