My memories begin in 1959 on a suburban street in southern California. I actually lived in three houses before, but only have flashes of them and mostly from stories my parents and sisters relayed through the years. But I remember the day we moved to our house in a new development of middle class families. The developer had bought property that was an olive grove. The only stipulation the seller placed on the sale was that when the land was cleared, one olive tree would be left on each lot.
The olive trees in the front yard of every house were productive and messy. As the fruit emerged, we spent many afternoons collecting the green orbs in coffee cans to be used in giant olive fights that included every kid in the neighborhood. I can still recall the sting of getting hit in the leg or back with an olive expertly thrown by one of the older kids. It was a yearly ritual.
The olives that managed to stay on the trees would ripen into squishy black & purple mini-bombs that would fall and stain everything - sidewalks, cars and kids. My mom nearly went crazy as 12 dirty feet would track them into the house and on the living room carpet. One year we had an olive fight with the ripened olives, but it made such a mess and we got into such trouble that it was never attempted again.
Our street was laid out on a long, gradual hill of neat homes. We lived about 1/2-way down the block in a two-story with 4 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms. In the first year, Barbie was 8, Cherie was 7, I was 4, Tommy was 3, Rick was almost 1 and Mom was soon pregnant with Margie.
Through the years everyone would spend the weekends on roller skates, riding our bikes, collecting butterflies, climbing the olive trees (not very easy) or entrenched in the famous olive battles.
The hill we lived on proved to be a great source of entertainment. We had a great time when someone discovered a roll-away bed in their garage. It was old and rickety, but perfect for pushing down the hill at high speed. Then one of the older kids (I would say Cherie, but that would be tattling) got the great idea to open the bed, coax someone in, and close it back up so only their head and feet were visible. Depending on how tall the rider was, they looked like a hot dog in a huge bun. Once they were loaded, several of us would give the bed a starter push and it went sailing down the hill, picking up speed as it traveled. When one of the adults noticed what was going on (and I mean, like on the second day!) the roll-away was confiscated. But we were not to be deterred! Someone brought out two huge, old tires. We could curl up on the inside by sticking our hands and feet into the well, and again with a good push, away we would go down the hill. You can see were were influenced by TV (we loved The Little Rascals).
Because the hill was steep enough to make a fun ride down, we were always ready to careen down on anything with wheels. But once we reached the bottom, it was a long walk back up, especially on skates or pushing a bike or riding toy. There were times that cars turning into our street would see a pile of bikes, tricycles, wagons, skates and Tommy's Irish mail left behind, hoping Mom would bring the station wagon or Dad would recognize and collect our stuff as he came home from work. That rarely happened, and we were usually dispatched to get our belongings before dinner.
One afternoon, Tommy and I decided it would be fun to play in Mom's big Mercury station wagon that was parked on the street. This was great fun until Tom moved the gear-shift and the car began to roll down the hill. My Mom was in the front yard, talking to a neighbor, as this unfolded. She was 7 months pregnant at the time. As she started to run (a funny sight in itself), her "pregnancy underwear" started to slide down. By the time the car was finally stopped by an alert neighbor down the street, my Mom was standing in the middle of the street, yelling her head off, with her panties around her ankles.
Tommy and I were both spanked for this indiscretion. And we never played in the car again.
My Dad worked in Los Angeles and was home on weeknights, although he started to travel on business quite often during this period. We lived on Talbot Drive about 7 years. Many great and funny things happened in this house that I'll share in time. But the happiest days were when more siblings arrived - Margie, Greg and Susie.
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