MAY 24, 2019 – The recent flooding in mid-America reminds me of the time when floodwaters inundated my family’s neighborhood. We lived across the street from the Mississippi in Anoka, Minnesota. In March ’65 (I was in fifth grade), the river rose to threaten many homes along our street.
One Saturday morning the doorbell rang just after daybreak. When Dad opened the door, a policeman stood outside. “Water’s comin’ up quick,” said the officer. “You gotta clear your basement and first floor as fast as possible.” As I peered around Dad and the policeman I could see the Mississippi gurgling into the lot across the street.
Our whole family skipped breakfast and scrambled to haul stuff from the lowest two elevations of our house to the upper two. Neighbors from higher ground helped move furniture. Among other valuables to be moved was Mother’s china stored in a dining room cabinet. Dad rounded up boxes and newspapers, while Mother wrapped and packed plates, cups, and saucers and assorted serving vessels. My sisters and I were assigned other tasks.
As it turned out, the river had been rising rapidly because of an ice dam. Dynamite, it was rumored, was used to break up the ice. The waters receded.
In the days that followed, more flooding occurred, but the river crested before it damaged our house. Gradually, the furniture and household items that had been hauled frantically upstairs and to the attic were retrieved and restored to their proper locations. The china, however, was left for a later day.
Normal life resumed. Over Easter vacation (what spring break was then called), my sister Nina traveled with her girl scout troop to Mexico via Greyhound. A week later they returned. My parents and other two sisters drove to the bus terminal down in Minneapolis to pick up Nina. I stayed home.
The bus was late getting in, and back home I was getting bored. At some point boredom and inspiration caused me to think like a boy scout and do a good deed. I decided to haul Mother’s china down from the attic and return the dishes to the cabinet; except—I would do one better. I would arrange the dishes with . . . originality. This meant tipping plates and saucers vertically (and precariously) behind the cups.
The operation took time and effort, but I was pleased with the result. I couldn’t wait to surprise Mother. After closing the glass doors to the cabinet, however, I noticed that a saucer in the middle was a little off center. When I re-opened the doors, everything cascaded out of cabinet. The ensuing din of Mother’s china bouncing and breaking all over the hardwood floor made my ears ring and my heart sink.
I shifted immediately to repair mode. With Elmer’s glue I tried to restore the lot of fragile . . . flood victims. I was hard at it when the car pulled into the driveway.
Mother was surprised, of course, but not in the way I had intended.
© 2019 Eric Nilsson
