Memoirs

Aunt Sadie

It was 1952 in a small subdivision in Dover, Delaware. I was eight.

The hedge was waist-high and ran down both sides of the front yard. I watched as Aunt Sadie clipped away, making the top perfectly level and straight, the bottom a solid barrier to things wanting passage, like children. She always wore pedal pushers and a sleeveless blouse for the trimming job, her black hair in pin-curls and wrapped in a folded bandanna tied with a knot at the top of her head. She never wore sunglasses or a hat even though beads of sweat shone on her forehead and upper lip. She never stopped until she was finished. I always begged to try the clippers, but she said I was too little so I just watched.

A sidewalk led from the jalousie-window-enclosed front porch almost to the suburban street beyond. The hedge continued across the front, opening only for the sidewalk to pass through. At the end, just before stepping off onto the grass, two concrete flower pots reposed, one on each side. Red geraniums flowered from them in the summertime, and Aunt Sadie always knew when to water them so they never looked less than perfect.

Azaleas sheltered the porch, just high enough that someone inside could look out. Slow growing, they rarely required trimming.

The driveway was two narrow dirt lanes, tire tracks really, with grass in between. It ran down the left side of the house, between the grassy front yard and the left hedge. It went all the way to the back of the bungalow where there was a large metal gate into the back yard. I never remember anything driving through this gate, but I do remember a little dog of Aunt Sadie’s named Cindy, black, of course, with curly fur. I was very young and don’t remember much about her except flashes of her in the back yard. Later, I remember hearing Cindy got distemper and had to be “put down”. There was never another pet.

A clothesline took up one side of the back yard and a storage building sat in the far corner. Through the open door I could see tools and the lawnmower, all neaty placed. I was not allowed inside. Sometimes I got to help hanging up the wet clothes on the clothesline or propping one of the poles to keep the line high and taut. The washer was down in the basement, through the back door and immediately through another door that led down steep wooden steps. At the bottom a musty smelling large room had metal poles rising up from the concrete floor to support the wooden floor above. It was always cool down there, even in the hottest summer weather. I remember pressing my cheek to one of the metal poles to cool off. The furnace and the water pump were down there, too, and later, a sump-pump after an unexpected flood. Above the furnace upstairs was the one heat register, a big square grated scary thing that I had to cross to go to the bathroom. When I was little, I always thought I would fall through. The door at the top of the wooden stairs was the only entrance to the basement.

The kitchen was at the left of the basement door, entered through a door of its own and up one little step. The floor was black and white linoleum and the walls were partially tiled with a yellowish color. A window over the big kitchen sink looked out over the back yard and was bounded by white wooden cabinets. A dish drainer rested on the left side of the white sink and there was counter space beyond. I got to dry dishes and put them here for Aunt Sadie to put away. On the next wall another window opened to the driveway, and pink, white, and purple African violets bloomed in the kitchen in front of it. Each violet sat on its own little pedestal, part of a special wooden stand made for plants. A red metal table and red-cushioned chairs fit perfectly into the next corner.

When Aunt Sadie woke me in the mornings, an over-easy fried egg and buttered toast waited for me on the red table. If I didn’t get up when she called, the next thing I heard was the vacuum cleaner. No one can sleep through a vacuum cleaner. A door in her house did not mean privacy. Sometimes she would be making spaghetti sauce for supper, an all-day job. It simmered on the range next to the refrigerator. I got to stir, and bubbles would pop and burn my skin if I wasn’t quick.

Aunt Sadie collected ceramic horses, and she displayed these in a blond wooden bookcase on the enclosed front porch. As I grew, I was allowed to pick them up and look, but not to play with, and, later, I was allowed to dust them. I don’t remember how many there were, but the bookcase had five shelves. It was a lengthy job and kept me busy for some time.

The living room was my favorite with its flowered carpet and Priscilla curtains over white venetian blinds. And the telephone and tv were in there. Once, Aunt Sadie decided to stencil a border on the wall around the living room ceiling. It took a while, but it was lovely when she finished. She was the painter of the family, really the all-around fixer and do-it-yourselfer. She used to joke that Uncle Nick had trouble changing a light bulb. He was not mechanically inclined. I wonder.

I stayed with Aunt Sadie and Uncle Nick most summers when school was out. It wasn’t something I especially looked forward to, it just was. They never had children, but I was a sort of grown-up child anyway, finding my own entertainment through books. The only other children in the family were my two male cousins, one older, one younger. I was pretty bossy so my social contact with them was limited.

Aunt Sadie was the chauffeur of the family, too. Uncle Nick never did learn to drive. She took him to work and picked him up late at night, because he was the projectionist at the local theater. I liked this because I got to stay up late, and Aunt Sadie and I watched the Jack Paar Show or old movies like Gaslight until it was time to go get Uncle Nick. We drove through dark, deserted streets. I think Aunt Sadie was glad for my company. When we got back home, there was always a Tasty Cake or a doughnut before bed. Uncle Nick had a ferocious sweet-tooth.

I think I got my bossiness from Aunt Sadie. I guess it rubbed off. She was the oldest girl of four and always overruled the four brothers on family decisions. But most of the family responsibility fell to her, too. She always took care of her mom and dad, and anyone else who needed it. She wasn’t the most lovable or affectionate person and we didn’t always agree, but I knew if I needed her, she would be there. A little person needs someone like that in their life.