Pike Place Market cont.

We learned how to handle shoplifters, quick change artists and horny old ( and not so old) men.
I recall Judy following a shoplifter down Farmers Row. Each time he'd sneak something into his bag, Judy would carefully remove it, and give it back to the farmer.

During the winter months the old-timers continued to bring in their produce. The only protection from the weather was a ripped canvas in back of Farmers Row. During the winter we bundled in sweaters, long underwear, pants & gloves. We had to cut the fingertips off the gloves so we could pick up the eggs. One day snow blew in and covered the eggs. Dad closed the store. This was the only day he ever closed up shop. On the way home we stopped to see Nonna
Torlai. She brought out bottles of partially frozen pop & set them on the shelf above the coal and wood stove to thaw. Any other time we would've loved to get a bottle of pop since we rarely got any at home. But this time , a bowl of soup would've felt so good in our freezing tummies.

Our stall was near the Pike street entrance making it a great place to people watch. Our young eyes learned about life.
A man without legs used to scoot his way through the market laying on a flat board with skate wheels on the bottom. His amazing effort kept us from complaining for a few hours.

Early arrival at the market was like walking into an empty theatre. Barren stalls, thoroughfare empty except for a few pigeons. Then, gates are lifted, merchants set up displays, farmers unload produce and the show begins.

Peoples Butter Store, a blend of earth tones with brown eggs, burnished cheddars and mellow monterey jack. Farmers Row, a panorama of color and design. The odor of Brenner's Bakery in harmony with the salty air of Puget Sound.

Memories of the Pike Place Market

Dad's store was a permanent stall consisting of refrigerated display cabinets for cheese and open bins for eggs. The bins were pushed out in the morning and back behind the gate each evening. Salami & provolone were hung from hooks on the back wall. A small shelf was filled with olive oil.
The name of the store was "People's Butter Store" so of course we sold butter. We also sold oleo complete with a packet of coloring.
Dad had a store room near the back of a pet store. Huge wheels of swiss and cheddar cheese went through the aging process in that room.
There was also an egg candler set up. Dad let me candle eggs since I didn't mind being alone in a room surrounded by wheels of cheese. I also loved listening to the mynah bird from the pet store.
In those days the market was not touristy but filled with people who shopped for groceries on a daily/weekly basis. We sold products to nearby restaurants and taverns as well. Dad urged people to taste the cheese before they made a purchase.
He used to draw an audience when he sliced the wheel of cheese in half with a wire. It was amazing.
He was also known to slurp down a raw egg to prove its freshness.

The farmers changed stalls each day. They were friendly, yet competitive. Each farmer set up a colorful display. One thing they agreed on was a dislike for those who sold California produce in permanent stalls.

The young farmers amused themselves by eyeing women who passed through the market. Some took it a step further. You'd see them making out in the alley.
We didn't enjoy having them across from us comparing root vegetables to their genitals. One farmer would hold up a shriveled carrot and yell to his buddy, "This is you". We hated to give them any satisfaction but sometimes they did make us laugh.
They were hard working young men and probably needed to have some fun to keep their sanity.

We had a variety of customers including a woman who sold "The People's World", rumored to be a communist newspaper.
Women who worked at the LaSalle Hotel, a place of ill repute, would stop by in the morning to buy fresh eggs....Everyone needs a good breakfast.

One of my worst memories was at our storage room near the LaSalle. I heard a whistle, looked up and there was a man exposing his extremely long, skinny penis.
I picked up the egg cartons, locked the door, ignored him and headed back .
I told my Dad about the incident and he tore out after him, considering Dad's temper, it was a good thing he was gone.

Servicemen would flirt with us until Dad would ask them rather sternly to "kindly allow us our display!"

Most of our customers were nice but one of our regulars told my sister Barbara that she needed more exercise between her legs. We ducked behind the counter to hide our embarrassment.
We had one sweet man named Voltaire Utribini. Each week he would demonstrate his ability to hit a high C. He was eccentric and actually believed he was accomplishing this feat.

It was in the market near our storeroom that I saw a two inch long cockroach. I had to step on it and still remember the crunch!

On warm days we kept the cheese in the cooler. One day we forgot to put away the limburger cheese. A customer asked if he could eat the cheese that was crawling on the shelf. We looked over and were shocked to see cheese worms. for the first. He scooped them up and enjoyed the feast. Live bacteria...a tasty treat!

Many people would point to the eggs they wanted and most of us would comply. However, our sister Judy would not wait on them until they actually used words. Thinking back, she's lucky she didn't get hit by an egg.

I remember thinking the farmers were cruel to throw leftover lettuce against a wall so garbage pickers wouldn't get it. When one of the garbage pickers died, they found her mattress full of money. Who knew?

Dad was always willing to help those in need but had no patience with shoplifters.
He once spotted a man slipping eggs in his pocket. He approached the man,"How are you doing Buddy?" patted him down, making sure the eggs hidden in his pocket were smashed in the process.

