Honest Scrap

My blogger friend Rena has nominated me for the Honest Scrap award! I am passing on what Rena posted on her blog regarding the meaning of the Scrap Award.

"Scrap means left over, fragments, discarded material. Many times truth and honesty are discarded material, considered fragments and left over. People like us need to tell it like it is, and let the scraps fall where they will. There are 2 guidelines for receiving this award. One, you are to list 10 honest things about yourself. Make them interesting, even if you have to dig deep. Two, present the award to 7 other bloggers."

Ten honest things about me are:

1. I love working with kids, particularly disadvantaged kids, kids who are abused, neglected and/or emotionally disturbed.

2. I'm not a very good housekeeper, but my home is comfortable.

3. I dispise liver.

4. I'm a slow reader because I'm mildy dyslexic.

5. I'm extremely proud of my husband and the job he's done rebuilding our '57 Chevy.

6. Even though my dad's been dead for nearly 20 years, I can still get teary-eyed thinking about him.

7. I sang in a jazz trio for a short while.

8. I'm tired of bodily function humor and wish there were a Red Skelton out there.

9. I'm uncomfortable in homes that have no bookshelves loaded books.

10. I like to bird watch.

Now I'm supposed to pass on this award to seven people! And they are:

Vijaya

Joan

Janelle

Angela Cerrito

Brenda

c.r. evers

Angela at the Book Shelf Muse

Go forth and nominate other deserving Scrappers.

Remembrances of Gifft Hill - Back Story

Having a concrete floor AND cistern was quite the luxury item. The little wooden houses most everyone lived in had hard packed dirt floors or wooden ones. Few people had actual cisterns. They collected their rain water as the Thomas’s did, in 55 gallon drums. During dry spells there were catchments, in somewhat central locations, that collected water into large cisterns. People would go to the catchments to get water if they ran out. (More on that another time.) So, for the little house up at Gifft Hill to have both, was quite remarkable.

In 1927 my grandfather Alfred Boulon, my mother's father, bought Trunk Bay. His idea was to build a summer home and use it as a retreat, a place the Boulon family could go to get away from the hustle and bustle of Puerto Rico.

The original single room of The Castle was probably built in the early 1920’s. In 1928 there was a big hurricane and it was then the building was carried off its foundation and deposited across the yard.

By 1929 my grandfather was building a concrete storage/camp building and a cistern on the beach at Trunk Bay. This building would serve as the family’s living quarters until they got the main house build. All the materials to build it had to be brought in by boat. One of the people Grandpa B. hired to help with the concrete work was a man named Samuel Powel.

In this picture you can see the large Main House on the hill to the left. Below it is a little building we called the Shoe Box. And on the beach you can see the concrete building that served as the family’s temporary home while the Main House was being built.

And here's a picture of the actual building. See that flag? I have it.

We don’t know what arrangement was made, but Mr. Powel got the sand and cement from Trunk Bay. Load by load, the supplies were hauled all the way to Gifft Hill, a journey of three, maybe three and half miles, over steep winding trails. One must realize hauling bags of cement and sand all the way to Gifft Hill was done by donkey. There were no roads or cars on the island back then. Each 100 pound bag of cement was probably divided in half and placed into dumb-boxes that were carried by a donkey, as was every last grain of sand.

So it was that between 1929 and 1932, Samuel Powel hand mixed and hand poured the floor and 600 gallon cistern up at Gifft Hill. Some 25 years later, my parents bought the land and the little house from…(all together now) Samuel Powel. It was kind of like coming full circle.

Remembrances of Gifft Hill - The Castle

The consensus among the Denhams is that our fondest memories of living on St. John are of the years we lived at Gifft Hill.

When we first moved to Gifft Hill, the Thomas’s were the only other family living up there. At that time, it was a pretty isolated place, being as it was, three miles from Cruz Bay and at the end of a mile long trail that was more like a rocky river bed than a road.

We were the first white people to live up there. And, like the majority of people on St. John, we lived in a tiny old wooden shack. We called it the Castle.

What do I mean by tiny old wooden shack? Originally it had been one room about ten feet wide and 20 feet long. It had been built about a foot off the ground. We heard a story that it had been blown off its foundation and lifted across the yard during a hurricane. To keep that from happening again a second room had been built of exactly the same dimensions. This second room had a hand poured pitted concrete floor. The first room was hauled back into place and secured to the new room. It had now become a large luxurious two room shack with matching peaked roofs.

By the time my parents bought the seven acres on which the Castle stood, it had morphed into four rooms and a tiny porch. One tiny room, no more than five by eight became the kitchen. The fourth tiny room became my parents’ bedroom, whose double bed occupied most of the space. The porch served as an auxiliary to the kitchen and was where we washed our dishes.

Here you can see the basic floor plan in this sketch I drew. There was probably less room around the beds and we had a rocking chair and some other pieces of furniture in the living room besides what I’ve drawn in.

We had no electricity and no running water. We did have a privy and, unlike our neighbors, the Thomas’s who collected rain water into several 55 gallon drums, we actually had a 600 gallon cistern.

