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Published on 03/15/1999 All articles from this issue

The world through my window

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By Charlotte K. Jarmy

Reflections

I often linger at my kitchen window. Years ago when I lived in a Mountain View Eichler, our kitchen window looked out on a fence only six feet away. Not much inducement to linger. With three little kids to tend, I longed for a view of people, or cars, or even the dogs who would visit our lawn with hospitable frequency. What a delight when we moved into our Los Altos home. I boasted to my friends that we had a circular drive and a kitchen window with a view of the street.

Now umpty-ump years later, I realize the circular drive is pretty small, but the kitchen window continues to hold my attention.Though I am not often in charge of dish-washing duties, I enjoy the sensation of warm water running over my hands and the pleasure of our new garden window. It is true that the garden window doesn't seem to encourage any plants to grow, and even when they do grow a micro-inch, they are too far away for me to water without a stool. Yet, I reason, the window does look pretty.

In my mind, the view outside reveals a microcosm of Los Altos. People in attractive sports clothes stride past, women chit-chatting as they pump their arms, and there's one little guy whose running style intrigues me with his hands held low and his knees reaching sturdily for his waist, a sort of an Energizer Bunny in shorts and power shoes.

Almost always there are the faithful dog walkers, sometimes with several dogs on a leash. Thank goodness, they never stop on my lawn. Schoolkids bike fast, in a hurry to reach class on time or, in the afternoon, to reach home for some fun. Unfortunately, the cars also whiz by pretty fast in their hurry to get to the STOP sign at the end of the block.

More exciting to me are some other favorite sights: the brave little golden daffodils that struggled through our adobe soil only to reach a cold and wet world. I admire their persistence against the elements, not even asking for an umbrella or a cup of tea. Across the street, a neighbor's tulip tree stands in full glory, its pink and purple flowers lovely enough for Cinderella's ball. I wish I could discover a way to capture their evanescent beauty, for like most living things, their time with us is limited. The blossoms begin to fall too soon, too soon in a slow drift to the earth.

I can never decide whether the maple trees in their autumn glow bring me as much delight as the springtime show put on by our azaleas, flowering plums and camellias, all competing for attention in this town that knows how to do things right!

Like slow-motion scenes in a movie or in a dream, I can also people my view with memories. I see my father, sitting in a lawn chair reading the paper while waiting for me to come home from work. When my mother visited us from New York, as often as not she would seek a sunny spot out front to tirelessly set her hair in pincurls and gooey green lotion. She never had such freedom in her Bronx apartment building.

At different times, I could catch a glimpse of Fred, my oldest son, setting off to college in his father's ancient Volvo, he so proud of this first step toward manhood. Too soon, he would leave us forever. Sometimes Charlie, our middle son, would be out front tossing a basketball against the garage door, exulting in his prowess, while I waited for the sound of the battering ram to stop.

In memory, too, I love to relive the laugh-provoking scene when the smallest son would stand near the end of the driveway and call out to passing cars, "Today, I became 6 years old." These days, Ron chases his own son away from the very busy street traffic.

Dreams and memories can be as evanescent as the golden daffodils. Too bad that some of these memories cannot return every year to gladden the heart. Perhaps that is why the maple leaves may end up winning my loyalty -- they linger longer as I watch them through my kitchen window.

Charlotte K. Jarmy , a Los Altos resident, supervises teachers at Stanford University and is a free-lance writer.