Jill's Journal: The little yellow house on the block

Growing up, there was a little, one-bedroom cottage nestled between Sally’s two-story house and the Curry’s rambler.

While the home no longer stands, my memories of the little yellow house on the block go back to two women that I once knew lived there.

But did I really know them other than just knowing their names?

The first was Alma. I never knew Alma’s last name, or perhaps at this stage of life, I’ve simply forgotten. She was a single, elderly – perhaps not as old as I thought as a kid – woman who mostly kept to herself. On very few occasions do I remember her having visitors of any kind, including grown children and grandchildren.

Maybe she never had any children. I honestly don’t know.

She rarely cracked a smile. Perhaps a reason we steered clear.

Alma had an older car that took her from point A to point B.

Did she use the car to drive to work?

I’m not sure if she worked or if she was retired from decades of working, didn’t have to work or perhaps have the capability of working.

If she attended church, I didn’t know that either. Perhaps she was Lutheran, Catholic, Methodist … I don’t know.

Alma mowed her lawn with a mower that required no gas or oil. It was the “old-fashioned” kind that you pushed and the blades went ‘round and ‘round chopping the grass to a “freshly-mowed height” as she whisked the mower from one end of the yard to the other.

Speaking of the yard, Alma’s yard extended all the way to the border of our yard, and was about the 50-yard line point of the makeshift football field made up from a portion of Sally’s backyard, Alma’s yard and the Curry’s yard. 

Did Alma mind that we scampered across her grass?

If she did, she never said a word.

I don’t remember if Alma moved away or passed away.

When talks surface about growing up on the block, there’s no doubt Sally’s name will come up, as do the Johnsons, the Knutsons, the Thuliens, the Swanson’s, Laura, Sally’s sister who lived on the other corner of the block, and the Blackmans. Rarely is there a peep about Alma, the single, elderly woman who once lived in the little yellow house on the block.

Years later, a young woman by the name of Kathy moved into the home. She was just beginning to live life as an adult, and this was her first “home” away from home. To me, she was “Barbie” in the flesh, although she lacked all of the luxuries of Barbie and her pals.

Unlike Alma, Kathy was friendly and talkative. She’d invite us in to visit and once even had my friend Trish and I over for a traditional Thanksgiving dinner. I don’t remember if it was good or bad or featured all of the familiar dishes served at our family Thanksgiving tables. I do remember that the invite made me feel “grown up” in some sort of silly way.

I also remember thinking how “cool” Kathy was. You see, this was the 1970s, and as an impressionable youngster, I was in awe of Kathy having her own place, complete with a TV – albeit black and white – and a stereo with lots of albums. She set her own rules, cooked her own dinners, established her own bedtime, and her clothing, well, let’s just say bell bottoms, tie-dye and fringe were all the rage and Kathy was wearing it.

She, too, had her own car. It was cute and petite, and like Alma, it got her from point A to point B.

It’s been way too many years for me to remember if Kathy had a job or what she did for a living. I don’t think she went to college, and if she did, I have no clue what career path she was intending to take.

I don’t remember when – or why – Kathy moved out of the cute little, yellow cottage nestled between Sally’s house and the Curry’s rambler. Perhaps she was swept off her feet by her “prince charming,” relocated for work or as a young woman – just like Mary Tyler Moore “taking on the world with her smile”, her income didn’t add up to her expenses. I’ll likely never know.

I’m not sure why the cute little yellow cottage nestled between Sally’s house and the Curry’s ramble, Alma and Kathy surfaced in my memory bank today. It’s likely I’ll never come up with an explanation for that one. What I do know is there’s some comfort in remembering life in a more simple time.