My brother wrote a tribute to our father. It's really nice, and pretty autobiographical as well. These were the parts which especially interested me, particularly the parts about myself! He talked about a trip my Mom (his aunt Janie: I was raised by her) took to San Francisco and I started thinking about where I'd been as a baby and trying to put together all the bits and pieces I knew with it. I think now I've placed where I was at various times.

I was born in La Jolla, that much I know. My Mom lived with my biological mother and the three children. My dad died in March. Brother's book mentioned a diary entry of my grandma's about Janie taking me to San Francisco in late March. I don't know if they yet knew my father was missing. OK, why did she go to San Francisco? Oh, I know. My aunt, a WAVE, was engaged and leaving the service. She must have been helping Elsie move, to New Orleans where my Granddaddy and Nana lived with my teenaged aunt Pat.

So, to New Orleans. This is when my aunt gave up cake till Mom had me baptised. My aunt and uncle married (I speculate.) Mom's husband came back from the war, so in 1946(?) we went to Centralia. For awhile we lived on the chicken ranch with the family, but then had an upstairs apartment in town. I think my mother showed it to me in 1960 when we visited. Upstairs significant because I saw a man I thought was my aunt's husband walking down the street and yelled "Jack!" and pushed the screen out and started to slide down the roof. My Mom managed to grab my leg so I'm here writing this.

My Uncle was a bit of a martinet (he wound up as a worse hoarder than my Mom) and she was used to making her own decisions, and besides, she had the baby she'd always wanted, so they divorced. My grandfather had left active service at this point (he had ALS, which had become too visible when he got dengue fever in Australia, and so had to retire) and moved back to his home town of Laramie. So why did we move to Cheyenne?

I puzzled over this for awhile and finally realize that probably Mom was helping care for Little Bama, my grandfather's mother, who was in her 90s by then. She was staying, I believe, with my great-uncle and aunt and their unmarried son. (I had a bear named Butchie because he reminded me of my brother, and a doll named Walter after my Mom's cousin.) I remember her, not so much herself, but the aura, the feeling.

I was about Alex's age around this time. I remember a trip to the doctor, up an elevator(!) perhaps when my birthmarks were removed. I don't remember that, which is just as well, but I remember the elevator, and looking down from the third floor (Cheyenne's skyscraper!) and seeing cars so far down. I thought they were flies, and my uncle Jack started referring to the flyswatter as a car-catcher.

It must have been here, since I was too young in N.O., that I got the mild case of polio, spent so long in the hospital, wanted out of my cage, and had to learn to walk again.

I remember we lived on the first floor of the Hummel's house. They had a glass-front bookcase on the landing to the basement where they lived. They also had a Shetland pony, or, as I liked to think of it, a huge horse, and one time the two young ladies, (about 7) rode it around this lake (or mud puddle.) I had their promise I could ride it when I was bigger, but unfortunately we moved when I was three, to Laramie.

Had my Little Bama died? Probably. I remember one train trip to Cheyenne (the train was magical!) We saw little neon fish in the Woolworth's, and my Mom called them guppies. It took many years for me to learn the difference.

Now I have many real memories. We lived on the wrong side of the tracks, in the basement of the Pisitos' house. These people were really nice to me. A little girl was killed on a bike on the nearby highway, so my Mom never let me have a bike. Mr. Pisitos loved his garden and would give me baby carrots. One time they went fishing and brought a fish home, said it was for me, and I tried to eat it right away. They laughed at me and I was embarrassed.

My Mom had scrimped and saved for a refrigerator. She had $200 a month alimony, and I think probably reefers were almost the same price they are now. I remember falling out of my crib (I remember knowing I shouldn't climb out, not that it stopped me.) I remember learning to read. I remember bubble baths in the washtub. I remember walking across the Viaduct to visit my Nana and Granddaddy, and cinders in my eyes from the steam trains. I remember the blizzard of '49. I do remember the visit from my biological mother, stepfather, and siblings in '48.

I always knew I was adopted (though I actually wasn't, but never mind) and I was about 7 or 8 when I asked who my real family was. (My Grandma Edmands visited our house in '51 or so and kept talking about my "mother", but it didn't register.) I was amazed that they were people I knew, but I didn't actually get to know them till 1958. It was really interesting to see this time through my brother's eyes.

ObGoe. Thanks, Pagan!

Lookie There!