I spent most of one summer sitting in the driveway waiting for my Grammie and Uncle to arrive for their visit to South Porcpuine. Nothing of much interest was happening on Allan Street so my eyes turned to gazing at the sky and a little game of "shapes in the clouds" became my pastime. I still do it today as an adult.
The second part of my name is Theresa as in my Aunt Theresa and St. Theresa of the Little Flower. With that typical Catholic voodoo my mother became known for , she told me to watch the eyes in the portrait of St. Theresa which hung in the upstairs hall. Mum would say, "see how her eyes are following you" This made me absolutely petrified, even years later while visitng the great art galleries of Florence and Paris I still found it hard to walk by a painting in case it's eyes were following me.
Mrs. Toner, our psuedo grandmother lived across the street. She had a rambling English garden and grew roses, peonies and flox. My mother loved roses but had pulled out any plant that could do any harm to children. We inherited the garden and art deco bird baths with from old Mrs. Hughes, the former lady of our house. Roses became the kind of flower that was inhaled in other people's yards or flowers that were held in great reference held in a holdy embrace by the saints.
I waited till August for the roses to fall down from heaven from St. Theresa according to my mother's instructions but they never came. But unexpectedly on a hot August afternoon the Chrysler convertible of my Uncle Boobie did, with my grandmother, uncle and aunt. It was powder blue, much like a cyanotype tone from northern skies and it was almost as long as the driveway.
It was also the summer of the sailor bathing suit and the drowning of the Warne child in Porcupine Lake.
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