Saturday, April 12, 2014

986 THE LOOK OF LOVE Part 26 Cinderella Grows Up

If we'd watched dark eyed, brunette Jennie, manuver her slender frame around all of the male shenanigans, which rarely toed Ella's line, you'd see a quiet, young girl, who'd learned to stay out of trouble's way by making good use of her noggin.  As quiet does not necessarily equate with meek, reflection suggests that Jennie, if not feisty, proved observant.  And life within Grandma Ella's domaine had offered my mother lots to observe concerning the combustible nature of family dynamics.

Jennie watched her mother cast a sharp eye in all directions, at once, as mothers tend to do.  And with four active boys on Grandma's hands that proved wise, because mischief was always a foot.  In addition to running the house and feeding a family of seven, four of whom grew out of their clothes and shoes and into hand-me-downs from older brothers as fast as Ella could put food on the table, my grandma sold yard goods from door to door.  Ella referred to her wares as 'th'gootah goods', because she'd offered only the finest materials.

Whereas, Jennie, as an adult, would find herself 'living a step up', Ella, as an immigrant wife, had lived down from the lifestyle she'd enjoyed as the beloved daughter, who'd run her father's prosperous household.  Thus did Ella's expressive face make Harold aware of her disappointment in her husband's shortcomings.  And with these details in mind, it's easy to imagine that by the end of each day, Ella had reason to long for peace and quiet, which was seldom forthcoming.  

During lean years, when the children were too young to contribute to family finances, Jennie watched Ella's wiles at work.  One day, the boys were tussling in the living room of their three bedroom apartment (One offered Ella and Harold a few hours of sanity. Two others saw brothers sleeping in pairs—until Mack married and Aunt Helen moved in, displacing one brother, whose grumblings were heard when he'd had to cram in with the other two).  So anyway, one of the boys had thrown something weighty at another, who'd ducked.  And those boys scattered as fast as that large living room window had smashed.  Upon tuning into the shattering of glass, Ella flew from the kitchen to the scene of the crime.  With a fast glance out the window to see if any had witnessed the act, Ella, who was hell bent not to pay so much as a nickel of her hard earned cash, flew down the stairs, ran outside, looked both ways, bent down, grabbed whatever had been thrown in one hand and a good sized rock in the other, straightened up, ran back up stairs, and yelled out the window:  Mashuganahs! (crazy people!)  Who threw this rock???  Later, while the super replaced the window, Ella commiserated with him over neighborhood hooligans in need of learning a lesson from the police.

On another occasion, company was coming for dinner, and Grandma, ever prideful, worried that she'd not have enough to go around, gathered her children close and whispered: Anyone who doesn't take chicken gets two desserts.  Needless to say, Ella had plenty of chicken for her guests; then after the meal, my grandma, who did not mince words, declared: Anyone who didn't eat chicken gets no dessert, suggesting the classic nature of treating those we love with less respect than those we want to keep as our dearest friends.  And yet, if any child had mustered the courage to approach Grandma's fiesty attitude with that reality, she'd have felt fiercely insulted.  As to her friends, who'd been shown only her high spirited, congenial generosity no sign of manipulation or temper, they'd surely have backed her up with, 'Why Ella, everyone knows you have a heart of gold!'

Jennie watched her father walk on eggshells, offering his offspring warm smiles and winks, saying little while choosing to do whatever had nourished his spirit away from prying eyes, known to cast hasty judgement a bit too harshly by she whose frustration had shouldered more than her fair share of familial responsibility.  My mom intimated that her father's good natured quietude had saved my grandpa many a tongue lashing.

Jennie watched her eldest brother, Allen, curry his mother's favor while the impassioned responses of younger brother Jerry, lacking in finesse, lashed back.

Jennie watched her brother Mack's magnetic good looks, win favor by charming others with his presence.  As to Larry, laughter was his claim to affecting affection—as proves true with 'the baby' of most families.  (Ever read BIRTH ORDER by Dr. Kevin Leman?  A funny book with great insight into character development concerning seats 'chosen' by each child at the family table.  A funny book, indicating the author being the 'baby' of his family.)

Jennie watched all of her brothers band together while keeping their mother in the dark concerning activies they'd enjoyed (often with their father in tow) as the sun went down, suggesting that Ella's eagle eye had wearied by the end of another busy day.  As young men, Jerry and Mack had, unbeknownst to their parents, who were refined, trained as fighters.  One evening, Harold, who'd caught wind of what was going on, shocked Mack, who upon stepping between the ropes while entering the ring, spied his father sitting in the front row.  Upon seeing his dad's nod, wink and smile, Mack relaxed, and yet another bond had tightened.

So, if the men had each other, and Ella was in command, where did this leave Jennie—who'd disliked her name, because she'd read too many novels in which Jennie had been the name of the family's maid … on the other hand, most maids claimed a room of their own, whereas, once this busy household called it a night and switched off the lights, the daybed in the dining room served as the only peaceful spot that Jennie could call her own.

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