CHAPTER #12

Long Island, a new job, Mum and Chichi.

No weight on that broken ankle for a month and then a new walking cast would allow me freedom from crutches. Don, mercifully, back in Long Island because Papboy and Mary fussing around was more than enough for me.

Going back to work at CARC seemed out of the question so wheels were set in motion to find a replacement secretary. Fortunately Dr. Roeher understood the situation perfectly and, before long, had engaged someone else to take my place. As a postscript to my time at CARC, I was sad to read, many years later, that Dr. Roeher had been killed in a plane crash.

Six weeks later the cast came off my injured ankle and, apart from a still angry-looking scar from lip to nose and several new bumps and depressions on my lips, I was able to walk about town without frightening the horses. There was one problem, though. I couldn't pronounce my "p's" properly. They came out like "f's". Don lamented that I would never be able to work for a lawyer because I would be required to say "the party of the first part" and you know what that would have come out like.

In August '66, my US visa and work permit were granted at last. Don flew to Toronto so that we could have one last trip up to Pig before driving my newly repaired VW back to Long Island. Papboy seemed disconsolate but since he and bachelor Jimmy had bonded so well we knew they would keep busy traipsing around the countryside looking for trouble.

Pap did, indeed, manage to find some trouble when he bought a run-down old chicken farm, in the village of Welcome, shortly after our departure. The "farm" was devoid of chickens but extremely well-populated with fleas. Pap actually persuaded himself that he was going to build something on the property one day, but it never happened and the flea farm was eventually put on the chopping block.

Once we got settled in Huntington, I enjoyed fixing up our own home for the first time. Every house we had lived in up to this point had belonged to someone else, most of them with a lot more money than we had to spend on decorating, too. Being thrifty by nature, I scoured house sales, furniture sales, and flea markets, to find bargains some of which have remained an integral part of our furnishings to this day. Two stuffed and arm-less chairs have been particularly beloved by a succession of Siamese cats who considered the nicely curved back and sides to be perfectly elegant scratching pads.

As soon as decorating the house had been fully completed, I started checking out employment possibilities. First I took a job in a one-woman office working for a man who made some sort of gauges that regulated water levels.... I think.... it was a long time ago. I spent the days dusting furniture, sharpening pencils, taking an occasional telephone call and putting up curtains made of fibreglass that left my hands and arms covered with painful scratches. I seldom saw my employer and so, after a couple of months of inactivity, I got fed up and started looking elsewhere for a more challenging job.

This turned out to be in a busy orthodontist's office in Smithtown (about 30 minutes drive down a highway from Huntington). At the interview Dr. Conarck gave me an extensive IQ test. He told me that I didn't do well on any of the math questions, but said he liked my personality and hired me to start right away. I was chuffed to hear about the "personality" part, that's for sure.

It was midwinter and during my first day at the office, a blizzard dropped so much snow on New York that the highway closed down completely. Don called to suggest that I stay in a motel room for the night and, at first, Dr. C. tried to help me find one. Then he must have spoken to his wife about it because he insisted that I spend the night with them instead: would I mind sharing a room with his mother-in-law? It was the last thing I wanted to do, but what could I say? "Thank you very much, I'd be most grateful" was all I could think of.

So we struggled through massive snowdrifts to the Conarck home and I spent an uncomfortable night sleeping in my undies, listening to the mother-in-law snoring loudly. At least I was given a new toothbrush but, with no make-up to wear the next morning, I felt positively scruffy and in dire need of a shower. It was an odd start to a job that eventually became stressful enough to give me high blood pressure and put me on tranquillizers for 18 months.

My new office was really quite elegant: carpets and wall coverings in soft colours, comfortable chairs, good paintings and a play area for children downstairs. I was the receptionist who also did bookkeeping, all the secretarial work and everything else associated with a busy practice that dealt with more than 50 children a day. I worked behind a glass wall, like a bank teller, and used a microphone to talk to the patients; or they could talk to me through a hole in the glass if they wanted to.

At first I practised using all kinds of sultry voices over the mike but when it got really busy I would simply push the button and yell out the name of the next victim. Sometimes parents would drop their children off and then leave. If the children misbehaved, I went out and read the riot act to them very sternly. I do believe that if I'd had a whip I would have cracked it. Maybe it's just as well I didn't have any children of my own, after all.

One of my extra curricular duties at the office involved gerbils.

Dr. Conarck had ordered two gerbils for the play area from a catalogue. Unfortunately children poked at them so much that they lost their sex drive and wouldn't procreate. This was not good, as there was a growing list of anxious patients waiting to become adoptive parents. The list even specified whether the adoptee should be male or female. Fortunately I could tell which was which because the male's hind end was pointier than the more-rounded female one. Each child was told, of course, that only one gerbil was allowed per little person.

