Karen

   

I had a good friend in 3rd-4th grade and we remained close after she moved to South County. Karen was petite with long brownish-blonde hair, dark eyebrows, and large green eyes that were often laughing or amused, and eyelashes that were longer than her fair share. She did not share gum, just one of her funny ways. You would not get a piece of gum from Karen. She was the first friend I made when I started school at Buder in 3rd grade. We made up little comedy routines to make each other laugh. George and Martha, two tired old people was one of them. One of us would say, "Martha?" and the other reply very tiredly "Yes, George", or, "What do you want, now, George?" And George would complain. We took turns, it was random. She had an older and younger brother, they all got along - her older brother was a bit of a heartthrob. Her mom and stepdad were good to their children and always kind and good to me. They lived on Lindenwood -- across Chippewa, in one of the small Tudor style houses that St. Louis specialized in. A myna bird sat in a large cage in their dining room who would sometimes add a comment or two at the dinner table. They had Scottish terriers, the first was Mrs. McTavish, a bit of a stinker, but really cute and always on the sofa with us when we watched tv. Karen's mom made throws for the sofa from doubled twin flannel sheets, machine quilted together which had roses embroidered at the top. They were a perfect weight, and she washed them all the time because of Mrs. Mctavish's filthiness. It makes me laugh just thinking about that dirty dog and the way Karen sang to her and her mom's determination to keep the house clean.

   Karen's mom was a meticulous housekeeper. I can only recall her wearing a housedress and cooking or cleaning, but she was a happy woman, and her husband was a dear man, naturally good with children and loving toward them. Dinner was served when he got home from work. At their dinner table, he always asked about our day and what we'd learned. It seems cliche, but he could draw us out about the news, politics, (I was a big Weekly Reader, fan) and was interested in what we had to say. I don't think there was another person in my life at the time who made me feel as heard and respected. I had creamed beef on toast at their house and loved it, I'd never had it before and always hoped it would be served when I did stay for dinner.  Karen's mom would make a delicious treat she said her mom made during the Depression. Take a sleeve of crackers -- arrange on a cookie sheet (she used saltine, I use club) top each with a marshmallow and stick them in a preheated 375 oven. Watch carefully, removing when they are browned or puffed up to your liking. When we'd walk there after school on a cold day, she'd fix those and hot chocolate for us.

   My stepdad was somehow related to Bruce, but it was a distant cousinhood kind of thing. I always loved going to Karen's even after she moved to the county. One of her relatives had given her an old brass bed, and one of her chores was to polish it. I helped her once and thought I'd hate having to do that! Sally ran a spic and span, home, and Karen respected that. At my house, we had chores on Saturday, but Karen's mom seemed to do it all, all week long, except for this shining of the brass. I'm sure she had other chores, too, all my friends had work to do at home. But when they moved to the county Karen asked for and got a canopy bed, something many a girl coveted in 1969.

   When I first moved to St. Louis in 1967, the family we stayed with took us to Tower Grove Baptist Church which had a roller skating rink.  I think it helped my depression, those trips to that unusual place, and somehow skating would remain an instant mood booster for me - even just imagining it. Now,  Karen lived near a skating rink that we could walk to, and it played danceable music. I never got very good at skating but the transportive nature of flying around to a beat in a dimly and colorfully lit enclosure, over the smooth wood floor was pure joy. Sometimes I'd take off my glasses to make it even more of something else. Her family was also Baptist, and any sleepover on a Saturday meant going to church on Sunday morning. I didn't mind going with her and her family to church, it seemed festive, the Baptists were outgoing and friendly, and it seemed a very social occasion. Funny thing that even struck me at the time - after we'd get dressed in our nice clothes Karen would spritz on some Tabu, and ask if I wanted to wear it, too. Sometimes, I did-  trailing Tabu, it was off to church in the big family station wagon.

   Years went by and things would change, she had junior high and a busy social life. I was still at Buder K-8. We stayed in touch but didn't see each other as much. In freshman year of high school, I left home once and Karen's family let me stay with them. A couple of years later, I would visit them and told Karen I was pregnant. Her mom took me aside before I left and said, "Dede, just don't tell Karen what sex is like, you know how she is. She'll want to go right out and try it." Karen would not become a pregnant teenager. She was my well-prepared friend. I remember her saying when she started driving, "I always make sure I have a full tank of gas and ten dollars in my pocket."

   In our early adulthood, she babysat my son, Gabe, a few times. But after I moved to Ohio we lost touch. In the 90's I began to think of her really often it seemed, but 4-5 years went by before I knew it,  never reaching out, and I remember the day I called her parents. Her mom answered the phone, and I immediately asked about Bruce, her husband, when he chimed in, "I'm right here, Dede." Same voice, reliable as usual. But they had sad news. Karen had died about the time I'd begun thinking of her so often. It was tragic. She'd just had her second child, and was on medication for high blood pressure she had developed during her pregnancy. Her husband was a physician, so it seemed like everything would be under control, but one day while getting her three months old and three years old ready to have their photos taken, she had a stroke. She told her daughter, call 911, which she did. Karen died, and her husband remarried shortly after. There was a part of me that wondered if somehow there had been foul play, but I didn't say anything to her parents about that, though I got the feeling they might also wonder. They did continue seeing their grandchildren, it had been 5 years, but I think they were still in shock.

   I still think of my good friend and her family and wish I had again stayed in touch, but my life was very crazy at that time with numerous family problems and I just never picked up the phone to call. I have an enamel cross pendant that Karen had given me. It reminds me so much of the time that we shared. Seasons and chapters, joys and regrets. Wherever and however you are old friend, I hope it is beautiful and orderly and fun.

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