I had a dream that felt so unbelievably real, I could swear I traveled through time and space and I was about 11 years old, riding in the backseat of the Reliant Station wagon (white with a light green interior) counting off the last few miles from La Mesa (that's La Mee-sa for you non-Texans) to Big Spring, TX.
Going to Grandma's was an almost yearly summer adventure but I'm sure my dream was a sort of mishmash of all of those trips. I always looked forward to it - the midcentury modern house, the pool, the fish ponds, the swingset, greenhouse, wasp-infested storage buildings, and the fact that the whole place (a few acres, I'm sure) was surrounded by a tall chain link fence and a gate that opened up to what felt like a huge hill (see below... thank you google street view for that childhood memory come alive although back then the gates were rarely left open... I guess the new owners don't have quite the steady stream of their kids' wacked out ex-boyfriends and ex-husbands who needed to be kept out... pity really, west Texas must not be be nearly as exciting without the spectre of marauding nutcases and lets face it, you can't drive too far in west Texas without running into a nutcase or, you know, a Furr's Cafeteria) leading up to what felt like a grand country estate at the time.
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I loved the sound of the gate opening, the chinaberries popping as we drove over them on the long driveway, and the crickets/locusts/cicadas chirping in the background. We would park and go in the front door and grandma would be sitting at her desk (just to the right of the front door as we walked in, just across from her custom sewing station, with her ball chain around her neck holding keys and some kind of medic-alert pendant. She would be wearing a made-by-her ploy-cotton housedress/nightie, usually in a navy and blue print. She'd be wearing a pair of Bass slip-on sandals and progressively greyer hair would be velcro-curled to perfection. I would go find a drink or a snack while my parents would unload the car. In my dream, I walked through the house, stepped over her sleeping Irish Setters, taking in every inch of my memories.
The kitchen, with lovely original birch cabinets, had that formica with the little gold sparkles (love!) on the counters that was later replaced by white tile with, I think, little gold sparkles. Off and on, there was a little yellow bird above the kitchen sink. There was a never-used dishwasher, a very well stocked refrigerator, a cooktop with a vent hood above, opening onto the dining banquette (with the most amazing wacko floral vinyl upholstery in shades of peach, turquoise, and browns) and family room. She had one of those Flair ovens:
and a great pink bathroom off of the kitchen that was across from the laundry with the most amazing ironing station (the hosue always smelled a little like vinegar and water because that's what grandma used to spritz her clothing as she ironed... not quite sure why there was so much ironing going on given the high polyester content of pretty much everything she wore but I didn't judge then and I'm not ready to start now) that led out to the garage (home to another refrigerator, at least one freezer, and a crazy assortment of critters and, in the winter - in west Texas - a space heater to keep all of god's creatures - oh yes... including armadillos and opossums - from freezing to death... in west Texas).
The family room was home to two avocado green recliners (after Grandpa's Naugahyde recliner went to the furniture showroom in the sky), a great midcentury wood-framed sofa (usually occupied by a dog or three), completely curtain-covered windows, a two-sided fireplace (again... in west Texas), and a set of black iron gates meant to keep marauding ex-husbands (or you know... grandkids) out of the "formal living room". There was also a door out to the back patio (complete with ex-husband locks) and a great louvered screen door.
I can't wait to tell you more - although you may feel differently - but I'm just so excited to have such vivid memories. I have few strong memories from my childhood, so when a new one bubbles to the surface, I delight in remembering every last detail.
But for now... bedtime. Thanks for listening.
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