Unlocking Cousin Daisy's Cabinet

C Brutting Thomas

Description

'Unlocking Cousin Daisy's Cabinet' is a riveting, beautifully written and highly engaging compendium of a life well-lived and told in intensely personal yet also widely accessible recollections. It details and highlights the experiences, challenges, and adventures that the author has lived and his grapples with fate and destiny using his determination and all his energies.From a working-class, immigrant neighborhood in New York to witnessing the 'Cold War' Soviet Union, this thought-provoking memoir covers many timely topics. It reveals regional life in the U.S.A., work, politics, prejudice, religion, family dynamics, education, world travel and culture. It also recounts the consequences of the untimely murder of a friend. At times provocative, frequently amusing, it is an authentic portrayal of life's experiences.

Sujets

• Memoir
• Philosophie et théologie

Informations

• Publié par: Distributed by eBookpartnership
• Date de parution: 01 avril 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781839784545
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Unlocking Cousin Daisy’s Cabinet
personal recollections
Thomas C. Brutting


Unlocking Cousin Daisy’s Cabinet
Published by The Conrad Press Ltd. in the United Kingdom 2022
Tel: [phone]
www.theconradpress.com
[e-mail]
ISBN 978-1-839784-54-5
Copyright © Thomas C. Brutting, 2022
All rights reserved.
Crossing I, a painting by Nila Rusnell Oakes, 1999, owned by the author is used on the book cover. Typesetting and Cover Design by: Charlotte Mouncey, www.bookstyle.co.uk
The Conrad Press logo was designed by Maria Priestley.


For Michael, who I sincerely wish could have heard these recollections directly from me…
and to Mrs. Robinson, a Kindergarten teacher at PS 112 in Long Island City, NY, who changed the course of my life in 1960.
Finally, to the person bringing me the most joy, Ed.


Introduction
L ife takes many twists and turns. What we do with our lives, the adventures we have, and the experiences that influence our sense of self: all these add up in the most unpredictable and remarkable ways to create who we are.
I have always been amazed how people, especially some Americans, are able to live and stay in one place their entire lives. That certainly has not been my reality. I have made six major moves in my life, always to a different geographic place in the United States. My experiences in each had a lasting impact.
This is a compilation of excerpts and recollections from my life, all true-life events. The places, people and names are genuine, as are all the experiences. The chapters can be read individually as short narratives; yet they all are interrelated in various ways. They are purposely not in any chronological order. This is meant to mix things up a bit; to be reflective of the individuality and uniqueness of the event or person discussed.
We can never control where we were born and I figure myself privileged to have been born in New York City, a leading city of the world; and to have lived in the South, Midwest, and the West. My time in those places will be outlined with what made each region interesting and special in their own way, and the influence each one had on me.
Life, for me, has been a fascinating mix of many people, places, insights, and encounters. I feel very fortunate to have been exposed to so many unique things, although some tragic too. I have always tried to move beyond whatever unforeseen circumstances may arise putting an unpleasant twist in my life. Yet there has been a richness in my life with the unexpected events that occurred along the way, both good and bad.
I apologize in advance for any disagreement over cultural observations as they are merely taken from my perspective at the time. Keeping in mind, as well, that what I observed at age eleven or twelve might be observed quite different at age forty or fifty, just from maturity.
I reflect on my sixty-five years, a lifespan I view in segments, phases and small books that open and close as the years progress. The enormous joy and pain over time has resulted in my appreciation of the importance of having values and integrity in one’s life, a foundation gifted from my parents.
I have found that treasures are not in financial assets, but rather in the people we meet, the friends and family we have, and the many wonderful experiences one can discover in the world.
Let’s take the journey together.
Thomas C. Brutting, February 2022


