Some of my most cherished memories are of the times I loafed with my sister Estelle. I would sometimes call her and sometimes not before my visit. I knew I would be welcomed if announced or unannounced with open arms, a big kiss and hug and a hot cup of coffee.
I would leave Washington with my guitar, a carry bag and a bottle of Tequila. You see, my sister and I enjoyed making our own Margaritas. If I called ahead, I would know that a pot of pinto beans and fried chicken would be waiting. Although, sometimes it was Costco salmon and a tossed salad and a bottle of Zinfandel.
Of course a bright spot in my visits was to visit with my Grand niece, Morgan. Morgan worshiped Estelle and Estelle worshiped Morgan and I worshiped both of them. Such great memories.
I recall one time that I didn’t announce my visit and while Estelle was busy scrambling around the kitchen making something for us to eat and snack on, Morgan and I were left alone to entertain ourselves. Now if you haven’t met Morgan, you are really missing out. What a personality. She is gorgeous, smart and also just a wee bit on the stubborn side. I’m sure her mom, Vonda Lynn is convinced that Clairol invented hair color to hide the grey because they somehow had inside information that Morgan was coming. The girl is a handful but such a joy. Well, we were in the living room and Morgan was going through one of her stubborn spells. I had my guitar out and was playing an old folk tune “She’ll Be Coming Round The Mountain”. Morgan wasn’t participating because she was acting very shy as if I were a stranger. I ignored her. Well that’s the key. When Morgan feels she is being ignored, she comes round the mountain. Soon, she was sitting beside me on the couch and asking me the words to the song.
It wasn’t long till she was bellowing out the words to the song. She especially got into it when it came to the part of killing the old red rooster. She would emphasize the word KILL very loudly. Well, Estelle stopped whatever she was doing and came to the living room doorway and was watching with astonishment as this little bundle of a girl was straining her vocal chords and singing with such abandon and joy at the prospect of KILLING the old red rooster. I wish I could go back in time and repeat that particular visit.
Now Morgan spent quite a bit of time with my sister Estelle and where we went Morgan went with us. To the coffee shop where her treat was hot chocolate and some kind of pastry while Estelle and I enjoyed our Royal Blend coffee. A stop at subway was always on the agenda where this little tyke of a girl would inhale a foot long sub sandwich. We would go to the Thrift stores in town where Estelle would look through the clothing to pick out shirts for my brother’s Edgar and Gerald. She loved to pick out bargains of brand name clothing and continually sent books and clothing to North Carolina for my brothers. I would browse the books and pick out some that both Estelle and I would enjoy. We read a lot of the same authors. Then we would drive around town to the yard sales. Now, Morgan would look through the things available, latch on to something and get all excited yelling, Mam, Mam, look at this . Look at this. I want this.
As a veteran yard sale person, I was forced to take Morgan aside and teach her how to get the best deal on whatever she had decided to get. I told her to look it over and then ask how much it was. Then to look sad and put it back down when she heard the price. Then I told her to pick out something else she did not want and take both things to the Yard Sale Boss and ask how much for both. When she heard the price, she was to look sad and put the other thing down and pull out about 17 cents. She was then to look pitiful and look at the money and look again at the item she wanted and ask the person, “Would you take 17 cents for this one alone?? After I briefed her on the procedure, I asked if she understood and if she had any questions. She said she understood perfectly. Then I watched as she ran to the yard sale table, picked up the item she wanted and yelled Mam, Mam, I want this one. I want this one. Well, eventually she caught on to my process and started making better deals. Even Estelle was impressed with her practiced bargaining skills.
I remember one time I visited Estelle when she was working at Sun River Resorts. I went to work with her. We had our coffee, came out into the garage, she unlocked her car, looked at me and said, “Get in, sit down, buckle up, and shut up.” Wow, she could be bossy at times. I always felt proud to see her finally find her keys after 10 to 15 minutes of frantic searching and she would hold up the key ring for me to see that she was using the key ring I made especially for her on my wood lathe. She loved me and I loved her.
Anyway, after a hard days work at the Resort, we went back into town and she drove to her hairdresser’s house. She handed me the keys and told me to come back in about an hour and a half to pick her up. Well, I meandered around until I found a through street to get out to the main drag of Bend and proceeded to the grocery stores to check and see if they had any of my special mustard. I roamed the pickle and mustard aisles until Store Security came back and asked if they could help me find something. I looked at my watch noticed that I had killed too much time and had to pick my sister up at the hairdresser.
I paid for the mustards and pickles and rushed out to the parking lot where I spent 11 minutes trying to find the car. Then, when I found the car, I realized that I had no idea on how to find this back street hair dresser. No street name, no address, no idea. Not a solitary idea. The only thing I could think of was that Estelle was going to eventually wring my neck. Well I knew what side of town the street was on so I drove up and down streets, back and forth, up and down and across until I covered every street and then started over. Finally, I gave up and pulled over to the curb to think. While thinking, I glanced over at the sidewalk and noticed Estelle standing there with both hands on her hips and a stern look on her face. I had stopped to rest right in front of the hairdresser’s house. She got in and asked, “What happened did you lose track of time in the pickle aisle.” She sure knew me.
We had so many nice visits and have so many treasured memories that we created together on those visits. When Estelle died, I was convinced that I could not go on with my life without my dear sister and my dear friend. I think of her several times a day and every time I have a cup of coffee I raise it to her. We drank more coffee together than the law allowed and enjoyed every cup as if it were our last. Neither of us tolerated bad coffee. What allows me to deal with her not being here is my collection of the good times we spent together. We hit the road running and made every minute count. I can close my eyes and see her love filled smile and almost feel her hug. She and I had such fun with tomfoolery and little habits. When I had to leave her to come back home, I would go into her room and leave a note on her pillow. The note always said the same thing; it was a line from a Billy Joe Royal song we both loved. The note read: “I’ll leave a note on your pillow to tell you I’m gone.” She kept every note in a little wooden box I made for her along with a few favorite pictures and some little knick-knacks. Once I forgot to leave the note and was almost through town when I remembered. I turned around and drove back to her house. She had stood in the driveway as I drove away fighting back the tears in her eyes. I didn’t want to see her cry again so I wrote a note and stuck it under the windshield wiper of her car: “I’ll leave a note on your windshield to tell you I’m gone.” I slipped away and drove home. Estelle’s favorite song was: “When Will I Be Loved”. I told her the answer was “ always”.
When she died, her daughter Sonya gave me back the notes she had saved over the years including the windshield note. They were lovingly folded and put in her wooden box that we called her possible box. Morgan asked once why we called it a possible box. I explained to her that the mountain men always kept their possibles (necessities) in a possible bag and took it with them on fur trapping missions and rendezvous’. I told her it was possible for Estelle to put anything in her possible box. Indeed she did; she kept mementos of cherished memories.
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