Memories (part seven) - shopping

What woman out there doesn’t like shopping? And even better than that - shopping for things when they are on sale!!

Back in the day at ZCMI (a marvelous department store in downtown Salt Lake City - that alas is no more) they would periodically hold what were known as “door crasher” sales. Mom knew exactly which door would be opened mere moments before any of the others in the store. It was there that she anxiously waited for the doors to be unlocked, and the highly anticipated sales to begin. Mom was always first in line of course - she hated to be late for anything - and being first in line would assure her of greater sales prowess. I distinctly remember still being in a stroller - and even later walking (make that running - Mom was known for her quick stride) with Mom to these sales.

Ready, set, run… masses of women rushing and almost knocking down hapless sales people who bravely unlocked the doors - all in an effort to get to the basement bargain tables before anyone else. It was there that the hoards of shoppers would find tables piled high with towels, sheets, shirts, socks, pants, etc. - all being offered at the lowest prices ever conceived of for a "door crasher" closeout sale.

Mom’s supreme strategy was to simply elbow other women out of her way and gather a large helping of whatever was on the table - sort through the items in her arms - throwing back that which didn’t fit her needs. Then she would thrust into my small waiting arms her chosen finds - and turn again to shove herself once more into the mad foray of bargain hungry women.

There is nothing more terrifying than to witness the flailing arms and elbows of determined bargain shoppers hunting for their prey in a “door crasher” sale. Some of these maddened women would actually have the audacity to try and pry Mom’s prized finds out of my tiny hands. But I would hold tightly - and with shopping genes bred pure and true into my very being - would scream at these women... "These belong to my Mommy!! NO you can not have them!!"

Maybe these childhood sales experiences are one reason why I do not participate in the day after Thanksgiving sales. I got the madness out of my system at a very young age - and today’s bargain shopping simply pales in comparison. I also don’t appreciate loosing valuable sleep just for the sake of shopping.

Perhaps those shopping genes have finally worn themselves out - or are not in reality quite so pure? That being said - I admit there is still a visible warm internal glow and sense of pure pride of accomplishment after a crushing bargain take down. Hummmm... shopping anyone?

Memories (part six) - church

At one point I was as familiar with Temple Square as I was my own home and yard. We would walk around those beautiful grounds a number of times every week. After all we only lived a block away in those early years.

I loved going up the long curved ramp to view the huge Christus statue in the North Visitor’s Center Rotunda. Static would build up from walking on that carpeted ramp – and what fun it was to then stealthily sneak up on my brother, or Mom, and watch them jump when touched. I remember being awestruck by the enormity of the statue, and the beautiful depiction of the cosmos on the background walls. I am still awestruck by this very special place – and need to make a goal to visit Temple Square more often than just at Christmas time.

One of my most favorite things to do at Temple Square was to watch the movie, Man’s Search for Happiness. I loved watching this movie, and even now forty plus years later remember most of the movie, almost as if I had just viewed it the other day. Among such scenes I can still hear and see the multitude of clocks ticking away – and hear the narrator’s voice-over talking about time. In my mind I can see the young family standing in falling snow at the graveside of their beloved grandfather – who was passing through the veil and being greeted by a multitude of loved ones.

Another loved but slightly more intense movie was, Christ in America. There was a point in that presentation where loud thunder type sounds and flashing lights were followed by the theater being plunged into total darkness. Then a deep voice quoted a passage from the Book of Mormon, announcing the resurrected Savior. And the scariness was soon over when lights came back on - and the screen had disappeared - replaced by the wonder of seeing a life-size three dimensional portrayal of Christ visiting the Nephites after his resurrection. I really liked that part best of all - and so would endure the terror before it so that I might gaze in awe at such a miraculous event. I always wanted to run forward towards the Christ figure, with the faint thought that He might possibly be real - but was too shy to really consider such an act.

We attended church meetings every Sunday in the old 17th ward building (located at 142 West 200 North in Salt Lake). In the chapel, which is still there, is a beautiful stained glass depiction of Joseph Smith’s first vision. I can remember sitting in church staring at that scene for what seemed like the longest time every Sunday. Such vivid memories of this window have remained with me - and even now I can clearly recall the smallest details of that stained glass window.

A few years ago I had the opportunity to be in that church building once again - and took the time to walk into the chapel. It was exactly the way I remembered it in every detail. I’m sure that being able to look at such beauty during Sunday meetings was what helped make me the most quiet, and well behaved, toddler in the history of Mormon church meetings (wink wink).

Memories (part five) - the yard

The yard as I remember had a huge front lawn with large trees and also some shrubs or bushes growing on the front corner of the lot. On the north side of the home was a sloping to steep hill leading up to the Deseret Gym on the next corner.

Among my play toys was a very small cart which normally held some small wooden blocks. This cart was soon repurposed and hauled partway up the hill (not too far - just to the back property line) where I would then climb into the small cart and carelessly careen down the sidewalk to the corner. Of course there was no mechanism to steer or stop the contraption - but what great fun was had until Mom and Dad discovered my reckless speed demon tendencies and put a stop to it.

On the south side of the home was a driveway and a garage (more like a very large shed) at the back end of the driveway. There on one side of the garage was a fenced sandbox play area where many happy summer hours were spent while my Mom (and Dad when he wasn’t away at work) were working in the yard. They were the caretakers/ managers of the apartment building - and so were responsible for maintaining the yard, and helping other residents as needed. In return they received a substantial discount in rent each month - which enabled them to save extra money towards their goals.

One day - when I was about two years old or so - I was happily playing in the sandbox. My brother had been duly instructed by my parents to not leave the gate open, and thereby enable me to make an escape. It was his desire to play with certain items in the sandbox, and rather than hassle with the gate multiple times to bring these things inside - his brilliant idea was to instead throw them over the fence, and enter the gate once. One of the proposed play items was a soda pop bottle, which ended up hitting me square on the forehead.

