If there were just some way to shut this mind of mine down, we might all be better off for that. It is 4:35 AM and the coffee is made and my hair is combed and Chiquita Banana is still fresh in my mind. I have 2 nieces and 1 nephew by my oldest sister Josephine. The oldest is named Mary and must be pushing 70 by now. When she was but a wee lass and I mean so little she was not even crawling yet, I was allowed to play with her on the bed as long as I was real careful. I was very careful, but bear in mind that I was only about 7 years old and not yet wise in the ways of wiggly babies.
As I recall she was dressed in a white something or other which started at her shoulders and ended below her feet. It had a drawstring that tied so her little feet would stay warm, but it was loose so she appeared to be a tiny little angel! I way so enthralled with the vision of an angel in my arms that I loosened my grip for just a moment and she shot out of my arms and fell between the bed and the wall! Ah, sweet Jesus! I never heard a human emit screams like that in my life and it did not help to know that I was the cause of the pain. Since I was only 7 years old I could not pull the bed away from the wall to save the baby. Enter Josephine, Mary Jo's 12 or 13 year old mother. (Yep. They married young back in those days. And you might also remember that it was a very long time ago and reality then and reality now, are sometimes 2 different things.) Let me tell you right now, that old gal had no problem jerking that bed out and screaming at me at the top of her lungs while she was doing it.
Of course, Mary was alright. She was a little shaken by her early flight from being my little angel to being a missile launched behind the bed. Of course Josephine would not let me touch the baby again for a very long time. I, of course, did not actually want to touch her just in case I was some sort of ax
murderer. I was told every time I looked at the baby how careless I was and not to touch her. It was kind of sad because Mary used to look at me and smile and laugh and coo, like babies are known to do. She learned to crawl in due time and would crawl over to me and I would run away. So much for bonding with my niece.
It was sometime during this period of my life that mother brought home a folded piece of fabric from someone who did not want it. She unfolded it to reveal the front and back of a Chiquita Banana doll. All she had to do was cut it out, put it right sides together, stitch it leaving an opening for turning and stuffing, stuff it and it would be mine! How could I ever be so lucky? Mother did not have a sewing machine at that time, so it would have to be done by hand. Of course I was such a patient little girl as I waited every day for that to happen. When I had finally given up on Chiquita ever being anything but a couple of flat cloth pictures, Mother whipped it together one night and handed it to me at bedtime. You would have thought she had handed me the world! It was the most beautiful doll I had ever seen! The fact that it was not even a real doll, completely escaped me. She was mine and she was special because my mother had made her for me! I could picture her dancing in the moonlight with her hat of bananas on her head. She was so beautiful and I wanted to be just like her when I grew up.
I have not thought of her in years. My mother ended up helping raise my oldest sisters three kids while their father was in the Navy and their mother was busy doing her thing. I remember special things about all three of them. Charlie had bears in his bed most of the time. I could never see them, but he assured me that he could. I asked if he was afraid and he told me no, that they were nice bears. I wonder if he still sees them?
My niece, Cindy was the youngest. Since Mary lives on the northwest coast about as far north and west as she could go, I do not see her. Charlie and I had a falling out years ago and I have no idea where he lives. He has his demons and I have mine and never the twain shall meet.
But, little Cindy is firmly ensconced in my heart. I have been to see her once and talk to her occasionally on the phone, but she is a homebody and so am I. And she looks after her Aunt Lou. Just recently I posted a picture on facebook of an old mixer I had fallen heir to through a death and I had used it to make cinnamon rolls. My phone rang and Cindy wanted me to know that a new red mixer was on its way to my house to replace the last red mixer she had sent me, which had replaced the pink mixer which had replaced the black one. Kitchen Aid has her on speed dial! She looks out for me! When I told her the story of the old mixer I had inherited, she told me to do something with my old red mixer because it was being replaced anyway. Bless her little heart. It warms the cockles of my heart to know someone out there is listening every time I speak!
The "old" red mixer will go to Pastor Faye in Colorado Springs. The "old" pink one went to Rosie out at Los Pobres. The old black one went to one of my kids. The good Cindy does through me makes a lot of people happy and isn't that what it is all about? We are all shaped through out past into a vessel that will serve us in our quest for the golden ring of happiness.
And, like it or not, we spend 9 months in our mothers womb and the rest of our lives either immolating our mothers, or trying to escape the havoc they wreaked on us. It is all in the cards we are played. One day we all look into the mirror and see our mothers face looking back at us. We can never escape the perils of our childhood and my only advise I can give at this late date is to "Bloom where you are planted." Nothing else can happen
As for I Chiquita, I suppose I will always wonder what became of her. I expect she ended up tossed into a mud puddle some where, but she should know that I never forgot her completely. I like to think that she ended up in a good home with a little girl who would love her and dream of being just like her when she grows up.
