One January day the pipes in my parents house burst and my parents were out of town. All the pipes were overhead and apparently the water had been running for a few days. Neighbors tipped off the fire department and police around 6 a.m. when they noticed sheets of ice on the siding and icicles hanging above the crawlspace.
I saved the day, and I am taking full credit for that (having just read my "Baby Book"). Anyway, I sat outside the flooded house in my car. I was hungry, bored, and freezing cold for hours just waiting for the plumbers. Every now and then I'd turn on the engine and bump up the heat in the car, but I was afraid the battery would die, so I did that infrequently.
My daughter, Beth, made the 2-hour drive late in the afternoon to bring me some leftover spaghetti. It was cold spaghetti, but delicious. I will never forget her kindness.
I had winter boots on, and so did Beth. Beth said we should save whatever would make Mum weep if she lost it. So we tried, and we went through the fairly deep water saving what we thought were precious memories. Turns out Mum didn't really care much about that stuff. I think she never really had a sense of "history" like Dad did. It's not her fault. It's like liking lasagna or hating it.
However, I can finally complain since Mum died 6 weeks ago about the stupid baby book we saved. Presumably, it was given as a gift upon my birth, but it has my younger brother's birthdate, weight, innoculations, and some useless information about him. (At least, if you ask me, I think it's useless.) Like who cares when he got his first tooth ... May 7, 1949.
Call it sibling rivalry, but there's nothing in my baby book about my first tooth. I might be toothless for all that is written about me! (Tongue in cheek here.) My first tooth was pulled at age 2 because it rotted out. Grampy, my father's dad, who slept on a cot in the dining room used to take care of me in the mornings since Mum didn't rise until much later in the day. It got her attention somewhat when a neighbor called to ask if there was a family problem sine she saw me leave early in the morning with uncombed hair and crazy outfits. Grampy was wonderful, but hair and "proper" clothing were not big with him.
Grampy knew I loved sugar, so he would serve me sugar water and then we'd go to Boyle's store, where Mr. and Mrs. Boyle would remove our shopping items from the shelf behind the counter and Grampy would buy me a Walleco bar (like a Peter Paul Mounds Bar). That's how we did it in 1950. The Boyles' retarded son Ambie (politically incorrect...I don't care) was terrific. I was so young that I can't remember if he had Down Syndrome or something else. I just know that the town was very accepting of Ambie, who was a very good human being (as were his parents), and when I visited the store about 25 years ago, Mrs. Boyle was still alive.
She told me sadly that Ambie had passed away at about the age of 33; I can't remember about Mr. Boyle (isn't that sad?). Mrs Boyle said everyone liked Bill Irwin. I knew him as Grampy or William. Even now, I'm so happy he had folks who called him "Bill." Bill Irwin is a good name.
After visiting the Boyles', Grampy and I would head off to Chick's Bar, where Chick would be tidying up after a late night, Grampy would boost all 35 pounds of me up onto the bar, and I would listen as Chick and Grampy chatted. Grampy died when I was 5...more to follow....Grampy's death was easily the biggest loss of my 60 years.
Oh, I also hemorraghed after the tooth was pulled and had to go to the Emergency Room because the dentist (Dr. Morrissey) left part of the tooth in. That was very scary, and even nearly 60 years later, I remember coming out of my bedroom late at night absolutely covered in blood.
Actually, there's hardly any information about either one of us in the Baby Book, and some stuff that is written could be Richard's or mine. It's unclear, and we are not twins but we are certainly separated by 2 years and now a gulf.
The book is entitled "Through Baby's First Years with Dr. Dafoe." I think I should start adding some good stuff about me. Maybe I'll write, "Amazing...she spoke her first sentence at 6 weeks... she said 'I'd like some chocolate pudding, please if it's not too much trouble." I plan to make Dr. Dafoe proud and me look brilliant. Now, I have to go count my teeth.