Baby girl, at last

They were all at the hospital--mother Dee, sister Cheryl, mother-in-law Vivian, great-grandmother Ana, even sister Lona who had given birth just three weeks earlier, and, of course, great-grandmother Leta. They were the women of the family—both sides—and all filled with high expectations that early Saturday morning in October.

Pat went into labor as she did with her second child deep in the night, just after they had all retired. Father-to-be Don called his mother Vivian first. He usually did. Always a light sleeper, Vivian awakened on the first ring and knew intuitively that her third grandchild was on the way. She subsequently telephoned Pat’s mother Dee, receiving a grumpy greeting from Bill who answered the phone. He had just arrived home and fallen asleep, Dee explained apologetically when she and her youngest daughter Cheryl arrived at the hospital. Friday night was his poker night. Vivian nodded sympathetically, but they all knew—nearly every night was Bill’s poker night.

Of course, Pat had already gone into false labor twice, and the baby was late. She’s on her own schedule, Leta said, but no one seemed to notice. As they had with the previous baby, they referred to the unborn child as she, imbuing the word with all the intentionality seven women and one overly excited adolescent girl could manage. That girl was Vivian’s daughter Linda, Leta’s granddaughter, who at 12 was still too young to be awakened and taken to the hospital, even though she wanted to. Even though it was Saturday and she didn’t have school, which she complained to her mother later that morning. But she was easily pacified with the promise of a visit later in the day. While she still had time, Linda ran out the door to tell all of her friends she was an aunt for the third time, but the first time for a girl.

“Third time’s a charm,” Ana said once they heard the news that Pat delivered the first girl of her generation on both sides of the family. Both Pat and Don were the eldest, and Pat’s siblings had just started marrying. Don’s were still too young—he and Linda had a brother Larry, only age 14. Previously Pat had two sons, and her next younger sister Lona’s three-week-old infant was also a boy. While there were a couple of girls of that generation in Pat’s family, for Leta’s family, this was the first great-granddaughter, which made the occasion special for all of them.

The gathering of women crowded into the hospital room, more than what was officially allowed, but Pat was holding their new baby—their girl—and they all wanted to see and touch the beauty.

“Michele Marie,” Pat said joyfully, but also thoroughly worn out from her exertion. She had waited almost her entire life and through two boys to say that, having held the name and hope in her heart since she first held a neighbor lady’s new baby when she was a little girl. Like she did with her sons, she stared lovingly at the newborn, wrapped up in her arms. With a smile on her face, she fell asleep, still holding the child. The nurse came to take the child almost immediately, as was customary, but Leta stopped her.

“No, not yet,” Leta said.

“But…” the nurse protested. “She’s asleep. That’s not—“

“They’re fine,” Leta interrupted sternly. “We’ll let you know.”

This was a moment for all of them to savor.

Financial Security, Part Two

The presumption in my family is that my great-grandmother Leta always landed on her feet, at least financially. This seems to me to be more myth than history, even though there is no doubt she was a survivor. Of course, as a child, I never really thought that much about it—except when she elected to move into a senior home in 1972.

At the time she was living on the second floor of a duplex in East Toledo. She rented. Before she moved, she wanted to put her finances in order. The arrangement with the residence was that she would turn over all her money upon entering to pay for her care for as long as she lived. (This is what I remember, but may also be as much myth as fact). So before divulging, so to speak, she set aside a secret fund for her own personal expenses throughout her years there. Again, my understanding was that she expected to live fewer than the 12 more years that she did, so she got the better end of the deal. Her daughter-my grandmother was very involved in this process, and became her financial manager.

Still, I do not believe Leta was always financially secure. When she divorced from husband number four—Leech Hoose—to whom she was married only a couple of years at most—her situation was such that she relocated her children to their father’s home and moved in with her brother Aaron and sister-in-law Florence for a period of time. This occurred in the 1930s, during the Depression. Only a person financially strapped and emotionally broken would have made such choices. A few years earlier she won a custody battle, so I can’t imagine that she gave up her children in this way without believing she had no other alternative.

A few years later, her financial status improved when she married husband number five—Bob Fields. Bob was employed, and childless. Financially, they were strong enough to welcome her daughter Vivian and grandson-my father Donald into their home while Vivian’s husband Ed served in World War II.  When Bob died unexpectedly in 1946, Leta’s financial position was strong.

This again nearly flipped for her. She frequently said that her sixth husband—Claud Bassett—“spent all my money.” After four years of this obviously unhappy union, she divorced him and went to work. She managed a restaurant for a while and then became a housekeeper at a hospital.

She rented a small house near the University of Toledo, and while living there she met her eighth husband Richard. (By the way, her seventh marriage was so brief that it can’t have impacted her financially at all, but then again, only a few people knew about it, so it is hard to be definite.) Her marriage to Richard, however, was the marriage of her retirement. He owned a home; they planned on living out their days as a happily married retired couple.