The Delicious Jungle

Our yard is getting a little wild especially near the woods. Blackberry bushes are
taking over. Most are the delicious wild blackberries so I forgive their intrusion.
I was doing some weeding today and found a bush of black caps.
As a child I remember their delicious flavor so treated myself to a few.
Yum. I also had a few thimble berries..tiny but sweet & full of flavor.
Hopefully, tomorrow I'll actually get some yardwork done, but picking berries is more fun.

A Resolute Raspberry

You slurped the swirl
from my ice cream
I hated you

I held my hat
with my teeth
as I tied my shoe.
You yanked my hat
my tooth went flying
I hated you

You said I looked
like a little gray mouse,
made fun of my clothes
gossiped ,lied,
copied my work
I hated you

You spit on sidewalks
piss where you please
litter highways, forests, streams
I'm sick of you

You rummage the elderly
ignore the cries of the oppressed
struggles of the homeless
My life is weary of you

Don't phone me
Don't write me
Don't weep on my grave.

Changing Faces

Will he laugh, sing, tell his stories
Make up games, or burn our toys

Will we share his gourmet pasta
conversations, family news
or pick dishes off the floor

Will he love, cherish,
or send her flying, crying,
with strong arms
and angry words

Like a doll with changing faces
never sure which he would wear

Time has eased the pain of his
uncertain presence
He is at peace
And so am I

Britt 1990

Early this morning our little Britt died.
A good dog, suffering all the maladies
of the aged.

These last days, I struggled to force her
to take some nourishment.
She clenched her teeth, wouldn't eat.
She looked at me with sad brown eyes
and wondered why I didn't understand
that she was ready.

Her eyes were glazed over, her body weak.
Legs unable to support her weight.
She struggled for breath, half choking.
I prayed that she would go.

I told her what a good dog she was,
how much we loved her.
I felt silly talking to a dying dog,
still it seemed right.

Joe dug a deep hole in the woods next to the house.
Britt loved to play there, chasing squirrels around
the fir trees.

We wrapped her in a blanket and layed her down to rest.
We covered the grave with fir boughs and made a cross
out of twigs.

I hope there is a place for Britt to play
Open fields for carefree runs,
rabbits & squirrels to chase.

Britt gave so much and asked so very little.

Gifts of Aging

Aches, pains
lines, creases
facial hair
liver spots

Perception
patience
understanding
finding humor
in life's lumps.

Conversation with a Dandelion

You look rather frail this morning

What do you expect? You unplugged my support system!

You know I don't want you in my flower beds.
Let me plug you back in.

That won't do. You severed the cord!

How about a glass of water?

A temporary solution at best.

A dip in root-tone?

That's the ticket.

When you're ready to put down roots, I have a great spot picked out.

I like it here.

But this one has a view. I'll come around to visit.

That would be nice. I'll be sure to send my off-spring to visit you.

Growing up with a Star

Gloria is the first born of the Torlai family. She was theatrical and at a very early age sang on the radio on a program called, "Uncle Frank's Children's Hour"


Frog-like near the old Silvertone
I stare at the pictureless box
hoping the warmth
of the coal and wood stove
will reach the icy tile
beneath my pinafore


Gloria also took dancing lessons and was often creating shows featuring Gloria. She would say, "I'll be the star, and you all dance around me."

I wrote several pages about the experience but settled for the following.


The Attic Dancers

Four sisters
in an attic theatre,
ragged chenile
for a curtain
apple boxes
for a stage
play
to a paper audience.

The Cleansing

Mary peddled papers on Pike Street
Her raucous scream, peee eye, peee eye,
a sound of the market I heard as a teenager

Mary collapsed one morning
landed in Harborview
Before doctors would examine her,
nurses scraped years of street living,
layers of insulation
from her skin.

Mary returned to the news stand
but died shortly after the cleansing
I miss her sound.

Pike Place Market

Early Morning Memories

Shops closed tight
by iron gates
bare metal tables
line Farmers row

Pigeons strut the promenade
pecking at scraps
missed by the sweeper

Apple annie shoos the gulls
digs through wilted greens,
fish heads, oozing tomatoes
in search of her daily bread

Evening ladies leave the
LaSalle Hotel for breakfast
after a hard night's work

Face down
on spittle covered asphalt
fragile souls clutch
paper sack covered
bottles of apple wine

Double Dare

I used to sit in the kitchen and listen to my Daughter, Elizabeth, and Daughter-in-law, Meagan, use words beyond my comprehension. During one conversation, I mentioned that I was unable to attend college. Meagan encouraged me to enroll in some classes, and Elizabeth also encouraged me to go for it.
These two strong personalities gave me the push I needed.
Most of the writing on my post will be from that time.

Nature's Design

Again at the window sash

I view from a distance

through the glass

a pristine pattern

intricate as cluny lace

Crocheted silken threads

grasp old barn eaves

a branch of the catalpa tree,

tip of shaggy mane.

Fragile power to ensnare the prey.