I had a fake christmas tree, a box of books, bags of clothes, and a comforter from JC Penneys that I packed in the trunk of my car when I moved myself and my son to the various places we lived during my 20's.
Once, I had this sometimes-sweet little flat on the main drag across from the DQ. It was in the lower part of a very old house; a front room, a bedroom, a small kitchen, a smaller backroom where my baby slept, and the bathroom was next to it. The ceilings were 12 feet high and the fireplace never burned wood ~ I'd imagined it was probably not the safest idea to burn anything in it anyhow, but once in awhile I'd get one of those waxy 3 hour logs you can get at the hardware. On some nights when my son was gone to visit with his father I'd feel daring enough to burn one and make popcorn and watch t.v. in my rust colored overstuffed chair.
I ended up really lucky with furniture. I had nothing when I moved in except the aforementioned crap I hauled around in my car, but within a few days people were offering me this or that, and I ended up with a great sofa and loveseat that I pulled out of someone's garage and the rust colored chair I mentioned that I found at a second hand store. A baby bed, mattress and springs and a hobby horse came along in time.
My neighbor Jerry and I became friendly. He had been there 10 years by the time I moved in and was the most oddly eccentric non-artist I'd ever met. He had a parrot Earl which was 21 years old that he bought from a pet store when it was just a baby and when I would take a bath at night I could hear it squawking to high holy hell. It occurred to me sometimes that Jerry could hear me in the bath if I could hear Earl, but after awhile I didn't care all that much. The place was actually a house after all ~ we practically lived together.
There was an old lady who lived above me who played Mel Torme during mealtimes, and around back was an add-on apartment and there lived Bethany who was a student, I think, and she worked part-time at some department store.
I guess it was one of those situations that was so bad it was good? Can that possibly make any less sense? I mean, the walls leaked during rain, you could hear every squeak of every board any foot stepped on. All smells permeated each residence ~ be it supper's baked chicken or the toilet's reaking of the tell-tale after-burrito. Sounds of television, and no one watching the same thing, my baby crying setting off sleepleess nights for more people than just me, good dates and bedsprings (theirs, not mine, usually), bad hair on Saturday while going out to get a paper, and shower singing was possible but so was getting called on it. But for a little while, it was a great dwelling for me and mine, and a certain sense of home regarding it abides in me even now when I see it. There was some pain there though, some things those walls recorded over the time that I spent within them... anguish and loss, unpreparednesses, faulty decisions, all that stuff which goes along with loving and loathing your place in the world.
A few months after I moved in I had to park my car on the side street beside Jerry's apartment. I usually parked in the front by the entry way to my place, but there were many times the parking space was taken and I'd have to find one down the street. Jerry was outside talking to a worker who was cutting the shrubs and I got out of my car after another workday, my weary feet in high heels and nylon hose that needed to be peeled away. I'll never forget that I had on a turquiose dress with white polka-dots, too short at the bottom so I grabbed the hem to make it longer before walking past the men. I held onto my work things and my purse and wobbled over the cobblestones on the street and stepped over the curb to get to the sidewalk, but it was blocked by branches and I couldn't get around them to get to my apartment.
Jerry was older than me by 13 years or so, he was a large man, not fat, but broad and he sweated a lot. Softspoken, but he talked animatedly and laughed easily. He knew about the strangest things as if they were important, like certain flowers or animals, restaurants, facts on the history of each resident who had lived there over time, and all kinds of odds and ends info about the people he went to high school with, stories of the relatives in his life and during conversation would use their first name as if they were familiar to you too. His hair was auburn, long and unkempt. Hawaiin shirts or Dallas Cowboys jerseys with bermuda shorts was the only thing I'd ever seen him wear. On the occasions he'd let me peek into his apartment, the Barbie Twins decorated his walls and within there was really no place to walk without tripping over books, snack wrappers or... guns. Yes, for some reason, this gentle, dear man was a collector of guns. I've never figured that out.
Anyhow, on this day I was coming home from work wanting to get to my apartment and take a bath and wash the day away, I was stuck behind the remnants of cut branches and stems from the prickly bushes that lined the front and side yard. As I stood there for a minute and sighed, I was at a loss about what to do or where to go next and he looked at me and put his arms out and said, "May I?" I wasn't sure what he meant, but I said, "Sure." So he nodded once, then bent over and Jerry picked me up like a baby, my legs over one arm and my back along the other, my head resting against his chest and he carried me around the debris. He could have put me down on the other side, but instead held me close and walked with me clear down the sidewalk around the corner. My arms were around his neck and I noticed he smelled like Aramis while he strolled slowly with me up the walkway to my apartment. He stopped at the stairs that led to my porch and he waited for a minute, looked down at me and then took each step -- one, two, three -- and then, very slow and gently he let his one arm fall to lower my legs, and then my shoulders drifted across his other arm that had been supporting them, and his hand found my back and steadied me while my sore and tired feet arrived quietly to stand on my own on the mat that laid atop the stoop at the bottom of my frontdoor.