When Richard died unexpectedly in 1963, she was once again uprooted. The house was sold, and she moved into the afore-mentioned duplex. She was 69 years old and financially strong enough to live out the rest of her days without anxiety, which she did.

Financial Security, Part One

The first time she married it was for love, or at least that’s what she believed. She was 19 years old and was more in love with the idea of men than she was with one particular man—Ralph. But she desired a man, he was available and eager, and she wanted to be married. When he proposed, she accepted. Neither one had much money, but both were employed. Of course, she quit her job when she became pregnant a few months later, but Ralph had a good job at the time. They were never rich, but no one else around them was either. Still, she managed to save out of her household allowance and through her own skills earn other income over the course of their nine-year marriage. When she divorced him, however, she spent all of her money on the process, and the sewing and cleaning jobs she took did not cover her and her children’s living expenses.

That did not matter, for during her separation, she bonded with Al. Actually, she did more than bond, she fell head over heels in love with him. This time around she was more mature, and she better understood compatibility and her own personal and sexual needs. They lived during the Great Depression, so financial difficulties were common and expected. Still, Al had a job, and they made extra income by making and selling gin to their friends and others who rejected Prohibition as the true American lifestyle. They could support themselves and her two children comfortably. Leta could not have been happier. She was living the kind of life that melded with her disposition and needs. And she smartly set aside a few dollars here and there, just in case. Alas, everything she had saved went to pay for Al’s funeral expenses. After only four years of wedded bliss, he was murdered.

Leta was devastated, Al’s killer having taken half of her own life. Already broken in spirit and hope, she very quickly went broke and relied on friends and family for financial and moral support. Still, she couldn’t go on this way, and she knew it. She had two children to support, and as a woman her options were few. When one of her neighbors and homemade alcohol clients asked her to marry him, she jumped at the chance. Maybe she didn’t really love him, but he was fun to be with and able to support them financially.

However, it was not a good marriage. They quickly realized that all they had in common was drinking, and while it may have made for fun times, living together on a day-to-day basis proved to be challenging. Besides, he was not as financially solvent as he led her to believe. And she ached all the time for Al. Ora could never live up to him—in any way. She also learned, much to her dismay, that the more Ora drank the lower his libido, and she needed someone with a libido to help her heal. They divorced after only a year. By then she had already been flirting with Leech—Ora’s drinking buddy.

Leech filled her mind with hope and her body with desire. But he was financially inept, and while their nights were filled with passion, their days were filled with arguing about expenses. But she felt stuck this time. There was no other man waiting around the corner. And while she tried to sock money away, their daily expenses always forced her to spend her reserves.

The puzzle

It was an inexpensive gift, Leta knew, but then again, Ralph did not have much money. No one did during the Depression. At least this time her ex-husband and the father of her children had taken some consideration into his daughter’s feelings. Usually, he gave her both birthday and Christmas gifts as one lump package. In fact, he did it pointedly, stating quite clearly that this was all Vivian could expect. She was always disappointed, but had come to expect this disregard by her father as a matter of course.

Leta, however, endeavored to separate the two. A birthday, although not a large reason for celebration in her mind, was still a birthday. Just as Christ’s birth celebration was wholly his own, so should her daughter’s, even though it took place only four days later.

Having some kind of celebration on December 29 was not always easy or convenient. Vivian’s birthday did come, after all, between Christmas and New Year’s, and many people were well nigh worn out already by Christmas. By the time the 29^th arrived, Leta herself was ready to simply recover from the hullabaloo and anticipate her New Year’s Eve celebrating. However, she had a daughter, and that daughter deserved the personal celebration of being alive on the earth.

Again, they didn’t do much for birthdays, but the day included for each of her children a favorite breakfast to start the day, and a special supper followed by cake and ice cream in the evening. She gave them two gifts—a necessity such as a new blouse and a toy or something personal. On the Saturday after, they would go to the movies as a family. On the following Sunday, the children would spend the day with their father and celebrate again. Although Ralph’s mother thought birthday celebrations were barely a half-level above complete foolishness, she would comply with her son’s request for a special dessert at least. After all, Ralph saw his children so rarely he wanted their time together to have some uniqueness to it.

Vivian had turned 12, and like her mother was quickly becoming a woman. Maybe that scared Ralph. Leta suspected that he feared his daughter would be too much like her mother, a woman with a scandalous reputation. For Christmas, he disregarded Vivian’s request for a collection of books by Charles Dickens and gave her a china doll. Vivian was devastated. “I’m 12, Mom!” she declared. “What am I going to do with a doll?” While she never said, Leta suspected that the word got back to Ralph by her little chatterbox—their son Dale, because a few days later, Vivian returned home from the day with her father proudly sporting two small boxes. The first contained three sets of doll clothes made by her grandmother, no doubt the original present and quickly tossed aside. The second box was a new cardboard jigsaw puzzle.