As I recall she was dressed in a white something or other which started at her shoulders and ended below her feet. It had a drawstring that tied so her little feet would stay warm, but it was loose so she appeared to be a tiny little angel! I way so enthralled with the vision of an angel in my arms that I loosened my grip for just a moment and she shot out of my arms and fell between the bed and the wall! Ah, sweet Jesus! I never heard a human emit screams like that in my life and it did not help to know that I was the cause of the pain. Since I was only 7 years old I could not pull the bed away from the wall to save the baby. Enter Josephine, Mary Jo's 12 or 13 year old mother. (Yep. They married young back in those days. And you might also remember that it was a very long time ago and reality then and reality now, are sometimes 2 different things.) Let me tell you right now, that old gal had no problem jerking that bed out and screaming at me at the top of her lungs while she was doing it.
Of course, Mary was alright. She was a little shaken by her early flight from being my little angel to being a missile launched behind the bed. Of course Josephine would not let me touch the baby again for a very long time. I, of course, did not actually want to touch her just in case I was some sort of ax
murderer. I was told every time I looked at the baby how careless I was and not to touch her. It was kind of sad because Mary used to look at me and smile and laugh and coo, like babies are known to do. She learned to crawl in due time and would crawl over to me and I would run away. So much for bonding with my niece.
It was sometime during this period of my life that mother brought home a folded piece of fabric from someone who did not want it. She unfolded it to reveal the front and back of a Chiquita Banana doll. All she had to do was cut it out, put it right sides together, stitch it leaving an opening for turning and stuffing, stuff it and it would be mine! How could I ever be so lucky? Mother did not have a sewing machine at that time, so it would have to be done by hand. Of course I was such a patient little girl as I waited every day for that to happen. When I had finally given up on Chiquita ever being anything but a couple of flat cloth pictures, Mother whipped it together one night and handed it to me at bedtime. You would have thought she had handed me the world! It was the most beautiful doll I had ever seen! The fact that it was not even a real doll, completely escaped me. She was mine and she was special because my mother had made her for me! I could picture her dancing in the moonlight with her hat of bananas on her head. She was so beautiful and I wanted to be just like her when I grew up.
I have not thought of her in years. My mother ended up helping raise my oldest sisters three kids while their father was in the Navy and their mother was busy doing her thing. I remember special things about all three of them. Charlie had bears in his bed most of the time. I could never see them, but he assured me that he could. I asked if he was afraid and he told me no, that they were nice bears. I wonder if he still sees them?
My niece, Cindy was the youngest. Since Mary lives on the northwest coast about as far north and west as she could go, I do not see her. Charlie and I had a falling out years ago and I have no idea where he lives. He has his demons and I have mine and never the twain shall meet.
But, little Cindy is firmly ensconced in my heart. I have been to see her once and talk to her occasionally on the phone, but she is a homebody and so am I. And she looks after her Aunt Lou. Just recently I posted a picture on facebook of an old mixer I had fallen heir to through a death and I had used it to make cinnamon rolls. My phone rang and Cindy wanted me to know that a new red mixer was on its way to my house to replace the last red mixer she had sent me, which had replaced the pink mixer which had replaced the black one. Kitchen Aid has her on speed dial! She looks out for me! When I told her the story of the old mixer I had inherited, she told me to do something with my old red mixer because it was being replaced anyway. Bless her little heart. It warms the cockles of my heart to know someone out there is listening every time I speak!
The "old" red mixer will go to Pastor Faye in Colorado Springs. The "old" pink one went to Rosie out at Los Pobres. The old black one went to one of my kids. The good Cindy does through me makes a lot of people happy and isn't that what it is all about? We are all shaped through out past into a vessel that will serve us in our quest for the golden ring of happiness.
And, like it or not, we spend 9 months in our mothers womb and the rest of our lives either immolating our mothers, or trying to escape the havoc they wreaked on us. It is all in the cards we are played. One day we all look into the mirror and see our mothers face looking back at us. We can never escape the perils of our childhood and my only advise I can give at this late date is to "Bloom where you are planted." Nothing else can happen
As for I Chiquita, I suppose I will always wonder what became of her. I expect she ended up tossed into a mud puddle some where, but she should know that I never forgot her completely. I like to think that she ended up in a good home with a little girl who would love her and dream of being just like her when she grows up.
