Posting about Janey and our trip to the beach reminded me of another memory I have of her. I told you that she always seemed to love me for who I was, and this is an example of that. This had to have happened when I was about 6, because I did not see that side of my family from about 7 to 13. It’s a mixed up jumble of a memory story, and one that my adult mind has no reference for sorting out, due to the gap I mentioned, so bear with me.
I remember being at Janey’s house, and she had a kitchen with the dining room on one end. Beside the kitchen, running parallel to it, was what may have been a formal dining room, but was used as a family room. Uncle Mike kept his track in there. I can’t remember if it was a train track or a car track, I just remember that it was very large, taking up a good sized rug, one of those thick ones, very plush, cream with pinkish flowers. And I remember him laughing as he played with it. Mike has a laugh that is contagious. It makes you happy just to hear it. My cousin was just a baby on this weekend that I remember.
Anyway, Janey made a jello, and she showed it to me, and told me it was for supper, and that it had to set, and she put it in the refrigerator. Several times that afternoon, Janey caught me opening that refrigerator door, but finally I got it open when she wasn’t looking. And I put my finger right on that tempting red jello. Of course, it was mostly set by then, and there was my finger print. Right there. On the jello. In the jello. Hard evidence that not only had I peeked at the jello, but I had actually touched it. I did not open that refrigerator again that day, needless to say.
Well, suppertime came, and the moment of doom with it. Janey opened the frig and took out the incriminating finger-printed jello. She looked at it, and she said, “Denise, did you put your finger in my jello?”. Her voice had that same musical loving sound that it always had. And I said “no ma’am”. And Janey said, “ok” and served the jello, and nothing more was ever said between us about it.