Vivian was thrilled with the puzzle. It was of a painting of the famous Mona Lisa painting by Leonardo da Vinci. The next morning she commandeered the dining room table and began to work on it.

Leta smiled to herself. Without realizing it, Ralph had succeeded in tapping into their daughter’s child-like qualities and her more mature ones simultaneously by giving her a toy for children and grown-ups.

The gift

"Hello, Leta. Hello, Leta."

Leta stopped what she was doing, still holding several hangers of clothes in her hands, and quickly looked around her bedroom. At first, she wasn't sure whether or not she was hearing things. The cackling high-pitched voice seemed otherworldly.

As she paused to collect herself--and her sanity, as she told her sister the next day--she heard the light and cheerful chirping from the living room and smiled.

Her little Budgie, as she called the green parakeet in the other room, was a gift from heaven. He was an unexpected gift, a housewarming present from a lady friend from church, a particularly observant woman. After the death of her husband, Leta had become sullen and was slowly withdrawing into her own grief. Yes, she had her family--her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, but losing her husband and being alone again was hitting her pretty hard.

The afternoon sun whispered through the bedroom window as she finished organizing the closet. Of course, it was smaller than the one she had been occupying in the house that she had shared with Richard for four years, but it was too large a place for one. Besides, she didn't want to live there alone after her husband died so unexpectedly and quickly. She harrumphed ruefully. One night they had been talking about plans for New Year's Eve, but before the sun rose the next morning, he was gone. So she and his children sold the house, and she moved into the second floor of this duplex.

At age 70, she would have preferred to live on the first floor. Climbing the stairs on a regular basis would be very strenuous, but that apartment was occupied by her niece and nephew-in-law. And he had more mobility problems than she ever would. Still, she liked to walk, so the stairs would keep her healthier, at least she hoped so.

A wave of loss and change had her absently sitting on the bed. Because she hated most of her clothes, she saved the closet project for last. Actually, that wasn't entirely true. In her marriage, the closets were Richard's responsibility, or domain as it were. And she was happy to let him merrily sort out their contents and organize them. She called him her "clothes horse," not only because he had far more than she, but also because he was just as interested in what she wore. He made sure they both looked good, and of course, she liked to look nice.

Then she heard the eerie voice again: "Hello, Leta. Hello, Leta." The sound sent a chill up her spine. It was again followed by the friendly chirping. This time she distinctly heard it coming from the living room, so she stood to investigate, walking deliberately from one room to the other.

Since the windows of the living room faced north and east, the room was darker than the bedroom, which created a few shadows. Leta never believed in ghosts, but the change in light and the sound of the strange voice was making her apprehensive. After she looked around, her eyes and heart fell on the little cage in the front window.

She smiled and approached the little Budgerigar. He was hopping about his home, playing with the two balls she had given him for such a purpose. These birds liked to be active and play.

“Hello, Budgie,” she said in a sweet voice. “How is Budgie? How is my little Budgie?”

The bird hopped onto its perch to get a better look at her, which made her smile even more. He looked right at her, she thought, and she was startled by the attention.

Yes, this was a terrific gift. The church-friend knew exactly what she needed. But that made sense. After all, she had lost her own husband two years earlier and was basically in the same life station. “For you, Leta,” she had said. “For the loneliness.” At first, Leta was tempted to refuse. It was an extravagant gift, and she knew nothing about caring for a little tropical bird. But the woman gently clutched her hand and looked her right in the eyes. “I know,” she concluded.

And Leta was grateful. After only a couple of days in her company, he had become a special friend.

“Hello, Budgie,” she said to him.

“Hello, Leta,” Budgie said.

Parakeets

A common house pet, the parakeet is actually any number of varieties of small to medium-sized parrots. Although predominately native to Australia, the bird is also found in Africa, Asia and South America. Budgerigars are popular pets around the world due to their small size, low cost, ability to mimic human speech and playful nature.

The most common in the U.S.A. is the Budgerigar (hence the common reference, "budgie"), an Australian genus that is naturally green and yellow with black, scalloped markings on the nape, back and wings. Over time breeders have created a rainbow of blues, whites, yellows and gray. Like most parrot species, budgerigar plumage fluoresces under ultraviolet light.

The color of the area containing the nostrils (cere) differs between the sexes, being royal blue in males, pale brown to white (non-breeding) or brown (breeding) in females, and pink in youth of both sexes (usually of a more even purplish-pink color in young males).

Budgerigars are extremely nomadic birds found in open habitats like scrubland, open woodlands and grasslands. The birds are normally found in small flocks, but can form very large flocks under favorable conditions. The movement of the flocks is tied to the availability of food and water.

