some good words for poor Mary Kay who is being woefully beaten at Scrabble every night by her parents.”
“Wanted: someone to play with Tommy, who owns the game.”
“Wanted: someone to feed the cub reporter while Mom gets dinner.”
Heard in the kitchen:
As we were sitting in the kitchen eating breakfast prior to the last mad rush for school, in comes Irene clad only in a pair of panties. When Daddy asked why she was not more appropriately dressed, she replied: “But Daddy, I can’t find my sock!”
•••
I can be heard not only echoing my brother Skip—
“At prayers the other night, after Skipper said, ‘God bless Skipper and make him a good boy,’ Irene said, ‘God bless Irene and make her a good girl.’”
—but asserting myself as well:
Skipper: “I just finished Irene’s soup. All that good food going to waste. God made food for man to eat.”
Irene: “God made food for Girl, too.”
•••
On March 7, in an item about watching Peter Pan that night, we find this sweet reveal: “This is the show that Dad saw five times as a boy.” (How wonderful his parents took him.) The next day:
Family Watches Peter Pan—‘Renie Can’t Fly:
Seeing Mary Martin fly prompted Irene to say in a mournful tone: ‘I never learned how to do that.’ ”
Proof that by the age of three, both technique and memory of my stairway flights had vanished.
Pogo is now distinguishing himself as an expert marksman, a strong swimmer (“I learned how to swim last summer in order to avoid being a social outcast in our group”), and a fine young writer (“I got a ninety-seven on my short story and he wrote ‘I enjoyed it very much’ on it. PS: Copies of Pogo’s short-story furnished free on request.”)
Tom is industriously refinishing the living room tables and soliciting enough orders for his paper route to win the jacket. One of the most dramatic Family Journal stories shows his gallantry, courage, ingenuity, and humility all at once:
“When I was coming down the hill from school, I heard some yelling by the creek. Naturally, when I hear screams, I follow the path of the noise. It seemed that a girl had dropped her books while on the bank of the creek, and at this time of year that is always covered with ice. The book slid onto the creek on a thin layer of ice. The girl, presumably her name was Joan, tried to get it and slipped in herself. Since she was heavier than the book, she went in up to her ankles. It was so slippery she couldn’t get out by herself. The other girls couldn’t get her out, either, so they screamed for help. I got there, and discovered the situation, and you know the Irish, always willing to help. First, I grabbed a tree and told the other girl to hold on to my other arm, she did so and I pulled her out. She was crying. Then there was the problem of rescuing her 45¢ book. Some of the girls said, ‘Joannie’s life is most important, don’t try to rescue the book—you may fall in too.’ But I was willing to try. On my way down the bank, I got a jumping rope from one of the girls that I tied onto a tree and lowered myself down sensibly. I got the book with a stick. Then they said ‘Thanks a LOT, Tom’ while they were seeing that the book and Joan were OK. I sneaked away quietly.”
•••
Kako notes that her Junior-Senior prom (she’s a junior) is “tripping up on cat feet,” a month away.
“Mother and Mary Kay are beautiful again, they hope, after their permanents. We spent all Sunday afternoon in curlers and we hope that the Lord understands. And when the frizz comes out, we should be fashion models!”
Mary Kay Gets Formal:
“After an afternoon of looking and trying on many formals, Mom and MK came home with a BEAUTY! It’s blue net with a dropped shoulder and tiny puffed sleeves… It has a lace bodice, and a full net skirt. Tiny pink roses are scattered on the skirt. I just love it and Irene said, ‘Oh Kako, it looks so pretty. You look like Alice!’ (Alice in Wonderland, Irene’s highest compliment—if you look like Alice, you’re in!) We also bought Irene a new Easter hat—white with pink flowers on it and ribbons down the back, and when we showed it to her she said, ‘Oh mommie, I knew you would bring me a cowboy hat!’”
•••
Even I think it sounds like a riot to grow up in this family, like Cary Grant saying, “Everybody wants to be Cary Grant. Even I want to be Cary Grant.”
But between the lines on those yellowed onionskin originals, unspoken fissures of anxiety emerge.
The last issue of the first run on March 29, 1955, informs us that the cabin at Prairie Lake in Northern Minnesota has been reserved. Up at the lake. Out in the woods. Lifelong gifts.
Montana, Day Two: Practice
We hang out in the woods by the lake next day, getting used to walking five minutes to the RV campground for water, still gratefully in restroom range, regularly eyeing that slice in the mountain, knowing pain and challenge, along with beauty, await on that trail in the morning.
While Mike goes into town, Jim offers me a fly fishing lesson. The guy just loves to fish. I remember him barely taller than the minnow bucket he fished in.
“Let’s practice in the parking lot. It’ll narrow your focus.”
He’s a clear and patient teacher.
“First pay out your line.” He lays out twenty feet. “Here’s the grip—thumb on top, in line with your forearm. Keep it steady. Now here’s what you’re after.”
He demonstrates the swooping grace of the classic fly-cast. My heart lifts. Such fluid freedom, as though he flicks away arthritis through the dancing line.
He sets me up.
“Think of a clock arcing over you. Cast from ten to two. Ten-two, ten-two. Don’t break your wrist—keep it steady.”
I try the clockwork.
“Good. Feel it. Ten-two, ten-two. Better.”
Hm. I might get this.
“Aim for that clump of leaves.”
The idea of aiming freezes me. I want to be successful, but I really want Jim to feel successful as a teacher. What if I never catch on?
“You can do this. Just takes time. There you go.”
Before long, I make three good casts.
“You’ve got it. You’ve got it!”
“I get it!”
“You’re a natural!” We squeal and hop and hug each other. One of the best moments we’ve ever shared.
•••
That
