5 Critical Childhood Moments/Indelible Memories

OK, it's thanks to Blaugustine's graphic version that I am succumbing to this meme. (Scroll down in her blog to "Some Critical Childhood Moments," May 28.) Mine take place in a matriarchy; they are all concerned with my mother and/or grandmother(s).

1.) I am three years old, if that. I come into the kitchen of our apartment and catch my mom eating peanut butter out of a spoon, after putting raisins in it. She is guiltily protective of this strange act, and I am aware of having seen something I'm not supposed to. I am fascinated, and possibly envious. This is my first glimpse of the privileges and dangers of adulthood -- adult womanhood.

2.) This memory appears completely out of context, as if acted in a spotlight on a bare stage:

I am sitting on my mother's lap, prattling on to her about how I "love" some handsome older neighborhood boy, trying it on for size. My mother says to me, "Maybe it's really yourself you love."

In the memory, I jump off her lap and run away screaming, though I'm sure I didn't do that. Decades later, she will maintain innocently that she was merely making some philosophical, psychological point. I, on the other hand, will think of this moment as "the fairy's curse."

3.) I am six. We are in Winnetka, visiting my father's mother. Something is very wrong. My mom is upstairs in bed with a high fever and headache that will turn out to be polio. (I don't understand that she is already pregnant with our youngest sister, and so all the adults are doubly worried.) Looking out at the oak-filled ravine behind the house, I hear the plaintive cry of a blue jay. Even today, when I hear a blue jay's cry, I smell wet oak leaves and am transported back to this moment.

4.) My mom is in the hospital. Her mother, my grandmother Bah, is staying with us. Neighborhood kid pal Bobby Waldman, perhaps smelling vulnerability, gets me down into the moldy space under his house's front stairs, tries to tie me up with a rope, and urges his harmless Lab puppy, "Bite her, Blackie! Bite her! Bite her! Bite her, Blackie!" The puppy jumps up and down, barking and licking me with its soft mouth. I "escape," and see my grandmother standing in our doorway, in her long full California skirt, looking indignant. She's too late. I feel alone, like I have had to fend for myself, and have succeeded.

5.) We are in Palm Springs, where Bah and Ockie spend winters, and where my mother has been sent to spend the coldest part of the next several Chicago winters for her rehabilitation. (She has been lucky. The baby is fine, and she has lost only some of the function of her right calf and ankle. She exercises with sandbags and a pulley, misses my dad, and is in a bad mood.)

I am madly in love with the desert. We have planned a trail ride on horseback to an oasis called Andreas Canyon, with an antiquated guide whose real name I forget; I remember only that Bah called him "Clem Kadiddlehopper." (I also remember Bah singing this, to a famous Western melody:

Ich bin an alter buck,
fon old Kentuck.
Whatever I do,
bin ich out of luck:
Ich reit auf mine pferdaleh
Ich kratz mine beartaleh
Yippee oy vay oy vay.)

My sister(s?) and I will ride to the canyon with "Clem;" Mom, Bah and Ock will meet us there by car for a picnic. At the last minute, Bah decides she doesn't want to come. I burst into tears, saying I'm afraid this means she's getting old. (She was probably in her early 60s. She was probably depressed. She will live over 30 years more.) She changes her mind and agrees to come.

Having gotten my way, and for the moment conquered mortality, I am freed to have the most perfect time of my life. After the baking, delicately sweet-smelling desert, the squeak of saddles and the comforting gamy smell of sweaty horses, Andreas Canyon is cool and splashed with shade. We stop at a mountain stream, get down and drink the cold, pure water out of cupped hands. It is a religious experience.

- amba

Comments

[AmbivaBro]

Man. I'm sorry I missed Ba at her peak (or nadir). But I'm glad you indulged in that meme.

[Natalie]

Beautifully evocative and visual, Amba. This is a wonderful meme, thanks to Danny Miller. I'm going to continue with my list.

[Tamar]

Your #'s 3 & 4 are particularly poignant for me, Amba.

This is, indeed, quite a meme Danny started for us. I had the hardest time writing mine! However it helped to know *you all* might read it.

In the end, Natalie, I didn't need you to illustrate it. But still ...

[karen]

:) As beautiful as VT is today, I think I'd give my eye-teeth to visit the desert. I would feel me free of the responsibilities of others... kids, cows and husband!! I would get lonely, but lonely isn't bad for a couple of days of introverted inspection, is it? You brought me there today and I thank you for your gift. I think I've read every Louis L'Amour book written, but haven't visited him for a couple of years. He could bring me into the wilderness, too. My sister hated his books because they are all the same to her, but I liked the familiarity.

[Richard Lawrence Cohen]

Thank you for five beautiful snapshots and a glimpse of the person behind them.

[AE]

My recollection of the lyrics is:

I'm an alter bock
fun old Kentuck
und vi ich gai
Ich hob kayn luck.
Ich setzich avec auf der ferdele
und gib a dray mit de berdele
Ich hob der veldt in drerdele
Yippy yay oy oy vay.

Where berdele refers to the horse's mane.

Enjoy.