comicbooks

My passions for reading and drawing began with my older brother’s comic books. Those colorful magazines obsessed me as a child and, eager to keep abreast of my heroes’ exploits, I struggled to increase my vocabulary with each issue. My brother also loved to draw and plan things on paper and, using the comics as references, I mimicked him as soon as I could make marks. My Mighty Mouses and Plutos were, for a 4 yr old, impeccable. Later on I drew Superman and Alfred E. Newman, eventually turning to study Degas and Michelangelo - but that was all ahead of me in some distant hazy future place. During naptime, my caped teddy bear (a hand towel safety-pinned around his neck) flew above my bed swooping down to rescue Raggedy Ann or some other hapless victim. During the long days while my brother was at school, I often went down the street to a friend of my mother’s house (probably so she could watch me while my Mom was busy with babies and whatever Moms did). There I followed Mary Jane around, watching her garden, do laundry, can peaches, and magically paint and fire pottery in her basement studio. I still have a plate that I painted there when I was 5 – (Mary Jane helped me out with my signature.) When we had finished in the basement, I’d go upstairs and sit with her elderly mother while Mary Jane was busy out in the yard. Her mother was confined to her bed upstairs - at least I never remembered seeing her anywhere but there in the bed. In the bathroom across the hall was the great repository of comics. The drawers in there were stuffed to the point where they could barely close without crinkling up the covers - it was the mother lode! Now Mary Jane’s daughters were older than me and had different tastes in comics, so there was very little overlapping in selections. They had Betty and Veronica, Sluggo and Nancy and Little Lulu and several of those crime and gore types with plots too dark and complex for my young mind. I studied them all – the sacred texts of my youth - ravenously thumbing through little Lulus, staving off my hunger for the next issue of Mighty Mouse or Uncle Scrooge to come out. I was a child of the Disney era. I knew the Mickey Mouse Club song by heart and sang along everyday - especially liking Wednesday (‘anything can happen’ day) and Round-up Fridays, where they danced around wearing those horse costumes with little fake legs (I so wanted one of those horsy outfits.) My attention was riveted to those TV shows while they were on the air– but when they were off, those colorful comics reigned supreme. They were ours to keep, to carry around, and to page through again and again. For the following few years, my fifteen cent weekly allowance went to comic books and bubblegum - for me the perfect combination for a joyful afternoon in some quiet corner. Nowadays, as I thumb through an art book, I may see the images with older more educated eyes, but my childlike intensity endures.

Mrs. Sasina's Magic Zinnia Seeds

We cut down the lilacs in front of our house this week. They were planted years ago, little ‘suckers’ brought over in our kids’ wagon along with other flowers given us from a 90 year old neighbor lady, Emily Sasina. She lived in a little house on the alley a few steps away from us and we referred to her as the ‘flower lady’ because her tiny little house was surrounded by plantings and seemed to be in constant bloom from the first growth of Spring to the onset of winter. When my girls and I used to pass her home on our walks up the alley to the grocery store, she would beckon us over to pull a weed or water a shrub or come in for a cookie. Her television blared away next to the front door letting us all know when the evening news had come on. From her chair facing the doorway, she kept tabs on the neighborhood, chuckling at the antics of everyday humanity. Above her chair was a clock that always read 5:17, the hour of her husband’s death. Despite private sorrows, hers was a cheery nature - maybe because she was always surrounded by flowers. She was one of those depression era holdovers who were skilled in making do with little and needing even less. On visits to her simple home, my children would practice their early social skills - sitting politely while we chatted, admiring her old lady collections of ceramic bunnies and greeting cards, fetching items, watering plants and later purchasing things at the store for her on our errands. She walked less and less as she got older. I would see her bent figure on trash day hobbling with her cane, kicking a bag of garbage down the alley to the curb in front of her home. One summer day she made it all the way over to my house for a surprise visit. I was sewing in the kitchen and she sat and cooled off while telling me tales of the neighborhood. She admired the colorful Hawaiian shirts I was making at the time and I was glad to fashion one for her and tickled to see her wear it. Every fall we clip and save the faded blooms of ‘Mrs. Sasina’s magic zinnias’ – sharing them with our friends and family. How better to honor her spirit than with such simple hardy flowers that bring color and joy year after year after year.