The Living Room

Cary:
My first thought of the living room is a sea of blank porcelain faces staring at me every time I came home and left.  Their blank expressions looking back at me as if they were somehow mom's extra eyes checking in on us saying, "watch it buddy, I know what you do and where you sleep".  Second, the piano I learned how to play on.  I'm sure no one enjoyed hearing me play Cannon in D, which I incidentally learned in the key of C, over and over again.  Still, anything that's got music in it will always be a place I want to be.  I think when I would practice I would feel pressure to play my best because of the doll face audience.

Maren:
I vaguely remember using the fireplace only once. 

Dusting that room wasn't very fun.  First there was dusting the built-in bookshelves that contained lots of old books and trinkets (ceramic hand prints from several kids), as well as some dolls.  Then there were the tables and piano top that were also covered in dolls.  We had to dust under the tables, too.

 As a teen, I remember the couches being comfortable enough to take a worthy Sunday nap.  I believe in the summertime that room remained comfortably cool and bare skin didn't stick to the cloth couches like it would to the black vinyl couch in the family room.  The set of tan cushioned chairs that had curved backs were also a notable feature.

I practiced on the piano for the whole month that I took piano lessons with Sister Robinson.  Later on, I remember trying to sort of teach myself and occasionally taking out an old music book from the piano bench in a feeble attempt to redeem myself from my failure of following through with the music lessons.  I eventually got good enough at playing Enya's "No Holly For Miss Quinn" to satisfy myself until I went to college and took more lessons.

Home teachers and Dave from Jolson's were received in this room (it would smell like smoke after he left).  The formal portion of Christmas Eve was also held here as we read from Luke Chapter 2 and then opened gifts. Afterwards, we would eventually drift off to other parts of the house to assemble and play with toys.

The tile in the entryway was cold, but provided a nice flat surface for putting together puzzles.  I think one year (around kindergarten or first grade) I was excited to get two My Little Pony puzzles and I spent quite a lot of time assembling and taking them apart.  The red shag never would have allowed me to complete a puzzle.  Way too bumpy.

Wall hangings included the family portrait and as each of us graduated, our senior picture was added.  Some of Grandma Woolley's paintings were also on display. The framed white rope "art" that you can see in the entryway in the photo above of the Gruell family that was made by Aunt Lois.  Let's not forget Dad's wind-up clock that occasionally kept time.  Watching him turn the key was fun.  Also note the quilting frames stored behind the front door in the photo of me and my scowl at Christmas.

I'm surprised that I don't ever recall being creeped out by all the dolls or having nightmares with them coming to life or anything like that.  They were just a natural part of the landscape, I guess.

Mom:
We had Brother Hansom (who was a navigator for United Airlines) build the bookcases on each side of the fireplace.  They were nailed to the wall and never moved during the earthquakes. 

There was a window at the back that looked out on a small patio (we had put in), which was later filled in when the sewing room was built.  I was pregnant with Maren at the time this change took place. 

First we had white drapes (part of the package for new homes) Then I bought the lace wide valance fabric in Haarlem, Netherlands.  (This and the other Dutch curtains have hung in the Rosewood Court, Venus Street, and now the Blueberry Court houses.

 Since we didn't have much furniture (piano, 2 barrel shaped chairs) I used the living room as a quilting room until Maren was about 3 weeks old and we went shopping for furniture and bought a couch and loveseat and the end table and coffee table which we still have.  Also bought our first color TV.  The quilting room was moved to the garage for large quilts or the patio for small and large quilts in the spring or summer.

The Living Room became a doll museum during the years that I was making and dressing dolls.

Dad:
My thoughts of the living room are the "doll museum" by the fireplace with the  staring faces, my old clock that didn't run for years, until I finally got it fixed, and a fireplace with no mantle (only used once or twice). Besides Grandma Woolley's paintings and  Senior pictures, there was the "white rope" art that served as wall hangings. The "white rope" art was an art project made by aunt Lois when she was an art student at Boise State. The living room was  used mostly when home teachers or some "important visitors" came, as a quilting room and a place to spend Christmas. When we bought the couch and love seat, there were 'defects' with the couch, and after about the third couch that we had delivered with the same defects, we kept it (the third one) with the defect, and we got a reduction on the price. It was a good place to go for some peace and quiet as long as you were not facing the staring doll faces.