I don’t personally remember this incident (most likely the traumatic experience was firmly blocked from my mind). But I was informed that my screams could be heard blocks away (and Salt Lake City blocks are huge). My parents upon hearing me rushed to my aid - only to be confronted by a blood covered shrieking child (head wounds can bleed quite profusely you know).

Mom immediately gathered me into her arms, and I was immediately rushed to Primary Children’s Hospital where I obtained nine stitches in my small forehead. In their hurry and concern for my well being - my brother was summarily left standing in the driveway watching his parents drive away. But before you think too badly of my parents, it wasn’t as neglectful an act as it seems. Dad’s oldest half-sister lived in the same building - and she was there (attracted by my screams) to take care of my brother until our return from the hospital.

I still have a small scar on my forehead - which may be one reason why I have always thought my forehead to be ugly, and always wear bangs to cover that particular body feature.

Memories (part four) - the living room

The living room was the largest single room in the whole apartment - which isn’t saying much. It was there we had a chest freezer, which took up one entire corner of the room. A turquoise colored used sofa, a green Lazy-boy rocker/recliner (which Mom insisted on buying new when I was born). It was Mom’s dream to be able to sit and rock her baby to sleep - and uncooperative as I was I did not make that an easy nor pleasant task. Apparently I didn’t like to be held and rocked much as a baby. What I wouldn’t give now to be enfolded in the security of Mom’s loving arms and just held, let alone rocked.

Taking up the last of the space in the living room was Mom’s sewing machine cabinet. This was an investment purchase made shortly after their marriage when Mom informed Dad that she needed a new dress. He kindly asked her if she could sew - because that would be the only way financially for her to obtain a new dress. At that time it was an economical means for obtaining clothing - whereas today we can purchase clothing on sale for less than the same garment can be sewed. So Mom learned how to sew - and made many clothes that our family wore for many years - but she mostly sewed her own clothes.

For years I remember Mom making matching shirts for us all to wear during the summer months when we went somewhere as a family. Lovingly and nicely sewn as the shirts were, please remember that much of my childhood took place in the 1970’s - which was a time not known for the best fabric colors or designs. But we never got lost in a crowd.

I believe it was the last summer we were living in that small apartment, Mom made chekered shirts for us, but mine also had a matching sun bonnet (of sorts). I felt like a pioneer in my little outfit - and insisted on wearing it as often as possible that year.

(Me and my little doll)

Memories (part three) - the bathroom & kitchen

Continuing along with my earliest childhood memories - we move on to the bathroom and kitchen in the tiny apartment. My Dad's older sister moved into this same apartment after we moved out, and lived there for a few years. So some of my memories of just how small the spaces were are not all from age three and younger.

The bathroom resembled more a small closet or hallway than it did a true bathroom. Just like the inherent nature of a hallway - the bathroom was short, narrow and oh so lacking in space. There was barely enough room for a toilet and sink, let alone a bathtub. As memory serves, I recall there was a shower stall at one end of the room rather than an actual bathtub. I vaguely remember my baths at that time being taken in a small tub filled with water and set inside the shower stall.

The kitchen was also more like a hallway - the refrigerator was at the end opposite the door, with the kitchen sink and stove running along one side - and the table against the wall on the other side. If someone was sitting at the table, it was impossible to walk past them or to gain access to stove, cupboards or sink.

Just inside the doorway to the kitchen and across from the sink - sandwiched in a corner there was a washing machine. Not like those found in homes today - but this was a white enameled metal tub with an agitator inside, a motor underneath, and a hose that could hook onto the side of a tub or sink for draining. (see images taken from the internet below).

But most important and fascinating of all were the motorized roller ringers on one side where clothing could be fed through, and the water wrung out of them. More than once I remember getting my hand, or even my whole arm, caught in those rollers as I tried to “help” Mom with laundry duties. Of course the clothes dryer was in good weather the clothes line out back - and in bad weather it was a clothes line stretched from wall-to-wall in the living room.

Memories (part two) - the bedroom

Continuing along with blog postings of childhood memories (and memories of stories told to me) - we come to the lesson learned of... no more jumping on the bed!

I never ever slept in a crib. There just wasn’t space for one in such a tiny apartment. Instead my first bed was the top half of a twin-size bunk bed. Yes, I said the top bunk bed. Mom knew that as a newborn infant I was yet unable to turn over while sleeping - and she had great fears of my brother (3.5 years older than me) falling out of the top bunk. So, until my Dad put into place a guard rail - it was my distinct privilege to sleep on the top bunk.

Finally Dad got the guard rail in place, and I was thereafter relegated to the bottom bunk. It was that first night sleeping on the lower bunk that Mom said I actually rolled over in my sleep for the first time - and promptly fell out of bed. After that I was always quite fenced in by pillows to prevent a repeat occurrence. And Mom was forever grateful that I had not started exhibiting such skills prior to that time. A fall from the top bunk would have had more serious consequences.

My first memories of the bedroom was the adventure of following my brother’s lead and launching myself from the top bunk - to land with great delight in the middle of my parent’s queen-size bed. It wasn’t a terribly difficult feat, as there were only a couple feet of space between the two beds. But what fearless pleasure was achieved through the simple task of climbing high to the top bunk - followed by a glorious bouncing, soft landing. No amount of parental commands could keep two enterprising children from such daring adventures.

Needless to say, the first purchase made after moving to their new home a few years later was the replacement of a by then quite damaged queen-size bed. When parents tell their children to not jump on the bed - there is usually a good reason behind such requests.