Gosh, I remember that day.

We were at Grandma and Grandpa Cassidy’s house for a visit. This story centers around their kitchen. And eggs.

I loved that kitchen, and the adjacent pantry. The kitchen included a dinette set, pushed up against the wall. That wall featured a Murphy bed-esque ironing board – it folded up and all but disappeared!

The room also included a gas stove and a tall white cabinet that was freestanding. I’m sure that cupboard housed a multitude of kitchen items, but all I remember were the goodies down below, some of which always ended up with us kids in the backseat for the long drive home. Thanks, Grandma.

What’s a 1960s kitchen without some kitsch, right? Grandma displayed a variety of light pulls throughout the room. They were either in use, or propped on top of the window sills.

Grandma’s pantry was a separate room. It included the sink, cabinets, and counter tops. I liked hanging out in there with her.

So, where was the fridge? It was near the stove, but in a separate room. It was sort of a hallway that connected the kitchen with the back-entry porch.

Mom wrote a poem about something that happened in Grandma’s kitchen during a visit when we were very young. It involved my brother Dave, then called Davey. He and I think he was four at the time, which means I was just three.

The Yellow Sea
(for David, very young)

Do you remember long ago
you broke ELEVEN eggs?
I heard a funny, splushing sound
and ran with racing legs

and saved just one, the very last.
There was a yellow sea
of squishy, squashy broken eggs
all waiting there for me.

You didn’t learn your lesson, for
next day I heard that sound;
o, no, it was another egg!
But this time I was bound

that one was all to go that day.
But you just loved to see
the insides all come swimming out
to make that yellow sea.

~ Joan Vayo, circa 1961

Although I can picture Dave’s escapade clearly in my mind, I have a feeling actual photographic proof doesn’t exist.

Here’s a snapshot of young Davey, though, at the approximate age:

While searching for the photo that apparently doesn’t exist, I happened upon a more recent version, a generation later.

Sidenote: Dave’s daughter, Becky, grew up to be a chef! After delighting customers in her role as a pastry chef for several years, she founded Tin Pot Creamery in the San Francisco Bay area and continues as Chief Innovation Officer.

Isn’t it funny how childhood behavior can predict the future? Mom always insisted that Dave’s science eggsperiment (I’ll stop now) was based on his fascination with the sounds created by eggs cracking and albumin oozing. His career, of course, is teaching music composition.

Perhaps this photo is also predictive:

Our Thomas managed not to break the egg there on the floor next to his foot. Perhaps he was already planning to ace that engineering experiment waiting to challenge him in another 16 years or so.

My recollection of Davey’s Egg Drop is perhaps the second oldest memory I’ve got. Going back in time a bit more, we come to The Arrival of the Pillow.

I was two years old and still in a crib. By now, my older brothers used pillows and I wanted one, too. Mom wisely started me off with a flat cushion.

More of a pad, really.

The flatness of the velvety red pillow didn’t bother me so much, although it was definitely not karate-choppable by today’s standards. What was hard (literally) was the black button in the middle. A big black button. Probably 1.5 inches in diameter.

I tried to avoid the button at nap time, yet still make use of the cushion. Somehow, though, I always ended up with my ear right on top of that button. It hurt! Although my communication skills were extremely limited at the tender age of two, Mom got the message I was longing for a BGP (Big Girl Pillow).

Mom waited to tell me the good news until the morning the department store was scheduled to deliver my BGP. Surely it would arrive by nap time.

Who could sleep on such a day?

Mom let me postpone my nap until the knock on the door produced a large box wrapped in brown paper. (I may have hugged the delivery man.) Inside, my incredible feather pillow awaited. It was undoubtedly the softest, fluffiest pillow in the world. Mom slipped a pillow case over it and I took the most luxurious nap ever!

“That explains a lot!” Gary said with a chuckle when I told him the story. To this day, the pillows-to-people ratio in our house is exorbitant.

Six decades later, I still have that marvelous pillow. Thanks, Mom.

“The Yellow Sea” © 1961 Joan Vayo. All rights reserved.

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