Lately, little flashes appear in my brain of things past.
Today, it was of my "Auntie Pearl." My grandfather's eldest sibling, I only met her a few times. But I remember so clearly the time she visited my family when we lived in Seattle, Washington.
Our house was on a bluff overlooking a wonderful view of Lake Washington. At times, Mount Rainier would appear above clouds at one end of the lake; Mount Baker at the other.
The house too was quite wonderful. It had a very large livingroom with big picture windows looking out at a forest, The ceiling was high and beamed with huge dark wooden beams. I remember them swaying in the great earthquake that shook the Northwest one day - but that's another story.
What I wanted to remember was about Pearl.
The house was Spanish-influenced in its design. That meant the diningroom and kitchen were both tiled. The tiles were hard. My sister ran through the house one day, tripped and fell and knocked out her front teeth on that hard floor.
And the day that Auntie Pearl came bustlling in, full of bright smiles and warm hugs, I remember. As she stepped into the kitchen, her elbow hit a large glass jar of pickles. The jar crashed to the floor spreading glass and pickle juice from one end to the other.
What I remember, what I cherish about the memory, was that Auntie Pearl, gray-haired and aging, then promptly stripped off her dress and in her slip and bra began to clean the floor.
That's who I want to be as the years begin to creep up on me. I think I knew it then and that may be why the image has stayed with me all these years. A woman who meets any challenge with a practical solution and a cheerful attitude.
Copyright 2023, TF (teviothome@gmail.com)
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