When the situation got critical, and whining became unbearable, Dr. Conarck bought two more (hopefully sexier) gerbils from a pet store and took the sterile pair home. The two new gerbils didn't seem to mind children looking on at all, they were as randy as rabbits, and within a few weeks (or maybe six) they had produced their first litter of five: eyes shut, sans hair, bright red and squeaky. I started to spit on the end of my pencil, eagerly, getting ready to reduce the waiting list by five.

Taking my duties seriously, as always, I went downstairs to check on the new brood the day after they were born only to discover that one of the five was missing. That's funny, I thought. Maybe I had miscounted. Puzzled, I changed the water and replenished the kibbles. The next day, there was only three left. What was going on? I looked all round the office, then counted again. Definitely only three. Then it dawned on me that either one, or both, of those parents was a cannibal - they had eaten two of their own babies! Horrified, I reported the infanticide to Dr. C. As usual, we suspected the male, found a box and removed him immediately. Since no more babies were eaten after that we assumed that the male must have been jealous of the competition and had simply decided to eat it.

The handbook, however, advised that cannibalism would occur if the gerbils were stressed out and so, from then on, whenever a litter was born the gerbils were transported to the Conarck home to breed and feed in peace. It worked for the sterile pair too because, in the privacy of the Conark home, they also started to produce offspring. Our waiting list soon emptied and it wasn't long before I was pleading for new adoptive parents and offering pairs and triplets as special incentives for good behaviour. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn't.

In all the years of separation from my family in South Africa, my mother and I kept up a weekly exchange of letters that helped us to stay connected even though we were many thousands of miles apart. So now, three years after my father's death, I wanted her to visit us in Long Island for as long as she could stay.

Up to this point no-one in my family had met Don and I thought it would be a perfect opportunity for my two loved ones to get to know each other. I broached the subject with Mum. She loved the idea but would we mind if she brought her little dog Chichi as well? Oh, boy! Don was overjoyed at the prospect of having a dog around the house again.

No sooner had the visas and travel documents been processed than my little Mum and Chichi arrived at Kennedy Airport to be met by an ecstatic daughter and happy son-in-law. Mum and Don loved each other on sight as I knew they would and, of course, there is no need to describe my own feelings of joy in the matter. Ultimately we were able to keep my mother with us in Long Island for 18 wonderful months until time ran out on her visa renewals.

In the summertime we went for picnics on some of the pristine sandy beaches along the southern shore, we drove for miles through towns that stretched from Queens to Montauk. We saw lighthouses and parks and antique stores, visited Coney Island, Fire Island, Jones Beach - there was always something to see and do on weekends.

Of course, during weekdays both Don and I had to work so Mum would spend time watching TV, walking Chichi, and, best of all, making warm, nourishing meals for us to eat when we got home tired from work. I never had it so good.

Nineteen sixty seven was a banner year for us in one other respect: Rod, now 13 years old, came to L.I. to spend a part of the summer with us. It was wonderful being able to take him to all of our usual weekend jaunts as well as to the Aquarium and the Bronx Zoo.

Rod's mother, Kay, had just married Larry McKeever and they were living in Larry's cottage on Chemong Lake while a new home was being built to Kay's specifications nearby. The other inhabitants of the cottage included Rod's two pet flying squirrels, four dogs: two schnauzers, one cairn and a huge Scottish deer hound. Oh, and three owls in cages that Kay had rescued from a pet shop! No one could have imagined that those three birds were just the forerunners of hundreds more - or that Kay would dedicate her life to the care and rehabilitation of owls and, in doing so, receive the Order of Canada and become a world renowned authority in the process. No wonder Rod developed into the ardent conservationist he is today.

When the time came for Rod to return to Canada we drove him back through New England, Vermont, and Massachusetts, toured historic Old SturbridgeVillage, then went on to Montreal to experience Expo '67: a wonderful new-born "city" of pavilions and exhibits from all over the world. After that it was on to Port Hope and a quick visit up to Pig for everyone.

The first time Pap saw my mother he greeted her warmly. Then he saw Chichi and the two of them reared back on their heels, eyes popping, neither one of them knowing quite what to make of the other.

Pap, wanting to be friends, decided to let Chichi out for a breath of fresh air while Mum and I were out. Chichi, not believing his good luck, took off down the road in search of adventure with Pap in stately pursuit brandishing his walking stick imperiously. When we returned shortly afterwards it was to find Papboy, flushed and furious, walking up the road with a sad-looking dog draped under one arm. We apologized profusely on behalf of Chichi, naturally, but further than that we dared not go.

