I'm Blessed

I only remember plainly about five incidents during this stay in Mpls. One, my mother took me for a walk down the street from our upstairs apartment. As we were walking I saw a small white dog running along the sidewalk back and forth with us. The dog would occasionally go up to a tree and lift its leg. I had no idea what for but I thought it was cute. I wanted to be cute so I went off of the sidewalk and lifted my leg to a tree. My mother made it plain to me that that she did not think it was cute and that I should cease and desist from that kind of activity. So I did. Another incident, it was morning, I was sitting at the table, must have been summer as I had on shorts, waiting for my mother to dish up the oatmeal. While dishing it up, a hot gob landed on my leg. I was not long in letting her know how unhappy I was. It was a while before she could figure out why. I still have the scare to show for it. The third thing, my aunt Francis was staying with us, she had a sewing basket and apparently it got spilled beside the closet. I was crawling around on the floor for some reason when a needle went into my leg out of sight. I had to wait until my dad got home from work to take me to the hospital. My dad had a problem that unless he had a full stomach he had a hard time with events like this, later on I found he could not butcher a cow unless he had a full stomach. I remember sitting on a table and watching as the Dr. cut a gash in my leg below and on the right side of my right knee. He then went in with pliers and pulled out a needle that was bent at almost a 90-degree angle. The fourth thing I recall, I wanted a drink of milk and apparently there was not any milk in the icebox. I cried for milk until my mother offered me some breast milk she had pumped for either Fern or Donald, I do not know which, I did not like it at all. I do not know when I got milk. The fifth thing I recall, we were eating Sunday dinner when a neighbor, teen age girl came running up the stairs hollering, “Your house is on fire.” Dad picked up Fern, mother picked up baby Donald and I was herded down the stairs ahead of them. Half way down we met the fire chief coming up, he asked if we had insurance, my dad said no. The chief hollered back down the stairs, “bring up the canvass boys.” They would not turn on the water until all of out stuff was pushed into the middle of the room and covered with a canvass. Only one little disaster, a fireman fell through the roof, fell on the table and broke a saucer. They figured the fire was started by squirrels chewing the wires in the attic; it was knob and tube wiring of course back in those days.