I was the only child of parents old enough to be my grand-parents, in their 40's and me just a child.
I slept in a bed in their bedroom until I was 6 or so because Pat Lafon, my first cousin and my father's nephew slept in the only other bed room in our apartment. I'm not sure when Pat left, but I know this, from when he did until I left, I slept in "Pat's room", which is what my parents called it though he was long gone and it was my room.
I've pondered what it means to grow up in someone else's room until you leave for college.
My room was "Pat's room". How odd. How strange. How disconcerting.
After I left for college, my parents moved to Princeton, West Virginia, into a three bedroom house in a town of 15,000 instead of the town of 500 where I grew up in 'Pat's room'.
The first time I came home from college, they showed me a bedroom that was 'mine'. It wasn't 'Pat's room' but, in a lot of ways, it wasn't 'mine' either. I'd never slept there, not once, not ever.
They paid cash for the house in Princeton--my parents were fugal folks and had $25,000 in the bank back then in 1965. I remember my father saying the real estate agent had some problems with a cash payment. Who knew why that was?
My parents only lived two places--the apartment in Anawalt and the house in Princeton.
I lived in those two places and in a dorm, an apartment, a house, another dorm--all in Morgantown, West Virginia, a dorm at Harvard, an apartment in Cambridge, an apartment in Morgantown (again), an apartment in Alexandria, a house (the first home I owned) in Charleston, WV, a Rectory in New Haven, an apartment in New Haven and then a house in Cheshire, ever since. I lived in that apartment in Anawalt for 18 years. Then all those other places (12 in all) for 24 years and now I've lived for 26 years in the same place--95 Cornwall Avenue, Cheshire CT.
I've lived here longer than I lived anywhere. And I love it, this house, this place, this home.
Our children grew to adults and left from here.
Bern and I intend to grow old here and hang on as long as we can--avoiding 'the home' however we can and, I devoutly hope, die here.
I don't know, it might be an exercise of memory worth doing, to write down all the places you've lived and for 'how long', just to ponder the locations of your life.
Maybe worth pondering. I'm not sure.
But I think so. It was gratifying and centering for me.
Give it a try. Where you've lived matters in all matter of ways.
Thursday, May 14, 2015
being 'toughed up'
When I was 7 or 8, my cousin, Marlon Pugh, decided I need to be 'toughed up'.
It all had to do with Ricky, my Aunt Gladys' nephew who showed up every summer and 'ran over me', as Marlon put it.
Aunt Gladys was Uncle Russel's wife. Russel was my father's older brother who lived right behind us in Anawalt, West Virginia.
I grew up in an apartment that was over a grocery store until the grocery store went out of business and then we lived over a vacant storefront. Uncle Russel lived in a house behind our apartment. Russel and Gladys never had children. My father's other two brothers--Del and Sidney--had one and two children respectively. My father's sister, who died before I was born, had one child, Pat Lafon. The Bradley clan were not great pro creators.
On the other hand, I had 14 Jones clan older first cousins. And then Aunt Elise, my mother's sister, adopted a 7 year old when I was 12 or so and I became the second youngest of all my first cousins--Jones and Bradley alike. I was the baby on both sides of my family until Denise came along.
Interesting enough, the two sides of my family had little in common. The Bradley's, were, for the most pare, not religious and the Jones' were super-religious, except for my Aunt Georgia and her children Mejol and Bradley (named after my father--but using his last name since 'Virgil' and 'Hoyt' were the other two choices. Bradley folk drank and smoked but not the Jones'. All of my Bradley cousins were college educated and some beyond undergraduate school. Many of my Jones cousins were not. Two different breeds, in may ways.
But this is about Ricky, my cousin in law and how he ran rough shod over me until Marlon 'roughed me up'.
Marlon, who was at least a dozen years older than me, came to our apartment and took my toys, which I gladly let him have. Then he started pushing me around, not unkindly but with purpose.
Finally, in tears, I started hitting him back and he told me this: "Good, Jimmy! This is good! Just right! Don't let Ricky take your toys...."
The next time Ricky came and took a toy I was playing with, I punched him in the face. He never did it again and all was well.
I never had another fight in my life (amazing, right, growing up in West Virginia?) Though I did, in 8th grade, stare down Donnie Davis, who threatened to beat me up, with a cup sized rock in both my hands. I think I would have used them if he hadn't, as becomes a bully, backed down.
I've never had any other use for my being 'roughed up'. Not once.