Corey:
I vaguely remember when I was little, when the only furniture in the living room were the tan velvet chairs and book cases. It was a sea of red shag that I can mostly remember from a single Christmas Eve where Curtis and I made little sleeping bags out of our "baby" blankets underneath the tree. We turned all the lights off except the colorful Christmas tree lights and dreamed about opening presents. 

When furniture was ultimately ordered to fill the room, namely the coffee table, end table, and strange floral couch and love seat, I lost count of how many times delivery was attempted.  Time and again a big truck would show up at the curb only to be turned back with their load because Mom would find significant damage to the couches.  I don't know why I felt bad for the delivery men, because I wouldn't want new broken furniture either. But to this day I find it hard to speak up if a delivery is damaged.

And really, there is no other way to define the living room except by the hundreds of dolls that made it their home over the years.  I remember when Curtis had his missionary farewell fireside, Kurt Lytle sitting wide-eyed in horror on the couch as all the doll eyes stared back at him. I'm not sure what kind of disassociative disorder needed to be invoked to stay in that room for more than a few minutes, much less to actually relax or nap in there, but we must have all developed one if for nothing else but survival. After I had my wisdom teeth pulled I remember sleeping away a few summer days in there.  Though I think by that time the numbers of porcelain minions had greatly decreased.

I also remember the fireplace, though ironically it was forgotten much of the time, buried under porcelain and velvet like every other piece of furniture. The brick hearth and black woven-wire spark curtain, and the iron wood holder and silver chrome socket to turn on the gas. I recall one winter where someone tried to start a fire with the flue closed (Curtis maybe? Or Dad?). I recall coming out of my room, stopping at the top of the stairs, and looking through thick smoke filling the living room to see a few small orange flames licking at a small log in the fire place. And then feeling a hoarse and scratchy throat for the rest of the day.

The Front Yard

 

 

 

 

 



 

Cary:
The Cyprus trees that would bang against the Pipchinski's house when the wind blew, I think mom secretly liked this fact.  There was also that little nook behind the bush that looked like a retarded sideways Cyprus tree that made a perfect little natural fort.  African Daisies.  Grandpa Judd's olive tree (which has sadly been taken out).  I remember running through the sprinklers in the summer, getting shocked by the old grass edger that you had to short out with a screwdriver to turn off.  I also remember a failed attempt to run away from home one time.  I packed a little blue denim sack.  I think there was a jacket, some extra pants, and my favorite coloring book in it.  I sat on one of the rocks under the olive tree with my little bag mapping out my plan.  When I realized it would be nearly impossible to live off the land in suburbia I went back in and watched an episode of The Brady Bunch to cool off.

Maren:
On the front porch there was a post that had star jasmine climbing up it.  When it bloomed it's aroma would greet whoever came to the door and if you were in the smallest bedroom that had it's window above the door, you could smell it if you left the window open. When the jasmine was overgrown, it would often hide a gray rock that lay next to it.  The rock was uneven on the bottom and I remember teeter-tottering on it often by putting my feet on opposite ends of it. There was also a pink hydrangea, and a bleeding heart bush close to the fence that led to the side and back yard.

Off to the side of the yard bordering the neighbors house was a large patch of African daisies that would have to be cut back every once in a while to prevent it from taking over the entire yard.  Right up against the neighbors' house was a line of cypresses, which offered a good hiding place if you were oblivious to the spiders and other critters that probably lived back there.  A green olive tree was next to the sidewalk and left lots of stains when we rode our bikes over the fruit that had fallen.

The front porch had a black rubber mat that said "THE JUDDS" on it with orange and yellow flowers.  We had a small mailbox that I also think said "Duane K. Judd" on it, with 2 hooks on the bottom of it, perfect to hold magazines or a box of checks if the top was already stuffed with other envelopes and junk mail.  The porch light was fake candles and I remember many times using a broom to clean cobwebs off of it as well as off the corner of the porch.  In my early days, we had a plastic basket on our front porch for Alta-Dena milk to be delivered.

