| Biographical Non-Fiction posted August 17, 2020 | Chapters: |
...54 55 -56- 57... 
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Changing circumstances make life more interesting.
A chapter in the book Remembering Yesterday
Life is Full of Changes
by BethShelby
| Background We've lived in an apartment for months, but my husband's company will move us once more if we buy a house. This chapter is about our search and job changes as well as another little surprise. |
On weekends, we began looking at open houses. We contacted an agent, and he made appointments that took us to houses all over Jefferson Parish, but nothing really appealed to us. Most of the lots were small, and the houses were close together and priced above our budget. We'd both been raised on acreage, and that is what we preferred. We realized we'd need to revise our preferences while we lived in this part of the world.
One day, I found a new listing in the paper for a house for sale by owner, and I called about it. A lady with a foreign accent informed me that she had a buyer come by and look that morning, and he had immediately signed a contract to buy it.
She said I could come by and look anyway, in case the contract fell through. The price was very reasonable, and I felt compelled to go look. The house was owned by a Norwegian couple. The man was a sea captain and was away most of the time, but his wife had power of attorney to sell. I fell in love with the house. It was in a great location, just a block from the lake. I liked the white stone-cut brick exterior. The lots on both sides were empty. I just felt that this was the house we were supposed to buy. It was disappointing to know that it had been scooped up by someone as soon as the listing hit the paper. Mrs. Larson took my number and said if anything should change, she would give me a call. After that, I had no desire to look further.
"Come with me and look at the house that I want us to buy," I begged you.
"But you said the lady told you it was already sold. What is the point of me looking?" you asked.
"I can't help but feel this is our house. It won't hurt you to look. Come see if you like it." So we drove over and you liked it, but you only saw it from the outside. You were convinced it was foolish to pin my hopes on a house that was already sold.
Three weeks later, Mrs. Larson called to say that the contract had fallen through. The buyer couldn't qualify to buy the house. This time you went with me to look inside. It was a three bedroom, two bath home with a living room and a kitchen dining area. It was only a couple of years old. The lot was narrow, but the backyard was fairly large and full of trees. The front was landscaped with flowering bushes. There were a lot of pines that she had planted, because pine trees made her think of her home in Norway. It only had a single carport, but since the lot beside it was empty, and the owner wasn't planning to sell, there would be a spot to park your truck. You hated having houses so close as they were in most neighborhoods, so you agreed this would work for us. The price was only $30,000, which would fit well into our budget. We signed a contract immediately.
We continued going back to Mississippi once or twice a month. Since no one was living in our Brandon home, the insurance company decided to cancel our policy. This seemed to be a sign that it was time to let it go, so we turned it over to an agent, who sold it quickly. Selling that place where you'd worked so hard to make our forever home, was like letting go of a dream for you. We'd lived there less than two years. We made a small profit on the place which allowed us to put more down on the house we were buying. When we closed on the new house, we'd been living in the area about nine months. Chevron sent the movers to our apartment to pack everything and move us to our new location.
Our new house was about a mile away from where the apartment was. It was in an area where new houses were going up. Mrs. Larson was anxious to move back to Norway, and she had a dog which she couldn't take with her. So in addition to the house, we got a little mixed terrier, named Blackie. The problem was the dog didn't eat dog food. His diet consisted mostly of rice. Rice was not on the menu at our house, so Blackie began taking most of his meals down the street with a neighbor, who served him rice regularly. He had a sharp little bark which he used frequently. He had another habit that was especially annoying to anyone riding down our street on a bike. He would chase them down the street barking and nipping at the ankles of the rider.
Don, once again, had his own room and Carol and Christi shared a room. We bought bunk beds for the girls. You and I explored our new location and discovered that we could walk a block down to where a pumping station was located beside a canal, and there was a path that led back to a paved walking and bike trail that went for miles along Lake Pontchartrain. It was lined with trees on one side and large rocks on the lake side. Since everything in Jefferson Parrish and most of Louisiana is flat, it was easy to walk or ride bikes without getting overly heated or tired. Trips to the lake soon became a daily excursion. Even the kids liked these hikes.
****
Since working at the newspaper, I'd been made head of the department during my shift. At one point, I had problems with a mean tempered Spanish guy, who resented being told what to do by a female. We had some strong words, and he stomped out, threatening to get even with me.