I'm not sure I needed being 'roughed up' in a physical way. But, when I ponder that over half a decade ago experience, I think it served me well.
I seldom, in my life, have 'backed down' in moments of conflict--be they physical or mental or philosophical or emotional.
Not bad, I think, for enduring a half-hour of torment from a much older first cousin.
It was a lesson that one needed to learn from someone who loved them and wished them only 'good', not harm.
Many others, I imagine, have learned to be 'tough' in much worse and destructive ways.
It all had to do with Ricky, my Aunt Gladys' nephew who showed up every summer and 'ran over me', as Marlon put it.
Aunt Gladys was Uncle Russel's wife. Russel was my father's older brother who lived right behind us in Anawalt, West Virginia.
I grew up in an apartment that was over a grocery store until the grocery store went out of business and then we lived over a vacant storefront. Uncle Russel lived in a house behind our apartment. Russel and Gladys never had children. My father's other two brothers--Del and Sidney--had one and two children respectively. My father's sister, who died before I was born, had one child, Pat Lafon. The Bradley clan were not great pro creators.
On the other hand, I had 14 Jones clan older first cousins. And then Aunt Elise, my mother's sister, adopted a 7 year old when I was 12 or so and I became the second youngest of all my first cousins--Jones and Bradley alike. I was the baby on both sides of my family until Denise came along.
Interesting enough, the two sides of my family had little in common. The Bradley's, were, for the most pare, not religious and the Jones' were super-religious, except for my Aunt Georgia and her children Mejol and Bradley (named after my father--but using his last name since 'Virgil' and 'Hoyt' were the other two choices. Bradley folk drank and smoked but not the Jones'. All of my Bradley cousins were college educated and some beyond undergraduate school. Many of my Jones cousins were not. Two different breeds, in may ways.
But this is about Ricky, my cousin in law and how he ran rough shod over me until Marlon 'roughed me up'.
Marlon, who was at least a dozen years older than me, came to our apartment and took my toys, which I gladly let him have. Then he started pushing me around, not unkindly but with purpose.
Finally, in tears, I started hitting him back and he told me this: "Good, Jimmy! This is good! Just right! Don't let Ricky take your toys...."
The next time Ricky came and took a toy I was playing with, I punched him in the face. He never did it again and all was well.
I never had another fight in my life (amazing, right, growing up in West Virginia?) Though I did, in 8th grade, stare down Donnie Davis, who threatened to beat me up, with a cup sized rock in both my hands. I think I would have used them if he hadn't, as becomes a bully, backed down.
I've never had any other use for my being 'roughed up'. Not once.
I'm not sure I needed being 'roughed up' in a physical way. But, when I ponder that over half a decade ago experience, I think it served me well.
I seldom, in my life, have 'backed down' in moments of conflict--be they physical or mental or philosophical or emotional.
Not bad, I think, for enduring a half-hour of torment from a much older first cousin.
It was a lesson that one needed to learn from someone who loved them and wished them only 'good', not harm.
Many others, I imagine, have learned to be 'tough' in much worse and destructive ways.
Wednesday, May 13, 2015
My neighbor, Mark
Our next door neighbors are Mark and Naomi and their 4 children--17 to 8. They are great neighbors.
Mark has a graduate degree in Forestry from Yale and does something to do with wetlands and forests and the environment.
He is also my moral compass.
Mark grew up in Cheshire and I believe he knows everything about Cheshire.
I took out our garbage last night and noticed that at least half of our neighbors had brought out their recycling bin as well. I knew good and well that recycling had been last week and only every other week, so I felt superior, knowing that I was right and they were wrong.
But when I woke up this morning, I noticed Mark had put out his recycling too.
And Mark couldn't be wrong. So, even though I remembered putting it out last week and even though our recycling bin was only half-full, and we always fill it to the top and running over every two weeks, I thought to myself, "Mark must be right", and pulled my recycling to the curb.
By four p.m., it was obvious I'd been correct all along and Mark, my compass is all things had been wrong.
He was mowing his yard and I was having a glass of wine on the deck.
"Mark," I called to him, "I have a bone to pick with you." And I had told him how he made me doubt myself and had failed me as my moral compass.
"I had the walk of shame," he said, "pulling the bin back in."
"I'm waiting until after dark," I told him. And I did. I just brought it back and it's 10:30 p.m. or so.
What a burden it must be to be someone's compass--someone that can make another person doubt what they know is right.
