Steps.
3119 Howard St.
My granny lived in an apartment building for most of my life. It was in the heart of San Diego on a plot of land that once was her home. At some point after she had lost two husbands my grandfather had the house razed and they built a complex--with just 6 units. She lived in apartment A and managed the others as her income through a long lived life. The tenants were known to her and she would tell me about them. I got to be friends with many as I spent many days with her while my mom worked. She was 73 when I was born and yet she’d take me everywhere around town--we rode the bus as she never drove. We would go to the zoo, Carnation for ice cream and more often than not to SeaWorld. We would watch the killer whale shows and she’d let me get as close as I wanted. When we would return back to her home she’d have chores for me to do--I suspect so she could take a break but I never remember her nap or show that she was tired. She would make afternoon coffee inviting the downstairs neighbor in. I’d sit with them and have coffee with mocha Mix and sugar cubes. There would always be cookies. At some point I’d be bored and she’d say it was time to do the stairs. I wonder now if she cleaned the stairs when I wasn’t there or if it was a job she invented to keep a precocious 4 year old busy . . . She’d fill a tub of water with warm soapy water and place it at the top of the cement stairs. There would be a sponge and I would get it wet and wipe the dirt off the stairs. As I swiped the way she showed me, I’d sprint back to the top and rinse the sponge, sprinting back down to do the next stair. When the water would darken we’d dump it out together--over the ledge. As I got older, I could carry the basin down to the stair I was working on and take it with me as I cleaned. Once all the stairs were wet--and I say wet because it was cement--they didn't sparkle--I could then turn my attention to the ornate handrail and railing. It was pink and metal and super grimy. It was where you could see your work progress. I never missed a spot and when it came time for her to review my work--she’d emerge from her 2 bedroom apartment that I can still picture in my mind and she’d smile and tell me it was a job well done. Did I want to do the backstairs too? I’d insist. She reminded me to be quiet as I worked so I wouldn’t bother Mr. Rosa in the back because he worked nights and was sleeping. I’d rush off to fill the basin. Years later the job was passed to my brothers and then she moved to a condo at the beach and we’d use the elevator to reach her. I imagine someone walking by and seeing a bright eyed four year old cleaning stairs now and what our minds would do. I imagine my own children and the chores I have them do. I wonder if they would find as much satisfaction in those cement stairs.
Your story triggered many memories of my grandma and what I would lovingly do for her as a young child. Now I became a first time grandmother at 72 so that was another interesting part that had me hooked. I hope I will be the kind of grandmother yours and mine were. They were the best role models!
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