Bright Spots In The Day

Met a gal in an antique store the other day. She introduced herself as the owner and told me where everything was and let me get on with it. It was not my taste. She handled primitives, I'm more everyday eclectic.

I spotted a little newspaper article tucked in a corner wall. It told me all about her. "Joan" had been raised in the very town she had her store in. The story was interesting so I thought I'd go chat her up since there was nobody else in the store.

I went back to the counter and said, "Can I ask you a few questions?". Sure she says pulling away from her computer and giving me her attention. "They are of a more personal nature", I tell her. She squeezes her eyes tight together and gives me a huge smile, " Want to go out and sit on the porch?" she says. And we do.

I pepper her with questions about Sellwood Oregon, growing up there in the late 40's, early 50's. She has all kinds of stories and wanted to tell them.  My lucky day!

She tells me about Dr. Nickelsen, who owned the hospital, the Rexall Drug store and a large home, all on the corner of 13th St. Dr. Nickelsen was a big game hunter and one of his trips to Africa he was supposedly given a cheetah cub by a prince. He raised that cub and drove around town in his 55 Pontiac convertible with Chewey the Cheetah in the backseat with a collar and leash. Chewey had a large enclosure that sat within those two properties but he was known to spend time in the home where he was spotted scratching his back underneath a large grand piano. The doctor also had a water buffalo mounted on his wall. This particular water buffalo was in the process of trying to kill him when his wife took matters in her own hands and saved his life by shooting it. I guess she must have liked him in spite of his penchant for killing beautiful animals....but I digress.

Joan is a happy lady with a pleasant demeanor but when I asked why she didn't buy her childhood home when her father decided to spend his final years back in New Jersey, she got serious and shook her head, "I didn't ever want to live in that house again. It wasn't a happy place for me." She went on to tell me that her mother was paranoid schizophrenic and lived in a mental institution her entire childhood. Her grandfather, her mother and her auntie had all spent most of their lives and died in institutions. She intimated that her son, who must be older than me, lived with her still and that he also struggled with mental illness.

Despite the sad part of the conversation, we had a lovely chat out on the porch and then I went on my way to my next stop.

I'll go back by though. She was a gem.