On the other side of the driveway were a few rosebushes and some shorter cypress bushes to divide the yards between our house and the Johnsons'.

Corey:

I remember the black, teeter-totter "lava rock" right near the front door.  There were flat grooves on the rock where matchbox cars fit and small puddles would gather during infrequent rains or sprinklers. It was always unstable despite years of being in the same place, never settling in the sandy loam of the yard.

African daisies on the small hillside that we halfway pulled out more than once, leaving bare dirt for many years. I lost more than one "adventure people" figures in that part of the yard. It was also my favorite spot to build dirt racetracks for my battery-operated "Stomper" trucks. 

The towering cypress bushes along the edge of the yard, by the Pipcynski's house, were the most readily available hiding spot--but you were easily caught if you chose to hide there.  The juniper bush closest to our backyard fence, in the corner of the yard, was the designated pee spot--don't ever hide there. 

I remember the "stepping stones" that paralleled the edge of the driveway, obscured edges from overgrown crab grass.  How the grass survived Dad's spotty watering schedule is a mystery. Seems like the sprinklers only ran after mowing, while Dad faithfully rinsed the old red mower. Who washes their mower? And why was there a deadly metal sprinkler head with razor sharp edges right in the center of the grass? More than one I suffered from catching my foot on it when in the throes of a water balloon fight.

The backyard gate never seemed to fully latch or fully open, but provided great access to the shake shingle roof. How it never caught on fire from our WD-40 fireballs along the side of the house is a miracle of the Saul to Paul caliber. Almost as miraculous is the lack of injury from daring each other to jump from the roof to the ground.  Good thing we never owned a trampoline.
 

I can still see the wood furring strips along the edge of the driveway and the divot in the asphalt near the center, one third of the length from the garage door. This was also utilized for matchbox cars but had to be avoided when playing basketball uphill on the hoop mounted on the balcony (until I think Curtis ripped the rim down in pure Shaquille O'neal style).
 

I suspect that if I ever visit the yard again it will seem yards smaller than could possibly fit all my memories.

Curtis:
Evidently in my earlier years, I liked to have my photograph taken in the front yard--with Cary, by myself, or with anyone that was willing.  And by the looks of that family portrait, Mom was barely willing.  Same with Corey.  But Maren, and I were pretty happy with the concept and Cary brought his best whip-lash smile.  He had probably just finished listening to my Billy Idol LP.

 

Soccer in the front yard is what I remember from the earlier years, particularly that time that I played goalie and my friend that lived on Shadybrook took a shot at my goal.  I was never that great at goalie which resulted in a spectacular explosion of glass that must have sent Mom's heart rate through the roof that day.

 

I miss the Rosewood front yard.  It was never spectacularly landscaped, though it was particularly hardy.  I'm not sure why anyone thought that Juniper was so amazing that a front yard warranted 12 bushes.  But once we figured that out and Dad relented, things started looking up for our humble front yard.  In my teens, I somehow managed a passion for maintaining, though not substantively improving, that yard. I remember that our very own Duane K Judd applied generous amounts of gasoline to the crab grass that attempted to overtake the asphalt driveway.  And it did a pretty good job of turning that part of the grass brown.

Dad:
The front yard grass and ground cover was planted by the development company. I put the round stepping stones in before the sod was laid. I remember coming home from work one day and there was the new grass and ground cover along the border (It was just dirt the day before).  Grandpa Judd (Dad) planted the olive tree and rose bushes. I don't remember who planted the African Daisies but they really added to the yard because they were in full bloom for most of the spring, summer and fall. I always thought the front yard looked good for the first 5 or 6 years and then it started to go down hill. Weeds started to grow in the daisies and around the perimeter of the yard and the olive tree became overgrown, and dropped lots of olives on the ground.  But the yard had  a unique character and even though it didn't get the best of care except for mowing and watering the grass and pulling a few weeds once in a while.