Are you the moral compass for anyone? (I know recycling isn't necessarily a moral issue--well, maybe it is....) But are those people who believe you are 'right' even when they know better, deep down?
I hope you know the weight of that burden well. I really do.
Mark has a graduate degree in Forestry from Yale and does something to do with wetlands and forests and the environment.
He is also my moral compass.
Mark grew up in Cheshire and I believe he knows everything about Cheshire.
I took out our garbage last night and noticed that at least half of our neighbors had brought out their recycling bin as well. I knew good and well that recycling had been last week and only every other week, so I felt superior, knowing that I was right and they were wrong.
But when I woke up this morning, I noticed Mark had put out his recycling too.
And Mark couldn't be wrong. So, even though I remembered putting it out last week and even though our recycling bin was only half-full, and we always fill it to the top and running over every two weeks, I thought to myself, "Mark must be right", and pulled my recycling to the curb.
By four p.m., it was obvious I'd been correct all along and Mark, my compass is all things had been wrong.
He was mowing his yard and I was having a glass of wine on the deck.
"Mark," I called to him, "I have a bone to pick with you." And I had told him how he made me doubt myself and had failed me as my moral compass.
"I had the walk of shame," he said, "pulling the bin back in."
"I'm waiting until after dark," I told him. And I did. I just brought it back and it's 10:30 p.m. or so.
What a burden it must be to be someone's compass--someone that can make another person doubt what they know is right.
Are you the moral compass for anyone? (I know recycling isn't necessarily a moral issue--well, maybe it is....) But are those people who believe you are 'right' even when they know better, deep down?
I hope you know the weight of that burden well. I really do.
How annoying...
I was sitting here wondering what to write about when an car alarm started sounding in our driveway.
We share the driveway with Mark and Naomi and their oldest daughter who has a car.
I sat for a long time wondering when they'd get around to stopping it. During that time about five dogs--including ours--started barking. Must hurt their ears, that sound. Bela barks when large trucks back up.
I sat so long, in fact, that I checked my pockets just to make sure I didn't have car keys and had inadvertently set off the alarm by moving. But no, no car keys on me.
I endured it a little longer--all the ideas I had for writing being beep-beep-beeped our of my head.
I went down stairs to see if I could tell which car it was, and it WAS MINE!!!
Bern was yelling at me to make it stop and I was frantically looking for my keys, found them, ran to the widow and stopped it.
The neighborhood children might have bumped it or maybe there's a short somewhere electrical or maybe my car just got annoyed at something.
Anyway, the end result is that all the lyrical and profound and amusing things I intended to write here got replaced by this complaint.
Maybe later I can be brilliant and clever and enlightening. But not now, Bela is still barking as is Finn next door.
We share the driveway with Mark and Naomi and their oldest daughter who has a car.
I sat for a long time wondering when they'd get around to stopping it. During that time about five dogs--including ours--started barking. Must hurt their ears, that sound. Bela barks when large trucks back up.
I sat so long, in fact, that I checked my pockets just to make sure I didn't have car keys and had inadvertently set off the alarm by moving. But no, no car keys on me.
I endured it a little longer--all the ideas I had for writing being beep-beep-beeped our of my head.
I went down stairs to see if I could tell which car it was, and it WAS MINE!!!
Bern was yelling at me to make it stop and I was frantically looking for my keys, found them, ran to the widow and stopped it.
The neighborhood children might have bumped it or maybe there's a short somewhere electrical or maybe my car just got annoyed at something.
Anyway, the end result is that all the lyrical and profound and amusing things I intended to write here got replaced by this complaint.
Maybe later I can be brilliant and clever and enlightening. But not now, Bela is still barking as is Finn next door.
Monday, May 11, 2015
Getting older
So, as I'm getting older, I leave notes to myself on my computer, so I don't forget things I should do.
Today, a Monday, I got up and didn't turn on my computer until after 2 p.m. I went to the gym and the store and read the end of one book (One Kick--I recommend it, though it is disturbing on may levels) and started another (Grave Concerns...like the characters am not ready to give a recommendation yet...only 100 pages in) and started my weekly wash.
Well, since I didn't turn on my computer in the a.m., I totally forgot a lunch engagement!
I felt like a total aging, senile idiot.
The person I was supposed to eat with had (of course!!!) already emailed and made it sound like it was a good thing I hadn't showed up anyway.
What a generous response to an aging Hippie whose memory isn't what it once was. (Of course, all us Baby Boomers know the line--"if you remember the 60's you weren't really having fun....")