My outdoorsy Mum loved Pig on sight and could have stayed there forever except that Don and I had to get back to work again. So we returned via Peterborough, dropped Rod off at the Chemong Lake cottage, then kept on going past Niagara so that Mum could see the falls.

As we pulled into the driveway at GPC at the end of our journey, I think that all three of us felt it was really rather wonderful to get back home again after so much travelling.

One of the tasks I found most stressful at the office was having to tell people that their accounts were overdue and demand payment as soon as possible. I heard many strange and pitiful stories as a result of my calls: mothers had died, fathers had run away with floozies next door, broken legs, dying grandmothers, husbands who had lost their jobs, divorce, separation, accidents..... and each time I was obliged to say "pay up, or else" as diplomatically and sympathetically as I could. It was really tough.

Mornings in the office were generally quiet, when one and two-hour appointments were scheduled to put bands on new patients, but it was bedlam in the afternoons with children coming in every ten or fifteen minutes for adjustments or emergencies. There was little time to take notes or to type the lengthy reports that Dr. Conarck sent to dentists and parents, let alone keep all of the accounts up to date, send out bills, and tend to the gerbils as well.

Ah, yes, the gerbils. With two sets of the little rodents reproducing regularly and no more names on the waiting list, Dr. C decided that the only way to stem the tide of fecundity was to return both couples to the pet store free of charge. We all agreed, with sighs of relief, that it was the most sensible thing to do.

The front garden of our home on GPC sloped down steeply to the street. The house itself was built on two acres of woodland, most of which was at the back. There was an aboveground swimming pool which Mum dipped herself into whenever it got very hot but the pool was difficult to keep clean because of the many leaves that fell into it every day.

The house to the right of ours was occupied by a couple with a 12-year old daughter, called Faith, who had a large black dog. Unfortunately, Faith's mother had attempted suicide some years before and suffered brain damage as a consequence (I think her husband had been unfaithful). Lacking a functional mother, Faith adopted me as a substitute and spent a great deal of time visiting unannounced, along with her big black dog. We used to make cookies together.

One day Mum was sitting in the back yard, accompanied by Chichi, when the big black dog (BBD) appeared and attacked Chichi without provocation. My mother immediately picked Chichi up, BBD let go of the dog and transferred his teeth to my mother's right index finger, biting it right down to the bone. We didn't hear Mum's screams for help because we were in the basement cleaning Don's seven tropical fish tanks. So, with great presence of mind, Mum twisted BBD's collar until he could no longer breathe and was forced to release her finger. When she staggered inside, dripping blood and shaking like a leaf, we immediately rushed her to a clinic for a tetanus shot and to have the wound properly dressed. Unfortunately, despite those precautions, Mum's finger became badly infected and (as a permanent reminder of Long Island) she has been unable to bend it ever since.

Nineteen sixty eight went by very quickly for me. We had another very snowy winter and shovelling our steep driveway became an extreme sport. Luckily my rear end was well padded. Even Mum suffered one day when she accidentally locked herself out of the house during a snowstorm and had to take refuge with neighbours to the left of us. After phoning Don from their house he came home to rescue her.

Meantime we packed in as much activity as we could. We saw Man from La Mancha at the Westbury Theatre, and it was wonderful. Then there was a concert by Ed Ames at the same theatre which made me a fan of his forever. And South Pacific, performed on a stage built out over the water at Jones Beach, had its own special magic in that setting. Strange, isn't it, how music triggers such vivid memories of people and places we have known?

When my mother finally went back to South Africa we were sad that she had left but grateful for the eighteen happy months she'd been able to spend with us. It was comforting to know, also, that her visits would now become regular events and that I would be able to visit the rest of my family in South Africa in due time.

To cheer ourselves up after Mum's and Chichi's departure, Don and I decided to acquire some pets of our own. We chose two wonderful Siamese cats, the sleek and elegant seal points, Misty and Mingo. M. and M. were to give us endless years of unforgettable pleasure: fifteen for Mingo and twenty-three for Misty.

Next we thought it would be a good idea to take a series of night-time art classes being offered by the local library. Don chose a course in watercolour painting and I opted for one in oils. The thought of doing something creative was exciting to both of us so we signed up right away and arranged to buy each other paint supplies for Christmas.

We spent Christmas in Port Hope with Papboy as usual and while I was oohing and aahing over a large paint box with tubes of every imaginable colour, big brushes, small brushes, palette knives, canvas and solvents, Don was down in the basement making me an easel. By the time he returned with the finished product I had already produced paintings of two of Pap's Christmas cards that didn't seem half bad to me. I decided that this was going to be a really fun hobby, and it has been, too. Although Don gave up after doing one watercolour, I've kept on painting with unabated pleasure to this very day.

