I have lots of good times I have been meaning to share with you, but it will be delayed (how many times do you hear this from me and still come back???). My Grandma went to heaven yesterday (not Great, dear readers, but my other Grandma M), so I will be a bit out of pocket this week.
Memories abound, aloft, flooding my mind. Things not surfaced for decades. The smell of lemons and limes as we walked down a busy city street. Back in the days when it was safe to do so. A young girl and her best-friend; now sisters. Funny, how we always wished to be sisters, not knowing such a thing was possible. No one we knew had ‘divorced’ parents. And what were the odds that we, best friends, would have parents that divorced AND end up sisters? A gazillion to one, in our minds. And yet here we were in the heat of a crazy place called Fresno. Walking down the street to Grama Max’s beauty salon.
Grama Max was a BEAUTY. To me, older people looked wrinkly and unkempt, they smelled and were cranky. Maxine was the opposite of all of that. Grace, beauty, refinement, kindness and charm. Never rude, always kind; even with us kids she had patience immeasurable. That was unheard of in those days, we were always being told to be “seen and not heard.” She smelled of heaven and never had a hair or hem out of place.
We often made this walk, to the salon, out of boredom. We learned to crochet at Maxine’s, but only one of us took to it. Highly adorned ladies with names like Goldy and Pauline, taught us the over and under, to hook and draw. The magic of Granny squares, numerous and colorful. We hung out in Uncle Rick’s semi truck, if he stopped by that weekend: Climbing all the way up into that cab, while the motor growled and rumbled was thrilling. Especially since we were alone, us girls, left to explore while he locked himself in his room, wafts of fragrant smoke escaping from under his locked bedroom door. Labor Day Weekend, was the time we were always there. That was back in the days when a person watched the Jerry Lewis Telethon and it was entertainment=enjoyable, at least for us.
The walks always included stolen pomegranates on the way and True Story magazines at the shop. Greatest magazine ever written, I thought. Couldn’t get enough of it or the stories overheard in the shop by the patrons: older women, under giant hair dryers, big rollers with their hair all the shades of a rainbow in a foggy storm: pale shades of pink, purple, blue and silver.
The days of my youth, marked by memories of my past, and held in check by my families growing and shrinking. Expanding and receding. A never ending flow of life, love, happiness, and joy expended to it’s fullest.