A Moment (Seemingly) Caught in Amber

This is a photo of me taken on the day of my senior prom in 1983. No one would blame you if your eyes came to a rest on my Javier Bardem “No Country for Old Men” haircut or the grey tuxedo. However, I see so much more.

This is the fireplace in my childhood home. If there was a formal picture to be taken in our house it was done right here.

Dad always treated making a fire as a chore so it wasn’t as common as I would have liked. However, on cold and chilly winter mornings when the Old Man felt ambitious (because Mom asked for one) you would find me in my pajamas laying in front of the fire on the braided wool rug with the Sunday Funnies from the Boston Globe and a sketchpad. Suki would lay nearby. That dog loved the warm fire as much as I did and I always gave her tummy rubs.

That ceramic cat was made by my sister Barbara at Mom’s request. We made quite a few pieces during our ceramic classes. Sadly, none of them survived Dad’s moves after Mom passed.

The milk can has a patriotic eagle on it. I don’t remember its origins either but a good guess would be Mary Comeau. Mary had painted the Peterson slate that hung across the room near the family crest. She is a talented painter to this day.

I don’t know what books or magazines are on top of the milk can but Dad would place things here for easy access from his chair.

Of course, the milk can reminds me that Mom used to take a giant glass water jug and fill it with water and red food dye and placed it on the front steps in the summer.

The chair to the left was in the corner between the picture window and a window that looked out onto the Giniewicz’s yard. This is the chair that I sat in most often, reading comic books, sci-fi, mythology, or whatever else I was interested in at the moment. Mom brought The Star home every shopping day and I know that I read that, too.

The chair to the right of me is where the Old Man always sat. Not quite as militant about his chair as Archie Bunker but close enough. Here Dad would read the Patriot Ledger before dinner, smoke his pipe while watching TV, and dispense paternal wisdom or discipline as needed.

Behind my head and unseen is the painting “Head of Christ” by American artist Warner Sallman. This painting was a gift to my Mom from Lois Hindmarsh, whose husband she had provided hospice care. It hung over the mantle until December when it was briefly replaced by a wreath with various dried fruits on it. The painting now hangs in my dining room.

The hurricane lamps on either side of the painting were only turned on during actual storms or at odd moments. I liked the low, yellow light. Sometimes when Mom & Dad were out in the evening (a rare occurrence) I would turn on these lights and watch TV on the small B&W set. As soon as I heard their car I would turn them off again.

A picture of my maternal grandparents, Andrew and Margaret, is on the left of the mantle. The only time that picture ever came down was at Christmas when Mom’s decorations would take over. By the time this photo was taken Grampa had been gone for over six years. Nana would live for another forty-seven.

I am uncertain of the next few knick-knacks. I believe that the blue circle is commemorating either the Pembroke Library or the Meeting House. To the right of me is a statue of a grey mouse, its meaning long since lost to me. Mom liked it or it wouldn’t be there. Good enough for me.

That picture on the far right of the mantle is the most recent one of me and my siblings and the best that Sears portrait studio could provide in 1982. We did one of these every few years at Mom’s request/insistence. It was annoying then. Now I’m glad that I have a few of them.

We weren’t rich when I was a kid. Far from it. We were middle-class teetering on the edge all the time but I never knew that. When I think of those days I think of the things that I have described here and so many more. These are some of the things that made a house our home and the day-to-day moments that took place between these walls created my childhood.

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