Missing my parents tonight, I went back through my listing of memories to write about, which I had somehow not gotten back to (read: run away from and/or delayed).
Mom, around the time I was in school, drove a Jeep - a CJ-7, a real off-road sort. She contended it was appropriate for the road we lived on and actually, I can't entirely argue that, since that road vibrated a tail light out of its socket (push-in, not rotating, but still) in my Corolla, last year. It wasn't any better when I was in high school. The CJ-7 had a soft-top so it was cold in the winter, even with the heat on, and there tended to be a breeze. I felt much less safe in it than in an ordinary car, because it had a roll-bar. Of course, I'm not sure why this made me feel less safe, other than acknowledging the possibility of trouble, where I would have preferred to ignore it. It was cinnamon-orange and Mom was rather pleased with it, I think, especially since when chained up it could travel nicely even in icy conditions.
I tried to learn to drive it, once. I had learned on Dad's Volkswagen Rabbit and I wanted to master Mom's Jeep. The Jeep won. I didn't have the strength and finesse in my leg to control the clutch - I could push it in no problem, but when trying to let it out, I couldn't keep it slow and steady. It would kick my leg back up - I complained that I almost ended up with my knee in my face, though I doubt that was actually true. I remember saying it, though! It was definitely difficult. A few times I did manage to get the Jeep into reverse, and first gear, but nothing else was possible for me. I'm sure with enough time I could have mastered it, but it was mostly a challenge - I didn't need to drive the Jeep or even really want to drive it, other than to be able to. And in the end, I couldn't. Mom could, though.
They got rid of it later, and I don't remember why, if I knew. Not sure if she tired of it or there was some other reason. I know she really liked the Saturn. I'm also realizing that the Jeep is the only car I can recall that was "Mom's car" that was not red. The Maverick, the Escort, the Saturn - were all varying shades of red. Hmmm.
The dresser we have now was my parents' first. They wanted to get rid of it and get a dresser better-suited to their house - years ago, I think before we moved to this house, but I'm not sure of that timing - and asked if we wanted it. I said yes. Not because we needed a dresser (although we did), but because I love that dresser. It is wood, it is beautiful, it has a mirror. Yes, the drawers stick a little, but not bad. Now the mirror likes to tilt forward; we have a temporary fix in place, but I need to more properly fix it. But it is a lovely piece of furniture and a part of my childhood, also. And besides, Mom told me once or twice that they bought it cheap from someone who'd been storing it in a barn, and they had to clean goat shit off it, strip, and refinish it. You couldn't tell it by looking at it, let me put it that way. It's lovely.
Today, I was running the dishwasher while I did work-work. Normally I start the dishwasher and wander away, but the laptop was set up in the living room, not too far from the dishwasher, so I was listening to it. It was like going home to childhood: something swishing in the washer on the back-porch would sound very similar. The hum and the swoosh of water, the comforting sound that meant Mom was doing all the domestic things she normally did (and, if it was the clothes washer, that there would within a couple hours be something warm from the dryer - how I loved, in the cold months, to hug warm clothes to me!). Eventually, the laundry had to be taken into town, because the well was such that the washer couldn't handle it. I think the dishwasher had the same problem. But still, in my early childhood, they were all used and that's what the sounds mean to me. (And Mom and Dad had had a clothes washer since they got the new well, at least - and a dryer all along - I imagine being able to wash the clothes at home again was a real nice change, though.)
Heck, back when the washer still worked, I remember the old laundry line strung between the shop and the pasture, to the east of the shop. Dad put up two T-poles and the lines, all standard stuff, and we actually hung clothes out to dry. I remember playing with the clothespins, and wandering through the laundry as it dried, idly batting it aside. I don't remember if I got told not to, but it seems likely, since my hands were probably dirty from playing. Ah, childhood. One thing I miss is having a place to hang laundry. And I don't know why I miss it. Practically speaking it is no better than using a dryer and, with my allergies and the risk of weather, might be worse. But I miss it anyway, because it is part of my memory of caring for things. I suppose it's silly, but...
I posted, a while back, about the letter that Mom wrote to Ford about the Escort. That car really was a lemon. Which is a pity; I gather later models in the same line were nice. And I've been surprised how happy I've been with our Ford Taurus cars. Scott had to push me into getting the first one, I was so set against Ford. But really a lot of the problem was caused by then-Newberg-Ford, whose servicing of the car at that time caused probably half or more of its problems. I was extra not-thrilled with it since it had replaced the Maverick, which I loved. I think I loved the Maverick mostly because it was "our car" and older than I was - we'd never not had it until then. Things change, though. I didn't like that even as a child. I've learned to cope but I still want to cling to things-as-they-are, sometimes too much, and I know it.
