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Girtha Patrick Blanchard Zeida

Girtha Rising — Part 2 — Riding Down 82nd St

This story is a narrative reconstruction inspired by family history, place, and imagination.

Girtha loved to go riding around Portland with Edgar and the girls.  The city had grown up around them. Dirt roads and byways had become numbered streets and paved avenues.  82nd Avenue took them all the way to the Columbia River.  It amazed her how quickly things had changed. Girtha loved living in the city and treasured the shops and tidy neighborhoods. The trolley line came all the way out now.  She could ride downtown with the girls to go window shopping.  Girtha studied the fashions and looked for patterns to keep the girls stylish. 

“Your hand knows the difference between a dotted swiss and the printed cotton. It’s all in the feel and drape of the cloth.”

They went to a fabric store on 82nd Avenue. Edgar smiled with his hands in his pockets, taking pleasure in the enjoyment of his girls examining the style pattern books and looking for fabric to stitch into new clothes.  Edgar was proud of his beautiful daughters and commented on the accessory details they fussed over.  They valued and sought his approval of their outfits.

The family pulls into the service station to fill up the Packard with gasoline before setting out down 82nd Avenue. Edgar joked around with the attendant, Andy, who goes to school with Frankie. Andy admires the car, is respectful of Mr. Blanchard the local policeman and flirts with Frankie, who he thinks is peachy keen.  Marcie teases her “first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Frankie with a baby carriage!”

There were shops and cute little places to pick up a bite to eat.  

The fruit stand always had the freshest and earliest, peaches, pears and plums.  Edgar knew how much Girtha loved to make jams and jellies and the joy she had watching her family enjoy canned fruit in the cold winter months from her work.  He picks up a bushel of ripe plums for her on the outing and puts it in the trunk.

Edgar pulled the Packard alongside the curb, shifted into neutral and pulled the brake to keep the beast at a slow purr idle.  “No girls allowed in here! Keep sitting pretty and don’t let a little bird get your nose by peeking out the window.” He tweeked Marcie’s nose.

“Daddy, will you ever grow up!” she called out as he shut the car door. 

“Mama, why can’t we go in the store with daddy?  Other girls go in.  Why do we have to always wait in the car.”

“No decent woman goes into the smoke shop dear.  Your daddy has some habits he picked up at the logging camp that I prefer not to discuss.”

“Oh mama you are so old fashioned. Good girls smoke cigarettes too, you know.  It helps keep a slim figure.”

“Frankie!” 

Edgar stepped out of the smoke shop with a Portland Journal tucked under his arm, a white bag with two chocolate candies and two new cigars peeking out of his coat pocket. 

“Sweets to the sweets waiting patiently and guarding the car. No gangsters while I was gone?”

“Oh Edgar, you spoil those girls, you really do. We can get treats at a nicer place. And you know I prefer that you keep that nasty cigar smoke out of the house and away from the girls.”

He leans over and kisses her on the forehead and pulls out a tin of lemon drops for Girtha.

She smiles, pops one in her mouth, “You spoil me too, Edgar! 

Frankie spies a smartly dressed woman walking a Pomeranian dog. The woman stops to pick up her puppy and gives it a scratch behind the ears. “Oooh look, look at the cute little doggie!  I want a snuggles dog too, daddy!”

A Grand Opening banner wafting in the afternoon breeze caught Girtha’s eye. Cars were parked willy nilly into every possible nook and cranny. Edgar was grinning and nodding his head, knowing how much he had pleased them. 

“Well girls, what you think now!  Who wants to check out the brand spanking new Fred Meyers store with me?”

He opened the car door for Girtha, held out his hand, and helped her out to the sidewalk. She took his arm and squeezed it in anticipation of exploring the new store with him.

“Wait til you see it girls! Everything is here, things you never thought you would ever need. The cutest frocks, the latest fashions, the best prices. Sky’s the limit! Here’s a dollar for each of my fair princesses.”

Frankie and Marci skipped off together, eager to examine the new store.

Girtha examined the inventive kitchen gadgets . Edgar enjoyed being with his girls and spoiling them with small treats.

Twilight settled softly over the city. The family rode in comfortable silence listening to the Packard hum back down 82nd Ave. Edgar breathed in the joy of the day and began to croon softly

“Sing your way home at the close of the day.

And they did. They sang together in the humming key of the Packard engine.

“Sing your way home drive the shadows away

Smile every mile for wherever you roam

It will lighten your load, it will brighten your road

If you sing your way home.”

Frankie waved at Andy when they passed by the service station on the way back home. Girtha looked closely at the boy her youngest daughter was smitten with and remarked,

“Well there’s no accounting for taste. Said the old lady who kissed the cow.”

Series Navigation

Part 1 — In the Garden
Part 3 — Welding Women

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Girtha Rising — Part 1 – In The Garden

This story is a narrative reconstruction inspired by family history, place, and imagination.


Portland, Oregon July 1929

“Marcie! Frankie! I need your help picking out the green beans.”

“Oh, mama I wish there weren’t so many of them to pick. It’s gonna take the rest of the day. I wanna go down to the creek!”

“Say, if wishes were horses, then beggars would ride, Marcie dear. The beans won’t pick themselves. This family will be riding high through the winter when we get them canned up.”

