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I Am Mrs. Binder

I don’t think of myself as “old”.


But what IS old?  I mean, when does old start?  Does it creep up slowly?  Is it an overnight thing – where you go to bed one night middle aged and wake up the next morning old? 


I don’t believe that old is tied to a number, an age.  I have known people who were in their 30s that felt “old”. 


I had a beautiful interaction this weekend that made me realize, in the eyes of the world around me, I am indeed “old”, no matter how I feel or look in my own eyes when I look in the mirror.  And while at first that was a bit jarring to me, as I pondered it I thought back to all of the “old” women in my life, and I smiled.  I have become Mrs. Binder.


Mr. and Mrs. Binder were our next-door neighbors growing up in Omaha, Nebraska.  I lived in the same house from the time I was born until I left for college, and Mr. and Mrs. Binder were a constant. 


When I look back now, I realize that we didn’t have much interaction with them really, but for some reason we had an Easter tradition that included them.  Every Easter my sisters and I would get new Easter outfits.  Our mom didn’t stop with the Easter dress, oh no.  We also got the socks, the purse, the shoes, and sometimes even the hat.  We would get all dressed up in our Easter finery, and before we got in the car to go to church, we walked next door to Mr. and Mrs. Binder’s house.


How this “fashion show” of sorts began I do not know.  But one morning a year we would parade next door, ring the front doorbell, and be invited into the living room to display our grand new outfits.  The neighbors would ooh and ahh, and I am sure I felt proud. 

My sisters and me, Easter circa 1969 I think.  It looks like I have to pee, but I think I was just excited about my new handbag!  We recreated this photo 50 years later, you can see that at the end of this piece.

My mother and I, Easter 1968

Sherry, Annette and Susan in their Easter finery, 1968

The only other thing I really remember about Mrs. Binder (there was a Mr. Binder but I don’t think I interacted much with him) is that she BOUGHT MY ROCKS.  Once, when I was very young, I decided to start a business.  My mom was taking a nap on the sofa, and I was left to play on my own.  Someone up the street (it was a steep hill) must have been washing their car, because a steady “river” was washing down our side of the street.  The water, glistening in the summer sun, made the small rocks that it was jumping over appear beautiful.  Why, those rocks looked like gems! 


So, I took the very prettiest rocks and I lined them up on the small flat bit on the back on my tricycle.  Then I rode that red tricycle over to Mr. and Mrs. Binder’s house and rang the doorbell.  Of course, the rocks had dried by then, so they showed their true nature:  dull, gray pebbles.  But when I told Mrs. Binder they were for sale, she ran and got some money and invested in some.  That transaction made me so happy!!


I guess I do remember one more thing about old Mrs. Binder.  When I was very little and hadn’t learned to blow my nose yet, for some reason I stuck something up my nostril.  It was either a BEAN or a BEAD, I cannot remember.  But at that age, my version of “blowing my nose” was to wait until Mom held a tissue under my nostrils, and then suck IN as hard as I could.


Well…  The “suck in” technique was not going to work well with a child who had mistakenly thought it would be a good idea to put a bean/bead up their nose!  My mom, home with me alone, panicked and rushed me nextdoor, where Mrs. Binder quickly and expertly TAUGHT ME TO BLOW MY NOSE OUT instead of IN.  I have thought about that experience as an adult and wondered what in heaven’s name made my mom think the old lady next door would be a good resource in that instance, and how the hell Mrs. Binder worked her magic on me.


There were other “old” ladies in the neighborhood.  Mrs. McCoubrey – who as a child I thought was cranky and mean, but now I realize that she was caretaker to a blind daughter and did not have any of the resources that would be available to them now.  There was Mrs. Sopich – I never knew her, but I knew the smell of her house.  You know how every house has a certain smell?  The Sopich house had a recognizable one.  There was Mrs. Perich – who was funny and caring and WORKED (my mom didn’t) and always had the most beautiful flocked Christmas tree that seemed so exotic to me and juggled oh so much – a family and caring for a disabled husband.  There was "Nettsie" - the only "old" woman who was not referred to as Mrs. - Nettsie who handed out full size Chick-O-Sticks every Halloween (that all of the other trick-or-treaters thought were disgusting but I loved and felt like I had won the jackpot to get a big one every year).  There was Mrs. Polak – who kept her house sparkling clean and always had a big smile.


Those were the “old” ladies in my neighborhood.  And now I am the “old” lady in mine.


A beautiful woman came up to me yesterday at a sale we were having.  She was well dressed, nice hair and make-up, and looked to me to be a strong, successful woman.  She smiled at me as she asked if I was the person who lived in this house.  I told her that yes, my husband and I live here.  And her smile got even wider as she said, “I have always wanted to meet you!”.


She explained that she grew up just a couple of blocks away from our home.  She walked by our house daily and was always excited to see what kind of magic would be happening here.  She talked about us giving away coats and mittens (and her voice sounded so warm and lovely).   She talked about the yard signs.  And she said, happily, “One time I found a note!  It was from here.  There was a note with money.  And the note said that I should use the money to do something kind”.


I could sense the nostalgia in her story – remembering happy times of her youth like I remember selling rocks to Mrs. Binder.  I think she told me that she couldn’t remember exactly what she did with the money, but it was something kind. 


Meeting this woman, now grown and living in a place of her own, made me realize that I have come full circle.  I am now the “old” lady of the neighborhood.  We have lived in this house for 22 years – that whole woman’s life.  From the time she rode by the Big Yellow House in a stroller to the time she left for college, we were her neighbors.  I may not have had a private fashion show featuring her Easter dress every year, but I was her Mrs. Binder. 


And I guess I am the Mrs. Binder for loads of other neighborhood children.  For Simon, Nico, and Miles.  For Ixel and Baby John.  For Jonny, and Rahim, and Lissy.  For Ollie and Abbie.  For Bean, and Xeus, and Butter.  For Hareer.  For Mary.  For Kitcha and Sophie.  For Ellie and Portia and the new kids that come to the pantry whose names I cannot remember yet and Kitty and RyRy and Eliza and Quinn and Caden and Jude and June Bug and Daisy and Lucy and Sarah and Dex and Vahn, and, and, and many, many other names I am leaving out here.


So, I will take being “old”.  I don’t think I look it, and I certainly don’t feel it.  But if being “old” means helping neighbor kids grow up with memories that last them a lifetime, I am all for old.  Bring it on. 

And now - artwork by some my friends:

By Hareer
By Eliza


By Jonny (they are HEARTS :) )

By Mary

By June Bug
And finally, our recreation of the infamous 1969 Easter photo.  Annette (in the middle) already had brain cancer.  We went back to the house we grew up in and the current owner not only let us stand in the same spot 50 years later for the photo, but he gave us a tour of the house and let us change into our costumes in the bathroom.  

 


Comments

Anonymous said…
Thanks for this message (and for remembering my Mom). I love it!!!💜💜💜

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