Another day, the shift had ended and everyone had gone home in my department, I assumed the pressmen were still working, and I had some work I needed to finish. When I got ready to leave, I realized I was the only person left in a large, old, and very eerie building, and it was starting to get dark outside. To my dismay, I was locked in. I found a number and got in touch with the plant manager, but he was far enough away that it was going to be an hour before he could get someone to come and let me out. I called you and told you my plight. You and the kids came over and sat in the car, until I could be released by one of the senior pressmen, who had a key. That part of Airline Highway wasn't the safest spot in the city.
Vicente, the Cuban refugee I mentioned earlier, was the only highlight of my work at this printing plant. He was a pleasure to work with. He had great relationships with his family and an interesting history to talk about. At one point he brought me a large, skillfully-crafted model of a boat which he had made and said he'd like me to give it to my son. In turn, I gave him an oil painting I had done of a seascape. To me, this was proof that men and women could work together as friends without anyone getting wrong ideas. There were morally decent men in the work force, unlike some of the guys I had worked with in past jobs.
Work had slowed down, and the plant manager decided to go to two shifts. He said he would need me to head up the night shift. I wasn't about to work nights. We didn't need the money that bad, so once again, I went looking for work. This time I found an ad for one of the better printing companies. They were looking for someone to strip negatives and make printing plates. This company was set up to do the kind of work I'd been trained for in Nashville. They were using the better masking paper and vinyl sheets that makes color-process work stable. The company was located near where we lived, so this seemed an ideal place to work.
With a new house and a new job, other changes were in the making. It was September and another school year was starting. The people I'd carpooled with during the Spring semester had moved away, and I'd found another couple to carpool with. They had two boys, a little younger than my children.
In October, I missed a period and began to count the days, before I could go to a doctor to find out if another child might be on the way. In 1972, it wasn't possible to run to the drugstore for a pregnancy test. An early test meant killing a female rabbit to examine its ovary. I figured I could wait one more month and spare the rabbit. This would definitely not be a planned pregnancy. You thought three children was the perfect number and another child might mean your plans for an early retirement were slipping away. On the other hand, now that my other children were older, I missed having a little one to hold, and my biological clock was still ticking at age thirty-four. We would know soon enough.
One day, I found a new listing in the paper for a house for sale by owner, and I called about it. A lady with a foreign accent informed me that she had a buyer come by and look that morning, and he had immediately signed a contract to buy it.
She said I could come by and look anyway, in case the contract fell through. The price was very reasonable, and I felt compelled to go look. The house was owned by a Norwegian couple. The man was a sea captain and was away most of the time, but his wife had power of attorney to sell. I fell in love with the house. It was in a great location, just a block from the lake. I liked the white stone-cut brick exterior. The lots on both sides were empty. I just felt that this was the house we were supposed to buy. It was disappointing to know that it had been scooped up by someone as soon as the listing hit the paper. Mrs. Larson took my number and said if anything should change, she would give me a call. After that, I had no desire to look further.
"Come with me and look at the house that I want us to buy," I begged you.
"But you said the lady told you it was already sold. What is the point of me looking?" you asked.
"I can't help but feel this is our house. It won't hurt you to look. Come see if you like it." So we drove over and you liked it, but you only saw it from the outside. You were convinced it was foolish to pin my hopes on a house that was already sold.
Three weeks later, Mrs. Larson called to say that the contract had fallen through. The buyer couldn't qualify to buy the house. This time you went with me to look inside. It was a three bedroom, two bath home with a living room and a kitchen dining area. It was only a couple of years old. The lot was narrow, but the backyard was fairly large and full of trees. The front was landscaped with flowering bushes. There were a lot of pines that she had planted, because pine trees made her think of her home in Norway. It only had a single carport, but since the lot beside it was empty, and the owner wasn't planning to sell, there would be a spot to park your truck. You hated having houses so close as they were in most neighborhoods, so you agreed this would work for us. The price was only $30,000, which would fit well into our budget. We signed a contract immediately.