Chapter 1
Unlocking Cousin Daisy’s cabinet
L et us get right to the crux of explaining about Daisy, and her cabinet.
Daisy is the cousin of my mother’s best friend, Marguerite. My mother had moved to San Francisco from Florida in 1996 after my father died of cancer in the fiftieth year of their marriage. They had retired to Florida and lived there for fifteen years before his passing. My mother was quite brave to make such a significant move to California while in her late seventies. Her prime reason was to be closer to me, her only child. She moved with three boxes and a suitcase of clothes.
In starting her new San Francisco, California life I convinced her to give up driving and her big Florida car. After arriving we had to get her a California I.D. card in lieu of a driver’s license which required presenting her birth certificate. Low and behold with all the carefully stored and organized documents my father had put together there was no birth certificate for her.
I wrote to the Bureau of Records in New York City where she was born, noting her birth date, and they came up with nothing. Following many attempts for conversation she refused to discuss it, but then one day she blurted out, ‘they can send me back if they want!’. That led me to wonder if she hadn’t been born in this country and had been hiding it. I finally enlisted a friend in New York to go to the Bureau and investigate it. They said they could search further, for an additional fee, and comb through previous and subsequent years from the date given. Well, low and behold, we found a birth certificate for her three years prior to her claimed birth year! She refused to acknowledge it, and asserted it wasn’t hers since the first name was slightly different, Dora in lieu of Dorothy. Yet the parents’ names lined up. She had also claimed to be younger than her brother, which turned out to not be true as well.
Getting an I.D. was not easy, even with the birth certificate we now had in hand, as none of her other legal documents lined up with the same year. I enlisted the office of Senator Quentin Kopp who with an explanation of the circumstances got it done. With her California I.D. issued, she never wanted to talk about it again. Yet a couple of years later during a lunch she finally decided to unravel the mystery. She told that when she married my father in 1945, he decided to change the year to put it in alignment with the year he was born! It wasn’t vanity, or being an older woman, or anything of that nature, just his whim which apparently you could easily do in those days! Case closed.
In her new San Francisco home, she met Marguerite, a widow of approximately the same age, in the high-rise apartment building where they both lived, and developed a truly good friendship. She was very much like my mother in many ways, including her demeanor, and held secrets too. They called each other every morning to check in and be sure everything was OK. Marguerite, of Greek heritage, was a native San Franciscan and took my mother under her wing to accumulate her to life in the city. Since I convinced my mother against driving in the city, and Marguerite didn’t drive either, instead of cabs they rode public transportation everywhere. It was almost a daily outing, a treat, for them to ride long distances by bus or subway.
Marguerite lived on the fourth floor in a two-bedroom apartment while my mother lived on the twelfth, top floor, in a one bedroom that she so eloquently called ‘the penthouse’. The apartments were large, and my mother’s place had a great view out to the ocean. She kept it sparsely furnished, yet comfortable for her needs.
I typically telephoned her at seven thirty each morning for a check-in call. During one of these calls, I found out that the elevators, for whatever reason, weren’t working the day before. She discovered it after returning home from shopping. I asked her what she did as living on the twelfth floor at her age presented some challenges. The possibility of the elevators being inoperable was one thing she feared when first looking at the apartment. Well, it happened periodically, and she proudly told me that she walked up the stairs. Yes, twelve flights. I asked why she did not stop at Marguerite’s place on the fourth floor, at least until the elevators worked again, and she quickly responded, ‘I wanted to be home’. She was an avid walker and no need to discuss it further. End of story.
She and Marguerite made friends with the bus drivers who came to know them from their frequent excursions. Going food shopping at the farthest place possible, just for the ride, made their day. There is an infamous Safeway in San Francisco’s Marina neighborhood known for decades where people cruised for a pickup or a date. Guess where they went? Right there! It was way out of their way, but they went, nonetheless. I used to tease my mother about it.
Marguerite had a cousin, Daisy, who was quite wealthy and lived in an enormous Pacific Heights mansion. From the story I heard Daisy’s husband made money by building and owning one of the primary parking garages in downtown San Francisco. I guess parking is quite profitable. In any case they lived quite lavishly.
On occasion Marguerite would go check on the place while Daisy was away; or stay there for short stints. She apparently was not fond of it; and disliked the vastness of each floor with a multitude of rooms on each. Sometimes my mother would accompany Marguerite to check on the place during Daisy’s absence.
Eventually Daisy passed away. Marguerite received an ornate Chinese cabinet from the mansion. From recollection it stood about four to five feet high, about two feet deep, quite beautiful and was permanently locked; no key.
Well, of course, this locked cabinet that Marguerite received, without really wanting it from what I understood, became a great fascination and frustration to know what was inside.
She was totally perplexed and very anxious to get it open, so over many days she tried with everything from toothpicks to bobby pins to old keys, nothing worked. The lock was LOCKED. Discussing it with my mother she was certain something must be inside if indeed it had been locked. Why lock it otherwise?
My husband, Ed, and I were visiting my mother one afternoon, and the phone rang. It was Marguerite. When she learned we were visiting she asked if we’d come do