The budgerigar has been bred in captivity since the 1850s, and generally lives an average of five to eight years, but life spans of 15–20 years have been reported. The lifespan depends on breed, lineage and health, being highly influenced by exercise and diet.

Budgerigars are intelligent and social animals and enjoy the stimulation of toys and interaction with humans, as well as with other budgerigars. They particularly enjoy chewing material such as wood, especially females. When a budgerigar feels threatened, it will try to perch as high as possible and may make itself appear thin by bringing its feathers close against its body.

Tame budgerigars can be taught to speak, whistle tunes and play with people. While Both males and females sing and can learn to mimic sounds and words and do simple tricks, singing and mimicry are more pronounced and better perfected in males. Males can easily acquire vocabularies ranging between a few dozen to a hundred words, and those kept as only pets generally the best speakers.

Although budgerigars in their natural habitat eat mainly grass seeds, those in captivity feed on dry, sprouted or soaked seeds supplemented with foods such as whole cereals, whole grains, several kinds of flowers and fruits.

They breed best in groups, but are usually fine breeding in pairs. Hearing other parakeets encourages a pair to breed, which is why breeding in groups is more successful. Females lay 4-6 eggs over a period of days and incubate them for 18–21 days. Female Budgerigars only leave their nests for very quick periods once they've begun incubating and are by then almost exclusively fed by their mate (usually at the nest's entrance).

The hatchlings are blind, naked and totally helpless. At around 10 days of age, the chicks' eyes will open, and they will start to develop feather down. Feathers begin around three weeks of age. At this stage of the chicks' development, the male usually has begun to enter the nest to help his female in caring and feeding the chicks. Some budgerigar females, however, totally forbid the male from entering the nest and thus take the full responsibility of rearing the chicks until they leave the nest (or fledge). Young typically fledge around their fifth week of age and are usually completely weaned a week later.

Kissing

Leta liked kissing. She liked it a lot. She also liked the feel of a man near her, next to her. And when she had a few drinks in her, she liked both all the more. Her first husband Ralph was not so affectionate, nor did he like kissing. And, well, he had severe halitosis, which made her also avoid the experience with him.

Yet she still wanted it.

Perhaps, she thought during occasional moments when her current life seemed slow and uneventful, if he had been more affectionate, even if he had liked a kiss here or there, their marriage might have been happier, might have lasted, might have just been more pleasant.

But she had nothing to complain about, not in the least. Having met and subsequently married Albert had been the best decision she made in her life. He, at least, liked to be close to her. Instead of planting himself in a special easy chair, he would sit right beside her on the davenport, his body connecting to hers. Sometimes she could feel his touch, but sometimes not, until one of them shifted, and then the physical contact reasserted itself, and she felt a wave of happiness.

As for kissing, Al seemed to feel as she did. He kissed her first thing in the morning right on the lips, when he left for work, upon his return home, and before they went to sleep on those nights they didn’t make love. He kissed her when the supper they ate together was particularly tasty, which was about five days a week. He kissed her when she finished making him a new shirt. (While he could have purchased his shirts from the local shop, he loved that she made him his very own.) He kissed her good-by and hello any time they were out in public and temporarily parted. One of her friends called them the “kissingest couple she had ever known,” and Leta liked that moniker. She and Ralph were barely noticed, even among their own circle of friends.

And she had always liked to be noticed.

The best part of kissing Albert was how free and public it was. There was none of that puritanical, and in her opinion, false sense of decorum that proclaimed affection between two adults that loved each other was crude or wrong. Their physicality and their frequent reminders of the joy they felt together was healthy and natural.

The first time they kissed Leta recognized that the feelings she had were the right feelings of a woman for a man, that up until then everything had been artificial and stiff. Al’s lips were full and soft. When they met hers, they connected like two pieces of a puzzle that belonged together. With Ralph, she had felt that their touch was always forced, sometimes pressed so hard it hurt. But with Al, all was smooth and easy.

Al had also introduced her to what was called the “French kiss.” While she never would have admitted it to Ralph, Leta had kissed quite a few others before they married—nine that she could count off-hand. While their names had faded with time, the impressions each incident created still lingered. The boy with the strawberry-flavored breath, the boy with the soft hands, the boy who kept his eyes open and so on. Although she had experienced roving hands, she had not, at least until Albert, had another boy include his tongue in a kiss.

What a thrill! It was as if she had been kissing wrong all along and had just learned how to do it the proper way. Of course, the quick kisses she frequently shared with her husband lacked that kind of fervor, and that was fine as long as when they were embracing or in a state of arousal the full kisses occurred.

Albert’s kisses and affection and her two beloved children with her were all Leta needed, she realized, to live the happy life she had always wanted.