We continued going back to Mississippi once or twice a month. Since no one was living in our Brandon home, the insurance company decided to cancel our policy. This seemed to be a sign that it was time to let it go, so we turned it over to an agent, who sold it quickly. Selling that place where you'd worked so hard to make our forever home, was like letting go of a dream for you. We'd lived there less than two years. We made a small profit on the place which allowed us to put more down on the house we were buying. When we closed on the new house, we'd been living in the area about nine months. Chevron sent the movers to our apartment to pack everything and move us to our new location.
Our new house was about a mile away from where the apartment was. It was in an area where new houses were going up. Mrs. Larson was anxious to move back to Norway, and she had a dog which she couldn't take with her. So in addition to the house, we got a little mixed terrier, named Blackie. The problem was the dog didn't eat dog food. His diet consisted mostly of rice. Rice was not on the menu at our house, so Blackie began taking most of his meals down the street with a neighbor, who served him rice regularly. He had a sharp little bark which he used frequently. He had another habit that was especially annoying to anyone riding down our street on a bike. He would chase them down the street barking and nipping at the ankles of the rider.
Don, once again, had his own room and Carol and Christi shared a room. We bought bunk beds for the girls. You and I explored our new location and discovered that we could walk a block down to where a pumping station was located beside a canal, and there was a path that led back to a paved walking and bike trail that went for miles along Lake Pontchartrain. It was lined with trees on one side and large rocks on the lake side. Since everything in Jefferson Parrish and most of Louisiana is flat, it was easy to walk or ride bikes without getting overly heated or tired. Trips to the lake soon became a daily excursion. Even the kids liked these hikes.
****
Since working at the newspaper, I'd been made head of the department during my shift. At one point, I had problems with a mean tempered Spanish guy, who resented being told what to do by a female. We had some strong words, and he stomped out, threatening to get even with me.
Another day, the shift had ended and everyone had gone home in my department, I assumed the pressmen were still working, and I had some work I needed to finish. When I got ready to leave, I realized I was the only person left in a large, old, and very eerie building, and it was starting to get dark outside. To my dismay, I was locked in. I found a number and got in touch with the plant manager, but he was far enough away that it was going to be an hour before he could get someone to come and let me out. I called you and told you my plight. You and the kids came over and sat in the car, until I could be released by one of the senior pressmen, who had a key. That part of Airline Highway wasn't the safest spot in the city.
Vicente, the Cuban refugee I mentioned earlier, was the only highlight of my work at this printing plant. He was a pleasure to work with. He had great relationships with his family and an interesting history to talk about. At one point he brought me a large, skillfully-crafted model of a boat which he had made and said he'd like me to give it to my son. In turn, I gave him an oil painting I had done of a seascape. To me, this was proof that men and women could work together as friends without anyone getting wrong ideas. There were morally decent men in the work force, unlike some of the guys I had worked with in past jobs.
Work had slowed down, and the plant manager decided to go to two shifts. He said he would need me to head up the night shift. I wasn't about to work nights. We didn't need the money that bad, so once again, I went looking for work. This time I found an ad for one of the better printing companies. They were looking for someone to strip negatives and make printing plates. This company was set up to do the kind of work I'd been trained for in Nashville. They were using the better masking paper and vinyl sheets that makes color-process work stable. The company was located near where we lived, so this seemed an ideal place to work.
With a new house and a new job, other changes were in the making. It was September and another school year was starting. The people I'd carpooled with during the Spring semester had moved away, and I'd found another couple to carpool with. They had two boys, a little younger than my children.
In October, I missed a period and began to count the days, before I could go to a doctor to find out if another child might be on the way. In 1972, it wasn't possible to run to the drugstore for a pregnancy test. An early test meant killing a female rabbit to examine its ovary. I figured I could wait one more month and spare the rabbit. This would definitely not be a planned pregnancy. You thought three children was the perfect number and another child might mean your plans for an early retirement were slipping away. On the other hand, now that my other children were older, I missed having a little one to hold, and my biological clock was still ticking at age thirty-four. We would know soon enough.
 Recognized |
I'm continuing to recall memories of life with my deceased husband as if I am talking aloud to him. I'm doing this because I want my children to know us as we knew each other and not just as their parents.
Picture of sunset on trail along Lake Ponchatrain
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Picture of sunset on trail along Lake Ponchatrain
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