The tin roof leaked in predictable places. The room where Erva and I slept was the original room, the one that had been blown off its foundation. A third of the room was divided by a curtain and the area behind it served as the family's colset. Places in the floor of the closet were rotted through and we could see the ground. I used to imagine fantastic treasures hiding under the floor. The wall between our bedroom and the living room had a serious case of rot, due to the valley of the two peaks meeting at that point. Whenever it rained the valley leaked which made the walls sort of weep. I always knew Christmas was approaching because in December pretty yellow mushrooms would grow out of the wall right over my bed.

We took our baths outside under the open sky at the back of the house. There was a shower curtain to provide privacy so those in living room looking out the window wouldn’t see a naked body.

Here’s picture of our first visit to the Gifft Hill property. You can clearly see the two peaks, the little porch and the add-on rooms to the left. In the back ground, center left, you can see a tall tree. That’s the mompoo Dad hung a swing in for my 10th birthday. In this picture, I’m coming around the back of the Willy’s station wagon. Mom and Erva are to the right. Our friend Bobby Mrazek is by the driver’s side door. The man standing slightly in front of Mom is our soon to be neighbor, Heber Thomas. That’s our jeep, the Yellow Dragon, in front of the station wagon. I think we all fell in love with the place as soon as we saw it. There was at least an acre of flat ground, a rarity in the islands. And the view of the south side of the St. John was, and still is, spectacular. On a clear day we could see not only to Ram’s Head Point but beyond to Virgin Gorda, some 35 miles away, in the British Virgin Islands. But always prominent were the white cliffs of Reef Bay.

Here’s a picture of the view taken from the spot where my swing used to be. This is what I saw as I’d soar out over the valley. Of course, back in late 1950’s and early 60’s there were no houses or roads on those hillsides.

Nibbs

In my last ruminations about Dr. Van Mulsen (See, Going to the Dentist, below) I mentioned Nibbs, the bartender, at the Grand Hotel, (here there be pictures.) The Grand was built between 1839 and 1840 and is one of many historical attractions in downtown Charlotte Amalie.

Nibbs. I will try to give a clear picture of this wonderful man.

He was tall and dark skinned with a wonderful broad smile. I like to think his ancestry could be traced back to those taller African tribes, like the Zulus or Maasai, who, when merely standing, exude a kind of elegance that is not prideful, but part of their very genetic make-up. Straight back, square shoulders.

Nibbs was like that.

At the time I write about, the Grand Hotel was the gathering place for many locals, both black and white. On the balcony there was a huge round table which could seat at least 20, maybe 30 people. This was the table where the locals sat to discuss the latest news and gossip while they ate lunch, had cocktails, or dined in the evening.

I don’t think he had to, but Nibbs often took responsibility for the round table. He would not only take, but also serve the drink and food orders. Only if it was very busy, would the drinks and food bound for the round table be served by someone else.

He must have, but I don’t remember him ever writing an order down, yet when you went to pay your bill (and he was in charge of that too) there would be your tab, waiting for you.

For years Nibbs had a parakeet. It's cage sat on the counter were people paid their bills and the door was usually open so the bird could come and go as it pleased. Its wings were clipped so it couldn’t fly away. It was very tame and spent a good deal of time riding on Nibbs' shoulder. It was also allowed to wander around the round table. One had to be on the alert for small thefts of food or tiny sips from one’s drink. One day there was a tragedy. While delivering an order, Nibbs stepped on his beloved bird who happened to be walking around on the floor. Nibbs was heartbroken. It was many years before he finally gave in to gentle urgings and got another parakeet, which, in time, was treated much as the first one had been.

When Mom would leave Erva and me at the Grand while she went shopping she’d leave us with coloring books and books to read. In the huge ball room (with stars on the dark blue ceiling) there were several sitting areas with couches, chairs and tables. We would commandeer an area directly across from the bar so Nibbs, as he came and went from bar to balcony, could keep a watchful eye on us. I can’t tell you how many pictures Erva and I colored and gave to him. And I think for many years he kept them all together under the bar.

Once we moved to St. Thomas from St. John the Grand became a favored hang-out. Almost every day after school I went there to wait for my father to pick me up after he got off work. I’d often sit out on the balcony at a small table, farthest from all the others, a place that was out of the way and usually empty. If it was windy or rainy or cold I’d settle myself inside at the same seating area Erva and I had used when we were small. I’d usually get an iced tea, sometimes a Coke, and while I waited for Dad I’d do my homework or study for tests.

Most of the time I had enough money to buy myself something to drink. But sometimes, perhaps once every two months or so, I didn’t and I’d ask Nibbs to “put it on our tab.” It wasn’t until years later, long after I’d graduated from high school, that I learned we never had a tab at the Grand! Nibbs had given me those drinks on the house. I’m so glad I didn’t take advantage of the gift.

A year or so ago my sister ran into Nibbs, who was hale enough to be driving. She said he looked almost the same and that he remembered us.

Certainly I remember him; a gentleman, gracious and generous, with a ready smile and laugh, who was also a most excellent bartender.

