Words forum: NON-FICTION
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| Non-fiction covers a wide range of writing. Anything that deals with facts or describes real events is non-fiction. Tell us what non-fiction writing YOU do. Equestrian fiction, YA contemporary, Paranormal Romance, and more http://www.tonileland.com |
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| Speaking of RR tracks, I have a fondness of them because Mrs. Andrako and I would walk them looking for tiger lilies on the side. She taught me about Mullein and other plants as well. I wonder how old the dear woman was; she seemed ancient. Yet her husband was working when he died after being exposed to toxins in a chemical railway car, so she might have 40, 50, or 60. You know how the adults seemed generically OLD. We couldn't differentiate very well those subtle degrees of age that we do now where we go by our bodies to tell us about getting old: fading sight, reduced hearing, loss of muscle mass, and so many other things I don't even want to go into late at night. If there are any encounters after death (probably aren't,) I would like to see Mrs Andrako and apologize for not writing to her when we moved to Clarence, only a few miles away. Children by nature are so self centered and don't realize the pain they can create in adults generally. I got two books on American folk art. One of them has photos of some exquisite Merry Go Round animals hand carved by European artisans who immigrated for that purpose. They had chickens, swans, giraffes, lions, but mostly horses. The people who lived on a street parallel to ours would open the carousel up for Pat and me and let us pick our animals. This was close to dusk. They let us ride round and round and listen to the Calliope music until we only had a little light to wend our way home. Again, I never realized what a favor the couple was giving us. I can't believe that we took it for granted, thinking it normal, for these people to go to such lengths to please two poor Southern children who were shy and blonde. Well, at least one was shy; the other had enough sense to act shy. Sometimes Mrs Andrako would take me to see her friend who had a yard with a couple of goats. She always took a couple of bottles of wine or liquor with her. I was not invited inside often, so I would stay outside and trick the goats into eating strawberries by wrapping them in leaves. I did this because one of the women told me that goats did not eat strawberries! See how rebellious I was. Maybe nearly as rebellious as you on good behavior. Mrs Andrako was always doing things for others. She secretly gave Frank across the street money. He was an alcoholic too and lived with another old (?) man. He was the one who patronized the dark saloon across the Niagara Blvd. We had a nose for adults who had a soft place for shy, sweet, little girls. Poor Frank giving us all those bags of chips to make us go away from that dark door and allow him and the others to drink in peace. Across the street on Niagara Blvd. was a huge park which was filled with very old, very tall elms. There we would sometimes go as a family to picnic or for Pat and me to learn how to ride our new bicycles. They extended our roaming territory 500 % at least. We were all innocents, At least mom, Pat,and I were; we didn't know about men who would hurt children. Daddy did but never said anything about it. Also, on the street of the carnival rides (secondly we loved the ferris wheel which they turned on for us also.) across and down in one of the weed filled fields was a dirt track for motorcycles which occasionally raced over the rough and hilly dirt track, flying up in the air each time they reached a hill summit. They wore leather jackets but no helmets. It was in those boggy fields that Mrs. Andrako showed me the killdeer which were always so hysterical in the spring. She taught me how they would pretend to have a broken wing to lead us away from their nest. Then the field was soon filled with little balls of fluff with legs which could disappear in a heartbeat. Mrs Andrako also took me to the Catholic church further down Niagara Blvd. when there was no one there. I had only been in a clapboard gray church in TN. I was allowed free reign to look at the vestments of the priests, the lovely cases of rosary beads, and to see the stained glass windows. For a short while I believed in heaven because of it. But Mom had the usual hatred and fear of the Catholic Church and I was never allowed to go back, much less join that magical place. On the other side of Niagara Bvld. was a convenience store run by the Volkers. We were sent there for milk, eggs, or bread. They lived behind the store in the same building. This was new to me also. I was so happy then with all the lovely places around us. I didn't know we were poor, scorned Southern immigrants or that Daddy was well on his way to becoming an alcoholic. We only saw the rich and good things in that little run down cluster of tar paper houses with a communal back yard bordered by the RR tracks, and train cars pulled off to the side. I think I could have been happy and excited any where, but especially with my darling Mrs Andrako. Well, I am garrulous tonight at this late hour. I lay this at your feet as a gift, This is repetitious of some things I wrote before. I wrote this for a person I love. |
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| Very nice! I love reading memories. Equestrian fiction, YA contemporary, Paranormal Romance, and more http://www.tonileland.com |
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| Lovely memories, Gloria. Thank you for sharing them. Sometime maybe you can get them all collected and edited and perhaps published. Most people enjoy reading about memories, it often triggers their own. |
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