I'm not sure, speaking of allergies as I did a moment ago, how old I was when this happened. I believe I was about six or eight, but my memory's not reliable on that fact. I went in to be tested for allergies, and some idiot at the clinic told my parents I could not take my theophyllin for three days before hand. They sword afterward they did not say that, so perhaps my parents misunderstood, but they said not. In any case, the theophyllin is not an antihistamine (which you really do need to avoid before such tests, of course!) but an asthma medication, a preventative that takes time to build in the bloodstream and should be kept at an even dose and not skipped. So I had a nasty asthma attack one night, presumably either the day of the appointmnet or very shortly after. Mom took me into their bed and I was coughing so hard that it shook. Finally they took me to the emergency room. (My memory says this was McMinnville. I can't think why: presumably it was Newberg. Unless Newberg Hospital had not been built yet, but I thought it had - not the current one, but the previous one, which used to be near the swimming pool. Anyway--)
I remember we had the blue and white striped blanket that someone (I believe Erma Orr) had knitted for me with us, and I remember that I coughed so hard that I was ill on it, and that I was horribly upset that I had damaged my precious blanket. Mom had to reassure me that it could be cleaned up okay. Anyway, Mom when she told the story remembered the intern, who asked, "Are her lips always this shade of blue?" Since he was laughing a bit, I think Mom found that reassuring, though only a little bit. They gave me a shot of adrenalin. It didn't stop the reaction. They gave me another shot of adrenalin. No dice: the net result was that they now had a hyper kid having an asthma attack. So they admitted me overnight and put me on an IV of theophyllin. The adrenalin had probably at least helped my reaction some. I clearly, vividly remember that the IV needle was put into the bottom of my foot for some reason, though I don't remember any pain, just the odd sensation of it after it had been in a while. My parents told me that no, that was not the case, it was put in the arm in the normal fashion. I have no idea where my mind dreamed up the foot bit! Interestingly, the place I remember it in is almost the place that many years later I would burn on the kerosene heater, so perhaps that played into it? I have no idea.
My memory of the allergy tests is also flawed. I was convinced they had been done on my back, to get a large enough section of skin, but I was told no, it was my arm. I have vivid memories of how uncomfortable the tests were - on my back. The odd thing is, while the placement may be wrong, the memories aren't far off - when I had the tests done recently for my allergy shots, on my arm, they were (other than location) about as uncomfortable as I remembered them.
The foot - that was during college. I came home one Christmas break and was lying in front of the kerosene heater (a shop-type kerosene heater, the long sort you plug in, not the squat round kind you take camping). I was swinging my foot back and forth and managed to stick it (the triangle area behind the ball) right on the heater. I yanked it away quick - I have good reflexes, so I "only" got second degree burns. Ow! It helps that I drew a bowl of cold water and jammed my foot in it before calling Dad to see if he could come home and take me in to get it looked at. Not my best moment, to put it mildly. At least I knew not to try driving with my right foot out of commission that way.... And no permanent damage or harm done.
I don't like hot weather. Which makes it funny that, during cool or cold weather, I love heat enough to be a hazard to myself. That was not my first run-in with heat (and of course, I've mentioned the 'fresh from the dryer' effect above). When I was little - too little to remember this, fortunately - I had another encounter. I think it was while we were still at Carlton, but I could be wrong; if I am, it was not long after we moved. I would have been between 3 and 5 for this. I was bare-naked after a bath, and trying to get warm or stay warm. I backed toward the woodstove. I backed right into the woodstove. Which, yes, was lit. My parents told me this one (in response to my burning my foot, actually). I couldn't sit for quite a while apparently. I'm amazed I don't have even dim memories of that, but I cannot say I am entirely sorry that I don't recall it first-hand.
The woodstove at the house on Ribbon Ridge has front doors you can open and set a screen over, to have a fireplace. How I loved to lie in front of it, basking and baking in the heat, watching the flames dance. The cats liked it, too. It was interesting to pet a cat who had been there so long that their fur was radiating heat into your hand. I wonder whether some of our ditzier cats simply baked their brains out. (Then again, the same question could be asked of me, I suppose.)
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