So, we rescheduled lunch. But I feel like an idiot.
But then, I feel like an idiot a lot of the time.
It keeps me humble.
And I'm proud of my humility.
Ponder that.
Today, a Monday, I got up and didn't turn on my computer until after 2 p.m. I went to the gym and the store and read the end of one book (One Kick--I recommend it, though it is disturbing on may levels) and started another (Grave Concerns...like the characters am not ready to give a recommendation yet...only 100 pages in) and started my weekly wash.
Well, since I didn't turn on my computer in the a.m., I totally forgot a lunch engagement!
I felt like a total aging, senile idiot.
The person I was supposed to eat with had (of course!!!) already emailed and made it sound like it was a good thing I hadn't showed up anyway.
What a generous response to an aging Hippie whose memory isn't what it once was. (Of course, all us Baby Boomers know the line--"if you remember the 60's you weren't really having fun....")
So, we rescheduled lunch. But I feel like an idiot.
But then, I feel like an idiot a lot of the time.
It keeps me humble.
And I'm proud of my humility.
Ponder that.
Sunday, May 10, 2015
Stuff you learn over time
I realized a few minutes ago it is 8:04 p.m. on May 10 and there is still enough light to sit outside and read.
For years, when I children were young, we put them to bed at 7 p.m., no matter what time of year it was. Eventually they were both old enough to read until it was dark. But not in the beginning.
We convinced ourselves if was for their 'well-being'--so they'd be rested and ready to face the next day.
Truth be known, if was for 'our' well-being, so we could have several uninterrupted hours of adult time, free of Josh and Mimi.
June, July and August must have been horror stories for them--in bed hours before it was dark! Yet we pulled it off until they were 10 and 7 or so. Amazing!
Josh is much less strict about bedtime for our grand-daughters than we were for him.
I wonder why?
But it kept us sane, and, I believe, made our children the wondrous adults they are today.
Early to bed...and all that....
For years, when I children were young, we put them to bed at 7 p.m., no matter what time of year it was. Eventually they were both old enough to read until it was dark. But not in the beginning.
We convinced ourselves if was for their 'well-being'--so they'd be rested and ready to face the next day.
Truth be known, if was for 'our' well-being, so we could have several uninterrupted hours of adult time, free of Josh and Mimi.
June, July and August must have been horror stories for them--in bed hours before it was dark! Yet we pulled it off until they were 10 and 7 or so. Amazing!
Josh is much less strict about bedtime for our grand-daughters than we were for him.
I wonder why?
But it kept us sane, and, I believe, made our children the wondrous adults they are today.
Early to bed...and all that....
Saturday, May 9, 2015
Nature
Nature is beyond amazing.
A couple of years ago Bern brought home this cactus, that should have lived in a desert, but thrived in Connecticut. It kept having babies on the big frons and kept reproducing. This winter, when it was inside, the damn cat knocked it over and it broke into dozens of pieces. I thought it was done for.
But after only a few weeks outside again, little babies are hatching on the pieces that are left and it is thriving like nothing I could ever have believed. In Cheshire, not Phoenix.
Nature is always beyond amazing. After the brutal winter, Bern's lawns are back with a vengeance, bringing outrageous color and beauty to my life.
Nature is so beyond amazing that it is hard to imagine we human beings are killing it.
Maybe that's the problem with the 'climate change deniers', they see how amazing Nature is and can't believe we are killing it.
I get that. But I also get that we are, you and I, killing the natural way of our fragile planet, our island home.
And we have to get 'real' about that right now. Really.
A couple of years ago Bern brought home this cactus, that should have lived in a desert, but thrived in Connecticut. It kept having babies on the big frons and kept reproducing. This winter, when it was inside, the damn cat knocked it over and it broke into dozens of pieces. I thought it was done for.
But after only a few weeks outside again, little babies are hatching on the pieces that are left and it is thriving like nothing I could ever have believed. In Cheshire, not Phoenix.
Nature is always beyond amazing. After the brutal winter, Bern's lawns are back with a vengeance, bringing outrageous color and beauty to my life.
Nature is so beyond amazing that it is hard to imagine we human beings are killing it.
Maybe that's the problem with the 'climate change deniers', they see how amazing Nature is and can't believe we are killing it.
I get that. But I also get that we are, you and I, killing the natural way of our fragile planet, our island home.
And we have to get 'real' about that right now. Really.
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