DB finally told me the destination of our “Mystery Trip” next week. We are going to Chile’ to see our granddaughter! I was asking about what I needed to pack, and he finally confessed. I know they are entering their fall, so the weather will be similar to ours right now, I think.
This “Mystery Trip” business began 25 years ago, when DB was out-of-work because his factory had closed. He kept changing his mind about where we would go for a vacation, and I finally said, “Don’t tell me; just tell me what to pack when you have finally made up your mind.”
That was the first surprise trip, and it was lots of fun; I liked not knowing what we would be doing each day. So, it became a tradition; he loves the planning and re-planning, and I don’t. So it all works out. He has known since last DECEMBER that we would be going to Chile’. I thought it was out of the question because of the cost of the flight. But he and granddaughter worked out the cheapest and best time for the trip, and this is my belated birthday present.
He couldn’t have picked a better present!
In spite of the excitement of the upcoming trip to Chile’, Tigger, my brother, is uppermost in my mind today. Maybe it is the spring, which usually brings up memories of my life in the “Rock House”. Maybe it’s the funeral I officiated at on Saturday, or the planning for the quick trip to RI this coming weekend. Whatever, I keep thinking about Jon.
The summer I was thirteen, and Tigger was 6, was our baby sister’s first summer. It was a difficult one for our parents, I think, because Dad’s factory was on strike, and Mom was in a deep bi-polar depression. She was worried about the lack of income, among other things.
We had moved to the Rock House (it got its name from the huge boulder that protected the north side of the house from the winter winds)the summer I was ten. Mom had coveted this house for years. It had been empty for about 15 years when we bought it. It was built pre-Revolutionary War, so you can imagine the condition of the place. It took Dad all that summer to make it livable again.
Back to my 13th summer: Dad made a little money building a skiff out of the wood on our property, and we had a huge garden, so we didn’t starve. In addition, the union gave picketers a big basket of food each week, which included canned milk for the baby, and 1 pound of tea and 1 pound of coffee. The coffee was welcome; no one drank tea in our household, so after 9 months of strike, our pantry was FULL of boxes of tea! I wonder whatever happened to it?
That fall, I began high school. This was a big deal, not only because I had moved up in the world of education, but also because we were riding a school bus to the BIG SCHOOL in a neighboring town! I had just spent three years in a one-room schoolhouse, so the possibility of being with more than 16 children, only 3 of which were in my class, was pretty exciting.
In addition, I would be back with old friends from the years we lived in that town. That brought up mixed emotions, because I had skipped a grade in the one-room school, so I would be with the older kids.
Well, all of this excitement must have infected Tigger. Mom and I had spent the summer taking apart all my clothes to remake them into something new and more appropriate for a “grown-up” Freshman. Tigger bounced around us all that summer, watching all this with great interest.
The day finally came: I waved goodbye to my brother, kissed my baby sister, and skipped off to the bus. It was a momentous day all around, until I got home.
Tigger had been very busy all day, marking this as a special occasion. Or rather marking all my belongings with big red F’s (for Freshman, he explained, later), with my only bottle of NAIL POLISH! And I mean, ALL my possessions, including my bureau, my bedspread, my mirror, my little dressing table, my window seats, on and on and on.
He was so proud of himself! And so hurt that my reaction was one of fury. In the first place, he was NEVER allowed in my bedroom. Secondly, nail polish was hard to come by in this household that was on strike, and thirdly, that polish never did come off my bureau or other furniture, nor out of my bedspread.
Now, of course, it is a great and very funny story; then it was the kind of tragedy that only a thirteen-year-old can appreciate. Oh, and by-the-way, he was NEVER punished for this activity. Mom thought it was cute, which only added salt to the wound.
Because he was not allowed in my bedroom (you can understand why, can’t you?), Tigger spent most of his time trying to find ways to get around that edict. It was a great game to him; it was constant frustration to me. One day, he showed up with my sanitary napkins, when I was entertaining a boy, and waving one around, wanted to know what it was for. I know you are laughing, but put yourself in the place of a young teenage girl trying to cope with this child.
Then there was the time he wired (he was about 11 when this happened)the metal thumb latch on my bedroom door, when I was entertaining a couple girlfriends. He couldn’t stand the fact the door was closed and we were laughing and talking behind it. He called me in a frantic voice, and I ran out of the room to see what was wrong. I should have known. I got zapped by his electrical work.
He laughed about that for years; it was a long time before I could laugh about it. Even though he was an electrical genius at a young age, I still could only think about what could have happened if he had made a mistake!
That same year, for his birthday, he had received a new hi-fi. He promptly took it apart to see how it worked, much to my Dad’s chagrin. However, he got it back together again without any trouble. It is no wonder that he became the electrical expert that everyone at his place of work relied on.
Whether it was decorating my bedroom with my only nail polish, or trying to electrocute me, Tigger kept things lively. The world is a little dimmer without him.
But, even so, life is good, when one has had such a brother it in. Thanks be to God.
April 12, 2010, 9:55 a.m., Monday, Beautiful day, in the 50’s so far.
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