My Earliest Memories - Sunday Scribblings

I've sifted and sorted through my tossed salad of memories for this Sunday Scribblings  prompt, trying to capture which item on the menu was my earliest memory. But it's like measuring out a cup of flour, then trying to find the very first grain that was poured...somehow, the best I can come up with is the layer of the first spoonful or even a 1/4 of a cup...

There are two rooms in my mind I keep coming back to: the kitchen and the dining room. These were the rooms where everyone I loved gathered; where good things came from; where good times happened.

I remember the white wooden cabinets, the porcelain sink; the black and white tiles and linoleum in the kitchen; the red and white curtains; the shiny white and cool polished silver of the appliances (these were much later exchanged by mother - in later memories I've tried to block! - for dark wood cabinets and  avocado green appliances and  linoleum!?!?!).  But when I return to this house in my dreams - and I often do - it's still in the original kitchen decor, of red and white and black; copper and silver.

The heavenly aroma of my grandmother's pies wafting from the kitchen - she would always save a little extra dough and make us cinnamon twists from it; to nibble on while we waited for the pies to cool...Nanny would be in the kitchen for hours it seemed (and probably was, in those days - that were pre-microwaves/convenience foods, etc.). Though I'd get shoo'd out to go play, I'd always gravitate back to her there. Who could resist the aroma of  her peach cobblers, apple turnovers; banana or chocolate cream pies. Fried green tomatoes, potato pancakes; the cornbread, the stews, the dumplings, mmm....the fish? Not so much, though, for me. Nor (when I got older) the fried chicken (I knew them before frying, you see).  Nanny would give us a cinnamon twist or a cookie; a homemade popsicle; a carrot or celery stick, or when we came back for our third cup of Kool-Aid or iced tea - "Not another thing! Now, shoo!" as she dusted the flour off her hands on her apron - and we'd scamper back out to play...

I remember loving having my bath in the big, white porcelain sink and being sad when they told me, somewhere between 2 and 3, that I was too big to have my baths there anymore. Mother had to lure me with the promise of bubblebath to bathe in the big tub in the bathroom. Why did I love the sink so much? I could see out the kitchen window to the lilac bush and sky outside...the bathroom window was much too high to see out of while bathing! Though I did grow to love bubblebaths...

I loved bubbles - that's why the washing machine with it's little round porthole window fascinated me so. I especially loved it, as it  replaced the evil wringer-washer machine of doom (that eater of fingers!) This was a kinder, gentler washing machine.  I would watch, mesmerized, as the water and detergent swirled 'round in a frenzy. In those days, even laundry was an adventure (though I'm sure Mother and Nanny wouldn't have agreed!) Though I remember hearing my mother humming showtunes ('Que Sera, Sera...') as she hung out the laundry and I would hand her the wooden clothespins. I thought she looked and sounded as lovely as Snow White (remember Snow White cleaning the seven dwarf's cottage with the little animals scurrying around helping? I would imagine I was one of the little critters, and my mother was Snow White...my mom would have had a good laugh at that, had she known!) Then back to the kitchen to pile the hamper with the next load of wash...

The dining room - barely a separate room; more an extension of the kitchen. According to my older  sister we got rid of the drapes in the picture pretty early on - yet I remember them clearly (in color, so I know it's not just the photographs...)  This is where everyone would gather not only to eat, but to just sit and talk, while they shelled peas; peeled apples; de-strung the string beans. Where the newspaper was read; crosswords and jigsaw puzzles, bank balancing and homework were done. Endless games of monopoly, parcheesi and  checkers played here. Where ghost stories were told - before slumber party ouija board consultations and seances were conducted to the giggles and shrieks of girls galore.
I remember hiding under the dining room table, listening, trying to decode the secret language of the grown-ups, when they lingered, chatting after dinner. Or while they played rook or hearts or whist. Till one of them would bump me with a foot when they stretched their long, adult legs out - discovering me, and I'd be hauled out, sent to bed; or in summer, back out to play with the cousins and neighbors.

Not that I'd mind that. I loved being outdoors. My big sister swinging me around by my hand and a foot. My little sister/cousin and I twirling like whirlybirds, Motor boat, motor boat go so fast - motor boat, motor boat put on the gas! Till we fell over, dizzy & exhausted, in the grass. Where we lay watching the sky spin wildly above us. Till we could finally see straight enough to make shapes out of the clouds. Holding blades of grass between our thumbs and blowing to make a whistle. Making daisy chains and dandelion wishes.

Climbing trees - on this one, eating the apricots...that one, the plums...gathering up the pecans. Peeling the the skin off, then cracking the shell to get the sweet nut inside (for some reason, people are always surprised to hear pecans have skins...but then there aren't too many pecan trees around here, anymore). Making mud-pies and mulberry tea.  Running through the sprinklers. Hop-scotch. Jacks. Singing jump-rope songs and hand-clapping rhymes (a sailor went to the sea, sea, sea; to see what he could see, see, see...; Cinderella, dressed in yella, went to the ball and met a fella....)

Then onto the swingset to see who can swing highest; slide fastest.  My cousin and I pumping the teeter-totter so high, that the whole swing set would shudder; threatening to topple over.

Playing the endless variations of tag; hide & go seek - ally, ally oxen free! tag you're it! Till suddenly it was too dark to see - then we'd hurry in before our mothers would come out to their porches - we should know when it's dark to come in, they'd say...

Just as I should know when to bring this measuring out of layers to an end. More than a quarter cup, I know! But the memories, they just keep pouring. My cup overfloweth, it seems.

Comments

[boliyou]

"...it's like measuring out a cup of flour, then trying to find the very first grain that was poured..." what a perfectly apt description! I love that line.

[amber]

What wonderful, full and warm family memories! I would like to have a home like this, so that my children and grandchildren would have nice memories like you have. Thank you for sharing it with us.

:)

[Paris Parfait]

Love the flour analogy. And what rich memories you have! Those baking and kitchen stories reminded me of my own grandmother baking and the delicious smells (and later, the taste). Very well written! And lovely photographs.

[ally bean]

what a delightful story full of charming memories. you remember so much. i don't.

although i do remember that one of our early kitchens was yellow and red and white which i thought was so fun. but my mother changed it to "tasteful" maple and white and gold. more practicasl she said.

[Kara]

Tinker, I loved sifting through these memories with you - your writing made me feel as if I was a part of it all. And the photos to go with it are precious-love how you scanned it.

[judie]

Gosh Tinker, motor boat, motor boat, daisy chains, dandelion wishes. I had forgotten all about those wonderful things. Betcha caught fireflys and put them in glass jars too. Thanks for the memories!