Daisy and Rose

Mother and I arrived in San Francisco in August of 1947.
We did not know at the time, but Mother was one month pregnant.
So Brent, in the form of an embryo, accompanied us.

We stayed with a friend of my mom's, Jenny, who lived on Twin Peaks.
Eventually we moved to 45th Avenue and, when Brent was born, moved to Great Highway.
Regretfully, I don't remember Jenny's last name or how we met Daisy and Rose.

I remember very little, and what I do remember is mostly through my mom's eyes.
I do have hazy images and strong feelings when I recall the two ladies.
They were called spinsters in those days.
Rose was my baby-sitter and one of mom's tutors in the ways and methods of living in an American city.
The photo, taken on Market Street near my dad's office, is a snapshot of my family until my Grandparents arrived from China in 1949.

Rose was soft, kind, cheerful and doted over me and my mother and brother.
I was used to women, other than my mother, to care for me.
My dad was in a Shanghai prison-camp when I was born, so my Grandfather was the only male figure for me to emulate.
In addition to my mom and her sister, Aunt Irene, was my grandmother and her sister, Great-Aunt Vera, and all their friends, mostly women.
But my main caregiver was my Amma, Mary (obviously not her Chinese name.)
So having Rose in my life seemed normal.

In April of 1948, when Brent was born, mother was 31.
She and Irene, 5 years younger, had a lot of female friends, so I remember Rose as an old person.
She looked older, dressed older, smelled older, and carried herself with a dignity not available to most young folks.
I recall nothing but love.

Rose lived with Daisy, a couple of blocks north of us on Great Highway.
I remember their home as being "old fashioned."
No modern amenities.
They had fireplaces with huge mantles in more than one room.
And comfy ornate furniture (with doilies of course.)
And a living room carpet you could hide in.
I think it was the living room.
I remember two rooms with comfy furniture, one dominated by a huge fireplace.
The fireplace mantle had vases, statuettes and other chachkas.
But what I remember most was a large bowl filled with red and white objects.
It was a cut glass bowl on a pedestal with an ornate, cut glass cover.
Inside were mints which Daisy would dole out with great care.

Daisy was a powerhouse.
She seemed to loom over the slight and frail-looking Rose.
And she dominated all that entered her sphere, especially Rose.
It would have been obvious to me that they loved one another very much, but as a five-year-old I recall being afraid of Daisy by the way she treated Rose.
Of course my dad and Daisy got along great.
Daisy and my dad were both forces of nature.
By contrast, Rose and my mom were very passive, accomodating and shy.
I would get upset when Daisy and my dad would gang up on Rose.
My mom would have to come to her rescue.
Of course, Rose came to Mother's defense when she was caught in Daisy and Dad's cross-hairs.

While Rose and my mom would be making tea, Daisy would lure me to the huge fireplace for the treat I craved.
I was scared of her.
I usually stayed close to mother or Rose when Daisy was around, but the idea of her giving me a treat was overpowering.
She would remove the cover by it's handle.
Imagine this cover.
A cut glass semisphere, which meant it was very heavy.
Protruding from the top was a cut glass spire which looked like huge rough cut diamonds piled upon one another.
A handle of large diamonds on the bottom and tapering up to the smallest with a large round multifaceted orb on the top.

Laying the top on the mantle, Daisy would bring the bowl of goodies down for me to select one.
A little smaller than a jaw-breaker.
White with erratic red striping.
At first glance, shaped like a football with the tips cut off.
A closer look showed that the "football" was deflated and flattened on opposite sides.
An even closer look showed it was not solid.
Honeycombed, but not uniformly.
Peppermint.
Not like the chocolate covered mints my grandfather liked.
Not like the candy canes at Christmas.
And not like anything else.

"Now just take one," Daisy would command.
They weighed almost nothing.
It was peppermint air.
Hard when you pop it your mouth, it immediately began to melt.
Melting is as close as I can come to the feeling in your mouth.
It transforms from a solid to a paste without chewing. And the flavor intensifies as it transforms into that gooey concentration of mint.
I don't remember, but I imagine that any second mint would be contingent on my agreeing to behave and obey everyone taller than me (or everyone but Brent.)

Daisy and Rose were both older than my grandparents.
They were remnants of the 19th century.
In some small way, they gave me a taste of the elegance and beauty of a refined culture.
When I am quick to put-down the bourguise and their mores, I should remember the civility that I experienced from these wonderful women.
The photo is one of my favorites (and one of Mother's favorites too.)
Take note of the traffic light over Mother's left shoulder