Do you remember growing up and having a favorite house you went to or that favorite friend your mom had? You know the friend who could talk about anything and never worried about the house, her hair or what was going on. What counted was she knew you were stopping over and needed to talk.
That was Razzy or Razz as my mother called her. I just got off the phone with my Razzy and it brought me back to a lady named Mrs. Rasmussen. I remember her, her wonderful husband, her son Georgie and two daughters Doris and Carol, all very individual but alike in many ways. I was more in tune to the parents especially Mrs. Razz.
When my mother and I would go over with my baby brother, Mrs. R would always and I do mean always make fresh coffee, with it perk, perk hitting that little glass piece at the top of a metal pot. We would walk in and paper and pencil awaited my brother, and on one end of the table against a wall would be a small plate and a small glass, ready for my brother to have milk and cookies.
Sometimes Mrs. R would have her hair tied up with a scarf wrapped around her head with Bobbi pins set in curls and a cigarette lit. But again, as always coffee was about to be poured, and the radio sat on the table playing soft music.
Plates ready for coffee cake. Oh Yeah ! Entemanns crumb coffee cake.
Because we all lived in apartments and some had less light than others. It was about the same in many apartments with a small lamp on the kitchen table and a radio. Mrs. Razz had such a table and her wallpaper was a aged, yellow print, Formica table top and four chairs. She also had ash trays ready and waiting. It seemed most adults smoked then and of course us kids would play as if we did too.
She would one the big over sized steel apartment doors with a big hug to my mother and said, come on in kids. To the table we went. Sitting around the table the talk started. In minutes her husband would come out and ask his wife if she wanted anything from the store. We all knew he was giving the ladies time alone.
I learned over time there are many homes like that, but it takes special people to have them, like Razzy. Soon the venting would begin and I'd see Mrs. Razz cross her arms and say to my mother, well what he needs is a good old kick in the ass. There were a lot of he's in my house, brothers and a male parent, but we knew who she meant. That was a usual expression. I heard it in my own house too.
Razzy was very good at handing out advice although my mother never took it. Even at bingo which I went to a few times (just to eat) Razz would offer advice and my mother would say what a good idea that was. Razz would hold her cigarette fingers up, blowing smoke and say, who are you kidding? You're not listening. They'd both laugh. No matter where I was, when I was around Mrs Razzy, it was a safe feeling time. Thank you Mrs. R :)
That was Razzy or Razz as my mother called her. I just got off the phone with my Razzy and it brought me back to a lady named Mrs. Rasmussen. I remember her, her wonderful husband, her son Georgie and two daughters Doris and Carol, all very individual but alike in many ways. I was more in tune to the parents especially Mrs. Razz.
When my mother and I would go over with my baby brother, Mrs. R would always and I do mean always make fresh coffee, with it perk, perk hitting that little glass piece at the top of a metal pot. We would walk in and paper and pencil awaited my brother, and on one end of the table against a wall would be a small plate and a small glass, ready for my brother to have milk and cookies.
Sometimes Mrs. R would have her hair tied up with a scarf wrapped around her head with Bobbi pins set in curls and a cigarette lit. But again, as always coffee was about to be poured, and the radio sat on the table playing soft music.
Plates ready for coffee cake. Oh Yeah ! Entemanns crumb coffee cake.
Because we all lived in apartments and some had less light than others. It was about the same in many apartments with a small lamp on the kitchen table and a radio. Mrs. Razz had such a table and her wallpaper was a aged, yellow print, Formica table top and four chairs. She also had ash trays ready and waiting. It seemed most adults smoked then and of course us kids would play as if we did too.
She would one the big over sized steel apartment doors with a big hug to my mother and said, come on in kids. To the table we went. Sitting around the table the talk started. In minutes her husband would come out and ask his wife if she wanted anything from the store. We all knew he was giving the ladies time alone.
I learned over time there are many homes like that, but it takes special people to have them, like Razzy. Soon the venting would begin and I'd see Mrs. Razz cross her arms and say to my mother, well what he needs is a good old kick in the ass. There were a lot of he's in my house, brothers and a male parent, but we knew who she meant. That was a usual expression. I heard it in my own house too.
Razzy was very good at handing out advice although my mother never took it. Even at bingo which I went to a few times (just to eat) Razz would offer advice and my mother would say what a good idea that was. Razz would hold her cigarette fingers up, blowing smoke and say, who are you kidding? You're not listening. They'd both laugh. No matter where I was, when I was around Mrs Razzy, it was a safe feeling time. Thank you Mrs. R :)
