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What I just wrote may not apply to every child. I’m sensitive and I read a lot of books about nature and I felt an expectancy about the world around me. Objects and places that caught my attention would probably not appeal to everybody.
My grandmother–my mother’s mother–lived in the Morrowfield Apartments, close to her sister and other family members. So I was at the Morrowfield a lot. It turned out that if you rode the elevator to the top floor, you walked down a long, dark hall at the end of which was a door. You open the door and you found yourself on the roof of the Morrowfield. I found this thrilling beyond words. Ladies sat there in the sun, talking and laughing. When my cousin Maxine would come with me we were both in a world of our own up there. Only three or four years old, we were cautioned, over and over, about getting too close to the edge. Very scary indeed. But mysterious like Alice In Wonderland.
There was another mystery at the Morrowfield. At each elevator stop was a small table with flowers and a painting. What a thrill to discover that one of those paintings was done by my Aunt Cecil. It was a still life of flowers in a bowl. When I say it was a thrill, it was actually more than that. Another link in the chain of the Other World, one of unexpected connections that made up Pittsburgh.
Also, where we lived then there was a triangle made up three streets: Shady Ave. Ext., Ludwick Street, and Landview Street. One day, when I was very young–this was before kindergarten–my mother packed up my sister into her carriage and we took a walk. It was there, on Ludwick Street, that my mother showed me the secret lane. It was way too narrow for cars to pass through and was bounded on either side by a wire fence. A flower grew there called Bleeding Heart and my mother showed me the heart-shaped blossom that really did appear to be bleeding. The lane connected Ludwick with Saline Street below. That’s where the black stone church stood with its ancient graveyard.
This was my world–a triangle of streets, the secret lane where Bleeding Hearts grew, the silent, ancient church and tiny cemetery. As I write this I don’t think I’m doing a very good job of conveying the mysterious haze that hung over my early life. Maybe some things can’t be put into words.
I’m going to end this with a very nice and sweet story. When my mother was living at Concordia House, a lady called Rose Field lived there also. Mrs. Field was one of the mothers who lived on Shady Ave. Ext when I was growing up. She told me that her son said the following: I’m not having kids until I find a place like Shady Avenue Ext.
I know this feeling only too well. When we lived in Media, PA and life was NOT like the place I loved, I grieved and cried because I thought Michael wasn’t getting what I got where we lived. But so much for worrying…he was a quiet, solitary child as brilliant children often are. They need time alone to process their thoughts. So even on Shady Ave. Ext. he would have been exactly the same way!!!
lgmwriting 