This last weekend I found myself doing an unusual amount of dishes. Compared to many that is probably not a lot, but for me I found myself using the dishwasher maybe 3-4 times over a two day period. Usually its once a week. I reached under the sink and grabbed a bottle of "Cascade." If you don't know, Cascade dish detergent has been around awhile.
My mother Pearl Marie passed away early in life from lymphoma a type of cancer. She was 54. The only grandchild she really knew was Kaisa. Scott was three and Rebecca was just a newborn when she passed away. Mother loved Kaisa dearly. Kaisa was a great joy to my mother in her illness. Oh how she would have loved to have seen all her grandchildren and great grandchildren- you have no idea.
One weekend Kaisa was staying with Mom at the coast. Kaisa was always precocious. Mother and Kaisa were sitting at a nice restaurant in Lincoln City for lunch. Mom was with a friend and Kaisa as her "pal." Kaisa was probably all of four years old. Mother held up a piece of silverware and commented how bright and shiny it was. Mom said Kaisa then held up a fork examined it closely and said, "yes grandma, they must use Cascade." Mom would always chuckle when she told this story. Whenever I use Cascade I can see my little girl holding that fork up and spying it carefully. Whenever I buy dishwashing soap it is always Cascade.
5 comments:
You've converted me, Eric. By dark our cupboards shall be rid of all imposters and stocked with Cascade.
Hey Matt great to hear from you yeah Cascade!
Yes, I agree. The biggest joy mom had during her last years were Scott & Kaisa. I know I keep repeating this story everytime, but what I remember is that there was a gift store off of Commercial where they sold marked down costume jewelry and other children's toys and mom would say she had to go in and check on what they had out periodically. But the way mom said it was typically of her delightful way of speaking, she would say "I have to go in an see about Kaisa's Jewels." She wanted to make sure that Kaisa had enough jewels, ha ha.
Oh that is such a cute story. You need to print your posts and store them in a safety box, okay Dad? We don't want these disappearing when your life extinguishes itself someday far, far away.
Of the dozen or more stories told about Grandma and me, this is one of the few I can verify is true. It isn't that I don't remember many, it just seems that those that are told are a bit different in my memory. But this one is true in circumastance and detail, because like the syrup I smashed between the tines of my fork that day, it has good reason to be sticky.
I remember the smell of the restaurant like it was yesterday. Little Black Sambos in Lincoln City has since been shortened to a more socially appropriate Sambos, but at the time it had the clinging warm smell you'd expect from the tiger butter in the story. The only smell stronger than the yeasty warmth eminating from the kitchen was the cologne of Grandma's friend. I don't remember who she was, but I do remember her strong Avon smell and dangling gold earings.
Her nails were a dark red, and I was pleased to note this given the fact that I was always befuddled by Grandpa's sisters who painted their long nails a very boring nude.
I rode in the back of Grandma's car to the restaurant, which was unusual, because I normally rode in the front when we went on our coastal excursions. For whatever reason I made up for doing this, it was actually because the presence of the whispered imminent was too strong around us. The detail left out this story is it was the last time I drove to the coast with Grandma, and we didn't even stay the night. I guess everyone thought I was sleepy, and needed the room to lay down in the back of the car, but really, I was just too young to deal with life, or the actuality that it doesn't last forever.
Grandma and her friend talked about boring details, and I watched more than listened to their conversation, hoping for a moment to jump in. Commercials made up a big part of my everyday tapestry, as this was around the ascent of my childhood love affair with syndicated television. My remark was meant to be more pithy than humorous, but it retrospect I am of course more glad for the laugh.
It was about all I said at that breakfast aside from the customary nods to the customary friend of your relative questions. On the way back home I did ride in the front, because it seemed alright after a few hours of warming up. For a little while it was easy to not remember what was impossible for everyone to forget.
It is moments like those spent staring out the window in the Van Duzer corridor that still remind me to never undestimate the silence of child. Life is happening as we go along, and unlike most adults, they haven't lived long enough to ignore it.
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