Frankie skipped up to mama, her arms full with teetering harvest baskets.

“I’m ready mama, I’m ready. Daddy says he wants to eat up a big serving of your fresh beans for supper and I’m your helper. Daddy said I was!”

The baskets slip out of Frankie’s grasp and tumble down in front of her. Girtha smiled as her exuberant youngest daughter gathered them up and handed each of them their own basket.

“We can race each other and see who finishes the row first. Mama, I think whoever picks the fastest should get a special prize.  I can beat Marcie this time, I know I can. I’m much faster now that I’m almost a grown up.”

“I suppose my ribbon box might have a reward or two. Are there any girls that might want a new grosgrain hair bow?

“Me! Me!” they both squealed at once and raced to the garden.

Girtha tied on her sun hat striding out to join them, humming and happy in her S. E. Portland, Oregon home. Mount Hood is framed by sky as blue as her Edgar’s twinkling eyes.

“There is beauty all around, girls! Look up and see.”

“Oh mama, don’t start singing now, if we start singing Marcie will win!”

“Frankie darling, I will hum the tune and hold the words in my heart until you are ready to sing with me. Say, you are filling your basket up fast as can be!” 

Plump crisp beans snap off the vines and the harvest feels endless to Marcie and Frankie. Girtha looks at the abundance surrounding her. Cucumbers shine and call out to be tossed in the pickle crock. Fat green tomatoes are blushing red–promising sweetness soon. Edgar loves to come home for fresh tomato soup at his mid day dinner break. She grows zinnia, marigolds and snapdragons for her husband’s pleasure. Carrots, radish and beets swell up in the fertile garden soil. Weeds have no home in Girtha’s garden. She cultivates loveliness.

Just as the love surges through her heart and Girtha experiences contentment, she feels an old dreadful companion squeeze her belly reminding her the people she loves can be taken, the places she calls home may have to be left behind. Her arms ache to cradle her sweet baby Ruth again and she longs to see her running through the garden too. Girtha’s sisters and aunties were wrong, she did not get over her baby girl dying. Feet planted solidly on the ground and holding her head up high in the sky, Girtha breathes in deeply until she feels the grip loosen in her stomach and the fear subsides.

She plucks beans by the handful tossing them into her harvest basket. It is a prime first picking and the baskets fill quickly.

“Girls you did a great job today.”

“Mama, mama, I did it! I win! I’m faster than Marcie!”

“I’m okie-dokie if Frankie gets the hair ribbon mama.”

“A rosy red ribbon for me!”

“Marcie, you know I don’t like to hear you using slang. It is not lady like. But I am pleased that you are sweet to your sister, so you may have a ribbon from my hair box too. Frankie, you may pick first.”

Frankie rushes from the garden, her basket full of beans. She passes by mama’s roses, stops and trills back to mama, “Roses bloom beneath our feet.”  

“All the Earth’s a garden sweet” Girtha and Marcie trill back.

The sound of gravel scattering and the smell of motor oil announce the arrival of Edgar home for dinner. His shield and the buttons on his policeman’s uniform catch the sunlight and he sparkles as he roars into the driveway on his Portland Police Department motorcycle. 

Edgar strolls into the garden, picking a bouquet of snapdragons growing along the edge of the garden. Frankie spies him, forgetting about the basket of beans and the rosy red hair ribbon, she bounds down the steps skipping towards him.

“Daddy!” 

Edgar grins and raises his bouquet up in the air to tease her.

“Sarah Frances, is that my cutie pie? Hurry over, I have treasures.”

“Oh daddy, call me Frankie or call me Frannie, but I don’t ever want to be old fashioned Sarah.”

“Okie-dokie,it’s a 23 skidoo for Sarah. I now hereby present these most magnificent scarlet snaps to express my sincere apology to Miss Frankie Blanchard.”

Marcie and Girtha lug full baskets of beans out of the garden and set them in the shade of the young cherry tree outside the house.

“Edgar, how will I ever learn these girls right about slang if you keep bringing it in from the rough!”

He falls to one knee and bows his head in mock contrition. He holds out the rest of the flowers to her.

“How can I ever make it up to you, my love? Will you accept these humble flowers as a token of everlasting affection.”

Edgar lifts up his head and meets Girtha’s eyes. They both collapse into giggles as she accepts her bouquet of garden blossoms. He rises and draws her into his arms.

“Mademoiselle Marcia, where’s my songbird? What’s the tune for today?” 

Marcie joins then as Edgar plucks three stems from Girtha’s bunch of snapdragons.

“Would you trade peachy colors for a peachy keen song for your daddy?”

Marcie artfully places one of the flowers behind her ear, rises on her tiptoes and kisses Edgar’s cheek. Her sweet voice dances in the air as she begins to sing:

“There is beauty all around, When there’s love at home”

Edgar joins, lifting the tune in tenor harmony.

“There is joy in every sound, When there’s love at home”

Girtha and Frankie complete the circle of song.

Roses bloom beneath our feet, 

All the earth’s a garden sweet, 

Making life a bliss complete, 

When there’s love at home.”


This is how I see her—
in motion, in memory,
still tending what she planted.

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→ Part 2 — Riding Down 82nd St

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