Rip lived in a cool neighborhood. It was 3 vertical streets: Wheeler, Algonquin and the top wrap around street of Otsego. It ended at the bottom joining a pretty busy street, Forest. With my memory, I think it was a bit like my current neighborhood... everyone looks out for everyone else. In this neighborhood, snow days meant the middle street, Algonquin, would be closed to all uphill traffic so that hay bales could be set across the bottom of the hill. It became a sled hill for the day, allowing kids a safe stop before traffic. Kids did not have to get in a car, but could walk to the sledding hill dragging their transportation behind.
On that same road a retired guy built and maintained an ice skating rink. He flooded it regularly, keeping it smooth. He set benches around the edges for rests. Not only that but he had his front vestibule open for kids to go change into skates in a warm space; the only rule was to wear skate guards.
That memory led to skating on Indian Lake. This was an adventure that required adults, both for transportation and safety. One had to bring shovels to shovel a 'rink'. I don't recall how it was decided if the ice was strong enough, but I do know we never had a problem, no cracks, no scary breaking noises beneath our feet.
In Rip's neighborhood I had another good friend, Kathy Anderson. She lived in the very highest house on Wheeler. If I am remembering correctly, she had a bedroom on the third floor; living in a ranch house, that was impressive! Her grandmother had a summer house in Marion, MA, a community on the coast of Massachusetts. It was one of those old stately, shingled houses sitting on a bluff overlooking the water. In my mind's eye, I picture silver grey shingles, and a huge porch with chairs perfect for reading. I loved going with her family to this amazing place, living a life completely foreign to me. You didn't get in a car once it was parked until it was time to leave to head back to the 'real world'. While in Marion you went everywhere in the Boston Whaler, gas at the marina and paper, groceries and ice cream on the side street off the dock area. It was a life experience that made my experiencial background bloom in new ways.
Kathy had a trapeze in her basement, complete with a fall mat, pronounced mattress. Dare devil that I was, I tried a new trick one day, slipped from the trapeze, missed the mattress and 'kissed' the concrete floor. I need to tell you that broken arms are very heavy! I walked home cradling my arm and with every step it seemed to weigh a bit more. The ER visit and ex-rays confirmed a broken arm and casting. Sigh.
And though it is a big leap from my neighborhood memories to Gloucester, MA memories, it is of the same time period and was easily released from my pent-up to the morning pages. For several summers our vacation was in a primitive cottage near the ocean, on a cove, in Gloucester. By primitive I mean a pitcher pump for water, no electricity, a basement 'ice box' (i.e. refrigerator) and an outhouse. I honestly have no clue of the stove situation. I was far more impressed with the ice man coming each week. He would use giant tongs to 'grab' a chunk of ice, use the outside side stairway down into the basement to deposit the chunk of ice into the top of the ice box. That would keep things cold for a week.
It is so much fun to remember those childhood adventures. One fun part is that we all remember them differently. But I am sticking with my story and will tell you this is how it was...