Once, I had this sometimes-sweet little flat on the main drag across from the DQ. It was in the lower part of a very old house; a front room, a bedroom, a small kitchen, a smaller backroom where my baby slept, and the bathroom was next to it. The ceilings were 12 feet high and the fireplace never burned wood ~ I'd imagined it was probably not the safest idea to burn anything in it anyhow, but once in awhile I'd get one of those waxy 3 hour logs you can get at the hardware. On some nights when my son was gone to visit with his father I'd feel daring enough to burn one and make popcorn and watch t.v. in my rust colored overstuffed chair.
I ended up really lucky with furniture. I had nothing when I moved in except the aforementioned crap I hauled around in my car, but within a few days people were offering me this or that, and I ended up with a great sofa and loveseat that I pulled out of someone's garage and the rust colored chair I mentioned that I found at a second hand store. A baby bed, mattress and springs and a hobby horse came along in time.
My neighbor Jerry and I became friendly. He had been there 10 years by the time I moved in and was the most oddly eccentric non-artist I'd ever met. He had a parrot Earl which was 21 years old that he bought from a pet store when it was just a baby and when I would take a bath at night I could hear it squawking to high holy hell. It occurred to me sometimes that Jerry could hear me in the bath if I could hear Earl, but after awhile I didn't care all that much. The place was actually a house after all ~ we practically lived together.
There was an old lady who lived above me who played Mel Torme during mealtimes, and around back was an add-on apartment and there lived Bethany who was a student, I think, and she worked part-time at some department store.
I guess it was one of those situations that was so bad it was good? Can that possibly make any less sense? I mean, the walls leaked during rain, you could hear every squeak of every board any foot stepped on. All smells permeated each residence ~ be it supper's baked chicken or the toilet's reaking of the tell-tale after-burrito. Sounds of television, and no one watching the same thing, my baby crying setting off sleepleess nights for more people than just me, good dates and bedsprings (theirs, not mine, usually), bad hair on Saturday while going out to get a paper, and shower singing was possible but so was getting called on it. But for a little while, it was a great dwelling for me and mine, and a certain sense of home regarding it abides in me even now when I see it. There was some pain there though, some things those walls recorded over the time that I spent within them... anguish and loss, unpreparednesses, faulty decisions, all that stuff which goes along with loving and loathing your place in the world.
A few months after I moved in I had to park my car on the side street beside Jerry's apartment. I usually parked in the front by the entry way to my place, but there were many times the parking space was taken and I'd have to find one down the street. Jerry was outside talking to a worker who was cutting the shrubs and I got out of my car after another workday, my weary feet in high heels and nylon hose that needed to be peeled away. I'll never forget that I had on a turquiose dress with white polka-dots, too short at the bottom so I grabbed the hem to make it longer before walking past the men. I held onto my work things and my purse and wobbled over the cobblestones on the street and stepped over the curb to get to the sidewalk, but it was blocked by branches and I couldn't get around them to get to my apartment.
Jerry was older than me by 13 years or so, he was a large man, not fat, but broad and he sweated a lot. Softspoken, but he talked animatedly and laughed easily. He knew about the strangest things as if they were important, like certain flowers or animals, restaurants, facts on the history of each resident who had lived there over time, and all kinds of odds and ends info about the people he went to high school with, stories of the relatives in his life and during conversation would use their first name as if they were familiar to you too. His hair was auburn, long and unkempt. Hawaiin shirts or Dallas Cowboys jerseys with bermuda shorts was the only thing I'd ever seen him wear. On the occasions he'd let me peek into his apartment, the Barbie Twins decorated his walls and within there was really no place to walk without tripping over books, snack wrappers or... guns. Yes, for some reason, this gentle, dear man was a collector of guns. I've never figured that out.
Anyhow, on this day I was coming home from work wanting to get to my apartment and take a bath and wash the day away, I was stuck behind the remnants of cut branches and stems from the prickly bushes that lined the front and side yard. As I stood there for a minute and sighed, I was at a loss about what to do or where to go next and he looked at me and put his arms out and said, "May I?" I wasn't sure what he meant, but I said, "Sure." So he nodded once, then bent over and Jerry picked me up like a baby, my legs over one arm and my back along the other, my head resting against his chest and he carried me around the debris. He could have put me down on the other side, but instead held me close and walked with me clear down the sidewalk around the corner. My arms were around his neck and I noticed he smelled like Aramis while he strolled slowly with me up the walkway to my apartment. He stopped at the stairs that led to my porch and he waited for a minute, looked down at me and then took each step -- one, two, three -- and then, very slow and gently he let his one arm fall to lower my legs, and then my shoulders drifted across his other arm that had been supporting them, and his hand found my back and steadied me while my sore and tired feet arrived quietly to stand on my own on the mat that laid atop the stoop at the bottom of my frontdoor.
posted by SPOA | 6:30 PM
2 Comments:
Such a simple pleasure to read about some of the siple things in life. These are things that are meant to be noticed. Thank for sharing.
A tiny slice of your life and beautifully told. It's so easy to miss those moments if we don't take care.
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