51 Dash Street

     Some of my oldest recollections are of spending days and nights with my grandparents in South Buffalo. They lived upstairs in a duplex – 51 Dash Street – a man named Charlie lived downstairs and owned the place. I always had to be quiet because Charlie worked nights and needed to sleep during the day. (Mom told me just a few years ago that who knows when Charlie worked or slept? It was most likely a fabrication told by my Grandmother to keep her children quiet and to keep them from ever having friends over – and it kept the grandchildren quiet too!)

    When I stayed over, I spent the nights in my Mom's old room. (Mom's old dresser drawers were, in my youth, filled with handkerchiefs and scarves and the smell of moth balls – I could spend hours playing with the accessories – I did not play with the moth balls). Sometimes I was sick and perhaps I was sent to my grandparents' so as not to get my little brother sick too, or maybe Mom just needed a break from tending to two little ones at home (Eric had not been born yet.) or maybe it was a treat for my grandmother to have me stay?

     I remember those mornings in South Buffalo – especially the summer mornings – the air from the open windows had an odor of what I now know was the pollution from all the Lackawanna steel mills; and the hum of traffic was so different from the sounds of North Boston, but not annoyingly so. Granny would make me a fried egg for breakfast. Fried eggs today make me think of Granny and how special she made me feel by frying an egg just for me – it had lots of salt and pepper on it, and the inside was a little runny – enough for the accompanying toast to lap up!

      Grandpa was still working back then, I think at Trico – the windshield wiper place, as a foreman. So days would be spent just with Granny. She had a desk with a rotary phone on it – when she talked on the phone, I would stand on another chair, lean over the desk and press the button on the phone that would hang up the call! I would giggle, and Granny would jiggle the button a couple of times and usually salvage the call.

     If we were going out, Granny would wash her face with Dove soap and then put on some make-up. Sometimes we would walk to the pharmacy which had stairs up to another half-floor – that was cool. And sometimes we got on the city bus and rode downtown. I don't remember the stores we went in or what she bought, but I do remember it was neat on the bus! I was out with my grandmother doing grown-up stuff, and the people-watching was so much fun!

     Except that complete strangers would smile at me.

     Why would someone who did not even know me smile at me? Smiling meant they liked me, but they couldn't have liked me if they didn't even know me, and if they did know me they wouldn't like me – so either way, I shouldn't have been getting any smiles. I did not return their smiles. And with Granny beside me, I felt safe.

     We were always back to Granny's in plenty of time to get dinner fixed and ready before Grandpa got home from work. Today the smell of sauteing celery always takes me right back to 51 Dash Street, and I can see perfectly the late afternoon sun coming through the window in the living room where I played while Granny cooked in the kitchen.

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