Blood-Red and Gingham Green

      12 Comments on Blood-Red and Gingham Green

Some say that memory is rose-tinted, hindsight being not only twenty-twenty but also casting a glow over the reality so as to leave everything looking — from the present backward — blurred in happy tones of pinkened truth.

Others say that memories are like old photographs: captured snippets that fade with time, cropped in snapshot-frame remembrance that neatly deletes the story as it existed on either side of the single picture.

I have just such a faded-snapshot memory, captured in camera, among my childhood keepsakes. My recollection of the events surrounding that photograph may not be fully detailed and carry a slightly rosy tint, but there is nothing faded about the feelings it evokes. Picture, if you will:

  • pre-kindergarten Feve, hair bright white-blonde, sitting on grandpa’s lap at the dining table with plastic tea things strewn about in ready-for-use tea-party style: the tea cups — yellow; the table cloth — checkered gingham green
  • grandpa is smiling in this pictorial memorial, looking sheepish but delighted, clearly enjoying the proceedings even if slightly chagrined that his daughter (Feve’s momma) is capturing his Domination By Granddaughter on camera for all posterity
  • Feve is serious-looking, pointing at one of the cups: clearly grandpa needs directions for how this is to go — after all, what could grandpas possibly know about having tea parties with little girls?

You would think this interaction would have taken place during a light-hearted visit, a doting grandfather delighting – and being delighted by – his eldest grandchild. It would be easy to assume that it was, perhaps, a common occurrence that just happened to get caught on camera one time. That it was something simple.

The truth is slightly more complicated.

green gingham fabric
image cropped from a screenshot of a fabric sample

I was five years old… Of that I’m fairly certain, as it was prior to my starting kindergarten and right before my little brother’s second birthday.

It was night time. Of that, I am exactly certain, because my mother had waited til my brother was asleep up in his room (my bed time was slightly later) before trying to assemble the toy that was to be his birthday present.

The exact sequence of events is lost on me; I was too young to really ‘get’ it, and it seemed to all move in a flash. But I remember…

…a shout from the kitchen

…a blood-stained towel wrapped around my mom’s finger

…her, calmly, on the phone, saying: I need to take myself to the hospital

And then suddenly my mom was gone and my grandpa was there saying “everything is going to be all right,” which — because I had absolute unshaking faith in the man who spoke the words — I believed whole-heartedly.

It could have been a traumatizing event for me. I’d seen my mother’s blood-soaked towel wrapped around her finger after all. I’d watched her call — not for my father, who was working second shift at the time (and who would have, I understand in retrospect, been completely useless in the situation anyway); not for medical assistance of any kind (it was long enough ago and in a small enough town that it was possible to reach the family doctor at his home if she’d wanted to); but for somebody to sit with me — and then I watched her leave.

But I was not traumatized. Not in any way.

If anything, in my small child’s mind, I filed away the steps to take in an emergency:

  1. cover wound (or at least: don’t bleed all over the place)
  2. stay calm while you make arrangements for those who cannot fend for themselves
  3. don’t call dad*
  4. take care of your own damned self

I noted these things. Vaguely.**

And then I played for hours with my grandpa who sat up with me until my mom came home to take the photo that sealed the memory.

We colored in coloring books. (Barbie, no doubt. 😉 )

We made words on the refrigerator with my alphabet magnets.

And we ended our adventures – begun with the wrapped-finger blood-red of my mother’s cut – by ‘drinking’ from yellow plastic tea cups on a tablecloth of gingham green.

for the Reminiscences project prompt: GREEN

To learn more about the project, or to join in yourself, click the badge or the prompt link above.

~~~~~

*Obviously she called her dad, but as far as I was concerned she called grandpa. There was, I think, a subtle subconscious message sent to me that night though about the fact that she didn’t call my dad.

**The vagueness faded at first, then – due to repeated instances – sharpened and crystallized over time. My greatest strength is probably also my greatest stubborn-mule fault, and I learned it from my mother, who was a pro: I can take care of my own damned self.

12 thoughts on “Blood-Red and Gingham Green

  1. fondles

    you know, i have a memory seared into my mind that is similar. someone had come to the door to tell my parents that my older brother had been in a terrible crash and they’d better rush to the emergency room NOW as he may not make it at all, that’s how bad it was. It was 715pm, we had started eating dinner – Nasi Lemak ( a popular malay / indonesian dish) and the neighbours came to join us at mum’s invitation. I know the time because Mr D came back from work at 7 on the dot every day and by the time he had freshened up and come over it was 715. We had just sat down when the stranger rang the bell. Dad was hysterical. I was only 8. Mum woke the sister up (she was 23 and sleeping cos she worked nights) and said “Watch her, we’re going to the hospital” then promptly slapped my dad to get him to stop howling and said to Mr D – could I trouble you for a ride to the emergency room?

    He was already halfway to his house to get the car keys.

    I learned my greatest lesson from observing this – reacting emotionally doesn’t help anyone. Thinking logically is what will get things done. The brother DID make it. (IF you’ve read my family drama you’ll know this… ) And mum remains to this day one of the most stoic, pragmatic, logical women I’ve ever known. If I had to describe her in a sentence it would probably be – “Alright, now let’s sort this shit out.”

    *Thank you for reminding me of this story. I might post it on my blog!*

    Reply
    1. Mrs Fever Post author

      Exactly! Hysterics will never make anything better — your mother and mine would get on very well, I think. 🙂

      And yes, I’ve read about your brother… All I can really say, really, is that I’m so glad it’s you who has the care of your mum.

      Reply
  2. May More

    I have only just come to read this as I was contemplating what my memoir would be and didn’t want to steal any-ones ideas 😉 and I would have if I read this. I have a memory of a sheet of glass sticking into my leg – I fell of my bike – and the blood dripping onto my Aunts green grass!

    Not a bad way to be – strong enough to take care of yourself – thou being stubborn can be a problem – one which I suffer from too
    May x
    May More recently posted…In my life ~ The Green Grocer ShuffleMy Profile

    Reply
    1. Mrs Fever Post author

      Ouch! Yes, I can imagine that memory would be vivid with color!

      And I suspect there are quite a few of us with the independence/stubbornness streak… 😉

      Reply
  3. Pingback: Reminiscences: Musings in Memoir -- Prompt #3 ~ Temperature's Rising

  4. missy

    I loved reading this and, like some of your other commenters, have a similar memory although It was a neighbour who was called. I love the way that reflection allows your see thoughts crystallising and found that really interesting. 😊

    Reply
    1. Mrs Fever Post author

      It’s interesting how common some experiences are, isn’t it? There are the “big” experiences – often tied to milestones or Life Events – but I’ve been intrigued, over the past few weeks of doing this project, by how common some of the smaller experiences are too.

      Reply
      1. missy

        Yes it is really interesting. I think you see that a lot in blogging and so many people will comment ‘exactly this’ or ‘I can relate completely’ or they will use that piece as inspiration to write about a similar experience of their own. I love that about it and your project captures that in a nutshell. 😊

        Reply

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

CommentLuv badge