A Gift From The Past

Today I got a glimpse of my father's signature on a 1940 copy of the census from my old neighborhood at 2146 RacineAvenue, Chicago, Illinois.  His age listed as 31, my mother's  age listed at 30.  Below their names, their daughter Ann Marie, age 8.  That's me, of course.

I studied my father's signature, the oversized J of is name, Johnny.  Occupation - mechanic, then my mother's not so showy, Grace.  Occupation-seamstress.  We lived in my grandfather's two story building.  There was grandpa, Vincent, age 63, occupation...street worker.  My uncle Joe living with him, age 16.

It was from that house that, two years later, Uncle Joe was a soldier in the South Pacific.  Three years after that, my grandfather killed himself in that house.

The neighbor two doors away,was Mrs Keane ,  the Irish lady who took care of me as a child while my parents worked.  I thought she was ancient with graying hair and blue twinkling eyes.  The census notes her age at 53.  She went to mass every morning, rain or snow, to our beautiful St. Vincent's Catholic Church.  I made my first Holy Communion at that church.    I had such an angelic look in photos of that day.  Innocent and trusting.

The catalyst for this trip down memory lane was another angel without wings who emailed  me this  page out of the 1940 Census from Cook County.    He was the  boy next door,  swooned over by half the girls in the neighborhood.  I adored him from afar, me the 8 year old in pigtails, and he all of 12.    His parents were divorced, a rarity in the forties.  His mother had classic beauty.  No one knew what happened to the father.  She was admired by the neighbors for her simple grace.

The first twelve years of mylife was spent in that house on Racine Avenue.  I learned about the comfort of family, (my maternal grandmother lived right across the street), I had aunts and uncles and cousins nearby.  I felt the kindness of our neighbors, and the mysteries of my faith.

Leaving that neighborhood was truly like emerging from a cocoon, eyes blinking against the unknown, fearful of what might be.  I knew who I was, but not yet who I would become.  But that's another story.

So Says Sassy

Life Interrupted

When someone is sliding a bedpan under your bottom, you know you are in the twilight zone of monitors and tubes.    But I digress.

Several weeks ago, Des and I were enjoying a visit from the busy bees from Brocton, New York.  Translation:  our niece and nephew came out to see us and help us do stuff.  Marv and Joyce Zirkle to be specific, although Des refers to Marv as Whiskers.  It promised to be a good time when they arrived on a Wednesday afternoon.  That changed with severe chest pains that hit me on Friday night.  The rest of the story became a blur of a trip to the ER where doctors noted my history of stents in my major artery and decided to admit me. 

Marv and Joyce went back to our house to let Des know he probably should wait before replacing me.  It ain't over till it''s over, mister.

  Meanwhile, the ER  white coaters hooked me up to stuff in the temporary cubicle while they pondered my next move.  I fished for my cell phone and snuck out calls to people.  Hours later, I ended up in the coronary care unit, with tubes hooked to both arms and oxygen in my nostrils.   This is where I had the urge to pee and started to swing my legs gently over the side of the bed when all hell broke loose.  Sirens and white coats piled into my room.  I got yelled at.  One does not leave the bed in the CCU without help.  Thus, cometh the bed pan.

Bed pans are cold and wobbly and when one slides under you,  everything comes to a standstill  Bodily fluids go on strike, than suddenly let go.....yikes, you think, wondering if it all stayed inside.  Thankfully, all was well.  From then on it was xrays, sonagrams, BPs and the heavy portable EKG monitor hanging over the pocket of my flimsly nightie.

Okay, cut to the chase.  I spent two nights in the hospital while there was a debate about an angiogram in my future.  Happily, on Sunday morning I got to go home.  Passed the nuclear stress test, heart enzymes okay.  Conclusion, the flu and heavy coughing the week before plus stress  conspired to cause the chest pains.  Prayers answered.

A few more days of the busy bees meant that lots of things are now painted green, the garage got cleaned out, weeds pulled, pantry organized, egg custard made for my salivating husband.  Even got the car washed. 

Thankfully, our visitors got to make a few trips down to the Marina, my pal Donna showed them the Ojai Valley, Chuck showed off his garden and red blazing pointsettias..    We ate beef stew, my gluten free lasagna, Chinese take out and, of course, nightly serving of ice cream.  Joyce brought her famous cinammon roles which are in the freezer, doled out to Des on a need to plead basis.

During these two day, I got my Kindle by my side, plus my Smart Phone, so I never felt abandoned...well only the long last night when I didn't know whether the morning would mean the angiogram or home.   Turned out to be my blessed home.    It never looked so good, hungry cats and all.  One thought for the hospital suggestion box:  any way to warm up the bed pans?

So says Sassy