Rod, now fifteen years old, returned to stay with us again during the summer of '69. I didn't see as much of him as I would have liked because he took a summer job at Don's office, looking at photographs stereoscopically, in order to count telephone poles. It was also the year of the moon landing and I particularly remember sitting in front of the television, open-mouthed with awe, as that historic event unfolded.

Unfortunately, my job at the orthodontist's office had been taking its toll on me for some time at this point. High blood pressure, caused by stress, was diagnosed as the cause of my malaise and I was given tranquillizers to stop chronic heart palpitations and fatigue. I knew that my health problems were caused by my job but because I didn't want to leave Dr. C. in the lurch by resigning I would just take another pill and keep on going.

When Genevieve turned seventeen years old, Kay received a letter from the Orthogenic School advising that she would soon have to be discharged since there was nothing further they could do for her. Dr. Bettleheim suggested a preliminary visit home to test the waters. Sadly, the waters turned out to be far too hot.

Genevieve was uncontrollable: she threw tantrums, broke things, screamed constantly in frustration and sent the birds and animals into perpetual panic. We were all disheartened by the failed visit and Genevieve returned to Chicago for two more years.

Then, just when I thought I could not cope with going to the office for one more day, Fate took a hand in the matter. Don was recalled to Toronto and I had a legitimate reason to hand in my resignation. It was a great relief, albeit short-lived, because now it meant sorting, packing and moving again. Fortunately for Don he was absent through most of it.

I haven't mentioned much about the seven tropical fish tanks that Don kept in the basement of GPC, perhaps because they were the bane of my existence for so long. They were all guppies acquired when we first arrived at GPC to satisfy Don's boyhood fascination with the species.

We hadn't been in the house more than a month (Don was in Toronto at the time) when the whole of New York State suffered a power blackout, causing all heaters, pumps and lights to be extinguished in the fish tanks. There were no candles or matches in the house but I did have a flashlight so I went downstairs and peered at the fish: they looked alarmed and very still. It was the middle of winter and all I could think of to do was cover the tanks with towels and blankets to keep the fish from freezing. Then I hopped into bed to keep myself from freezing. When the lights came on again the next day I was relieved to see that the fish had survived. I believe it even made me feel quite heroic.

Then there was the Rape of the Innocents incident. Don attempted to breed a strain of albinos with bright red tails so all the female albinos were kept in one tank to preserve their virginity (Don kept detailed notes of births and lineage) while in the adjacent tank several proud and gloriously coloured males swished tails invitingly at the separated females.

One night (Don was away again) an impassioned male, unable to contain himself any longer, leaped through the air and landed among the virgins. He whiled the hours away impregnating every one of them I'm sure. Acting on Don's telephoned instructions, I scooped Lothario out and returned him to his own tank. He jumped again the following night. I removed him once more (and covered the tank this time) but, to tell the truth, there didn't seem to be much point by then. I was surprised that Don was not more sympathetic to that male guppy's needs.

Now that we were leaving Long Island the fish would all be going to the pet shop. I thought, rather remorsefully, that I wasn't going to miss them at all.

As expected, Papboy was delighted to hear of our imminent arrival and he promised to store our furniture in his basement until we could find a permanent home for it in Toronto.

The movers came to give us a quote and left a half-dozen large cardboard boxes into which I was to pack everything breakable. Misty and Mingo tried to help by leaping in and out of boxes, completely unaware that their lives were soon to change.

Dr. Conarck interviewed applicants for my job and I was able to help the chosen one settle in before I left. When I said goodbye, Dr. C expressed regret at losing my services but he sent me away with his blessing and an excellent reference. Working for him taught me one thing I will never forget: TMJ stands for temporal mandibular joint. This knowledge has already served me well on several occasions and I never know when it might come in handy again.

Fortunately our house was on the market for just a week before it sold for a fair price. Faith cried when I told her we were leaving and I hoped she would be happier later on in life. Who's to say she isn't making cookies for her own grandchildren right this minute?

* * * * * * * * *

There was nothing left for me to do but pack our clothes into suitcases, call the movers, load up the car, and leave. With Don still in Toronto, once the movers had left, I looked around the empty rooms of our first home together, and said goodbye for both of us.

Then I gave myself a shake, wiped the tears from my eyes, loaded the cats into the car and drove away without a backward glance. I'd moved too many times to have regrets and there was a new life waiting for us in Canada.