I raise my glass: “Here’s to you Nibbs. This is a small token of my appreciation. Live long and prosper.”

The Joy Movie

As I have not yet mastered the art of adding a video I have posted this link. It is simply beautiful and a must see.

The Joy Movie

Going to the Dentist

Once a year my mother took Erva and me to get our annual dental check-up.

In those days, between 1955 and 1962, going to see the dentist was an all day affair. When we lived up at Gifft Hill the three mile jeep ride to Cruz Bay to catch the ferry took a good half hour. The mile long road out of Gifft Hill (#104) which met up with Center Line (#10 see map) was a kind of rocky river bed which in places required low transfer and four wheel drive. So it was slow going as we picked our way over rock out-croppings and ruts near a foot deep.

The ferry ride from Cruz Bay to Red Hook took 30 to 45 minutes. At Red Hook, on St. Thomas, we either drove a car we had stored in a rickety garage or we got a taxi to take us into down town Charlotte Amalie, a journey of at least another 20 t0 30 minutes.

If we took the 8 o’clock ferry, we were usually in town by 10 AM. This meant we’d been up and getting ready to go since about 6:00 or 6:30 in the morning.

Our dentist, Dr. Van Mulsen, was Dutch and spoke with an accent. He had been, for many years a dentist in New York City who had served an upper crust clientele. In fact, some of his patients came down to the St. Thomas on a regular basis to have him work on their teeth, he was that good and they were that loyal to him.

He had come to St. Thomas to retire, but he just couldn’t keep his figures out of people’s mouths. It wasn’t important to him that a person’s teeth be perfectly straight and even, only that they were perfectly clean and healthy.

Dr. Van Mulsen wore his lovely graying reddish hair in a page boy. Picture the boy on labels of Dutch Boy Paint and you have a near replica of what his hair looked like.

His office was on Back Street in a building built by slaves for the Danes. The walls of these buildings are anywhere from a foot to a foot and a half thick. Usually my sister went first. Mom would sit in a chair near-by and I sat on the wide ledge of the open window. From my vantage point I could see what he was doing to Erva and watch her reactions. When Erva was done we switched places.

Dr. Van Mulsen hated and feared causing his patients any kind of pain or discomfort. And so he was the gentlest of dentists. He hummed tuneless tunes while he worked.

Any time the person in the chair got a squirt or two of Lavoris with which to rinse out her mouth, he’d whip around with his sprayer and say, “Open wide,” and give the person sitting on the window ledge a squirt too. I will always remember the sweet minty taste of his magic red liquid. It was the long awaited high-light of the visit.

At one check-up Erva turned out to have a small cavity. “Ah, a wee small holey,” he said. I got to watch the whole procedure. That filling he put in is still there.

By the time we were finished it was time for lunch. We always went to the Grand Hotel which was built between 1839 and 1840. After lunch Mom would leave us at the Grand (where we were “watched” by Nibbs, the bartender) to do some grocery shopping. By three we’d head back to Red Hook to catch the ferry back to St. John. By 5 PM or so, we were back home.

Like I said, it was an all day affair.

An Anniversary

My computer has been down and I am only now getting back up to speed

This is a picture of Mom and Dad on their wedding day, November 27th, 1943. They look so young and yet they were 26 and 27.

I decided to go ahead and post this because it’s not every year that Thanksgiving falls on my parent’s wedding anniversary. Were Dad alive, it would have been their 65th.

Their’s was a rather whirl-wind romance. They got married in Puerto Rico after only six months. My father’s mother (we called her Nana) confessed to my mother years later, that she had concerns her son was going to bring home an exotic dark-skinned woman. Despite whatever fears and/or prejudices Nana may have had, she wrote this letter to my mother, which Mom faithfully preserved in her Wedding Album. It is dated, November 12, 1943. Nana was writing from California.

My dear Erva: -

John has written a beautiful letter about you & has told us how much he loves you & how happy you have made him. We are all so glad to have you one of our family & wish you all the peace and happiness any girl could dream of. When John went away from P. R. he mentioned having met a girl he hoped to see again and now – that’s wonderful for him.

He has never been much of a gallant so you must have been able to see through his shyness & reserve. I am more glad than I can tell that you care for him – His brothers always had girls, coming and going, but he never did, & I always knew that when he really fell in love it would be forever.

No matter what misfortunes befall there is truly only one in life anyway.

You can depend on one thing & that is that you will not find me an interfering mother-in-law – In Puerto Rico or California –

We all wish so much that we could be present at your wedding and we really will be – in spirit any way.

Will you write me your true wishes regarding a wedding present as I asked John & he no doubt told you.

I am sure you are very busy with plans and preparations etc - & I am finding it hard to think of anything except you & John – He has always been a bit absent minded at times so if he forgets something just prod him a bit –

With lots of love,
Vivian Braendlin

Here they are about a year later at the Rose Room of the "World Famous Palace Hotel" in San Francisco (which is still in operation.) Doesn’t Dad look spiffy in his sailor suit? And Mom, fresh from Puerto Rico, and no doubt still speaking English with a strong Spanish accent, not only looks confident, but beautiful.

Sigh.