1976

   

I don't have a photo of the exterior of the apartment we lived in on Minnesota Avenue in St. Louis. My husband and I, and our 1-year-old son moved to the upper flat in the summer of 1976. It had those well-made-feat-of-engineering steps that lift up, so you could get into the basement from your front door, descending only a few steps, rather than taking two flights down the back way, as is typical. It always reminded me of the Munsters tv show, and I was a bit afraid of it opening by itself. In fact, I never really liked the front hallway, because of that creepy feeling, despite the beautiful oak trim, banister, pocket doors, and 15" baseboards. If you know St. Louis, you know these are very well built brick homes. The windows in the apartment were tall, like those featured in the illustration above. I recall buying fabric to make curtains for the front windows at the Sears on South Grand. It was brown with blue and gray birds on branches, kind of a William Morris pattern. At that time, when you entered Sears, you were greeted with a waft of their caramel popcorn that they sold in small bags. It was very comforting. I liked shopping there, they had everything, including fabric. I could walk my baby there in the stroller and put the packages in the little basket in the back. 

   These were idyllic days for me. I may have mentioned that I was uninterested in a career at that time. My fantasies were about building a family with a like-minded partner, and I began nesting in a serious way. I sanded the floors, painted the rooms, arranged our few belongings as creatively as I could. I had a small desk that my friend Mary Jo helped me antique a china red. On that, I set an old cutlery box, topped with a rabbit skin and a vase of dried baby's breath and feathers. Scented candle, my books, an ashtray my aunt had given me were placed there, too, and an embroidered seagull-in-a-mandala hung above it. (I don't think I made that, though I did do embroidery at that time, which I still find very relaxing) I was pleased with my creative attempt. In the kitchen, I had the old oak table and chairs my mom gave me, they'd been my grandmother's. In the mid 60's she had antiqued the legs and chair rungs a dutch blue. I painted the chipped white trim in the kitchen to match that blue, painted the walls apricot, and found a slightly rusty metal cabinet for extra storage and set a plant on top. This was fun, I felt all my energy going into this process of home-making. But there was a problem, this house had cockroaches. I was aware enough about toxic chemicals that I did not resort to spraying pesticides, but asked the landlady who lived downstairs if she had treated them in her house, thinking they'd fled her apartment for ours. She said, no, they had been there for a long time. Great. I left no food out, no water pooled in the sink, but it did spoil my domestic fun, having these intruders about.  Finally, after hearing me complain, my stepdad had us leave the house for a day and he went in and sprayed it. It helped quite a bit, but of course, they eventually returned about the time I was deciding I was not going to be able to make my teenage marriage work. More on that another day.

apricot kitchen

   Prior to that sad and confusing time, though, I had very fulfilling days making a home. There was a small IGA type grocery store on Meramec, near S. Grand and one day I bought Gabe, my son, a Little Golden Book of, A Child's Garden of Verses from the little rack they had at the checkout line. Thinking back, what a sweet and quaint thing to have those little books placed there, where sometimes fussy children could be entertained by their covers, and probably more often than not parents bought them. It's hard to describe how enamored I was of the illustrations in that book. It was if they put a spell on me, drew me into a fairy world. I wanted to create a world like that for my child. In St. Louis city, we had no cows nearby, alas, but we went to the park regularly for the swings, fresh air, there were lots of stories read, trips to the zoo, to museums when he got older, Shaw's Garden.

   My husband was a baker at a little bakery on Cherokee St, Favorite Bakery. He got up very early to be there and Gabe and I had days at home, music playing, his toys out. Steve would nap when he got home, and he would often cook our dinner. He was a great cook and knew many of his Czechoslovakian mother's recipes. Our tv was a little 12" inch portable, and there was Sesame Street to watch, but our days were filled with music mostly. Gabe became a very good left-handed guitar player, eventually, following in his dad's footsteps. He would do little baby dancing sometimes and I wish I could recall what he liked most, at that time. There are a few songs that - as soon as I hear them - transport me back there, to days in that beautiful yet infested house, our views out the window, which on certain days and in certain light seemed like a step back in time.

  As you age you notice the patterns in your life, how some things get shaped by "the times" you're living in, by music, art, cinema, television. I can almost see a strange evolution in the events of my life, and how the music held the theme, but it is fuzzy. Music, I think, is more than an accompaniment to life's events. A particular set of albums seemed to be on the record player most days during that time, and they were Fleetwood Mac recordings, those featuring Danny Kirwan and Bob Welch: Future Games, Bare  Trees, Heroes are Hard to Find, and Mystery to Me. I'm linking some of my favorites. I'll pick up this thread later, in my life, and at this time of life, the '70s are worth looking at closely. Searching for clues, you know, the unexamined life and all...

young mom at home

young mom at home

days at home 1976

still has a hold on me, this one

young mother days

Go to next C7 post