 

Mom:

When we bought the house, part of the price included some landscaping such as the grass and a few bushes.  There was a tree already in the middle of the yard.  Having had the same kind of tree at our home in Canoga Park we knew we didn't want it because it would grow too large for the size of the yard.  Since the city provided the tree, we were suppose to keep it!  In talking to some of the neighbors we got the idea to transplant the tree off to one side and pray that it would die.  Our prays were answered. 

 

Grandpa and Grandma Judd came to visit and gifted us with 4 rose bushes by the driveway between our house and the Johnson's, they also bought an Olive tree which they planted for us. The roses were Peace, Chrysler Imperial (my favorites) a Tropicana (Grandpa's favorite) and a pink rose.  Later I planted Baby tears under the front window since the yard faced north and was shady for most of the afternoon all year long.  There were bushes at the front of the yard, but when they grew too large Curtis and Corey took them out as part of their summer daily 2 hours of work before playing. They also had help from Patrick Dujan and Pete Kelsch so they could play sooner. We also planted a Star Jasmine that climbed up the pole by the front door. 

 

The door was painted Dutch blue to show that we had marriageable daughters.  When we moved in the house was beige, after 5 or so years we had it painted dark brown, then when others in the neighborhood were painting their houses light gray (which was not on the association color palette).  We also had the roof replaced which had only been tar paper and shingles.  The new code was for plywood, which really helped with keeping the heat in during the winter months.  Also, got tired of having to get out of the car to open the garage door so I had a new door with a remote control put in.

Red Shag Carpet

Maren: 
When it was torn out, Cary insisted on keeping a few pieces of it so he could make some chaps. I don't think they ever came to be, but the scraps were stored in the garage for a while after that.  What would be an appropriate occasion to wear red shag carpet chaps anyway?  I can't think of any. 

As Corey mentioned, I remembered the musty smell it had and it's dry texture.

Mom:
I chose red since all the other colors offered were gross.  In the 70s shag was all the rage and the builders must have gotten a really good deal on it.  The Berber style carpet was much better and the off white was a better color. I really never completely liked the red shag!

We bought the house in 1972 and moved in on August 31st.  I was pregnant with Corey.  I chose the carpet color because is was the best of the worst.  Marné chose yellow for her bedroom because she knew I didn't like yellow.  I chose green for ours and blue for Curtis and Corey.

Dad:
Red is my least favorite color, but I was OK with the red shag carpet for all those years. I remember the beating that old carpet took over the years, with kids running up and down the stairs, Oscar peeing on  it, muddy feet tracking across it, and years of walking on it. It stood up well, and I was kind of sad to see it go.

Cary:
The red shag scraps smelled like cat pee.   I think that carpet was probably in that house about 20 years longer than the manufacturer intended it to be.  The chaps would have been stage garb for the rock band I was inventing in my head that sadly never came to be.

Curtis: 
Red shag carpet is awesome on stairways because you can throw your Fisher Price toys down them when you're still learning to walk down stairs.  And the toys fare just fine.  Trust me, I've done it lots of times.

Corey: 

When I think about the red shag carpet that was throughout our house growing up I immediately start trying to work out the floor covering pedigree of my childhood. I remember the red shag being throughout the living room, family room, stairs and upstairs hallway.  Then when we had the room added on--the "sewing" room--we had stylish brown carpet in the family room and sewing room and new vinyl flooring in the kitchen. Later, when I left for college, we had white carpet put in throughout the house.

I also remember the tile in the "entryway".  Each tile with three bars of tan/taupe rectangles with small, speckled dents scattered throughout, laid in alternating perpendiculars like a patchwork.  I remember coming home and, with a touch of obsessive compulsive thought from the walk home from school still in me (trying not to step on cracks or lines to save my mother's back or spine), I would try to fit my foot in the rectangles set parallel to the direction I was walking. 

I remember playing on the tile when I was even younger.  Sunday afternoon, stacking the raw and colored blocks that were stored in the linen cloth toy bags mom made for us in an attempt to organize.  It was loud when you dumped out the blocks and it was loud when, invariably, the stack of blocks would come crashing down after listing to and fro in a Jenga like challenge to build the highest tower failed yet again.  And I remember the yell from Mom who was laying nearby on the black couch trying to take a poorly conceived Sunday nap while watching football and making frequent channel changing and Kleenex (is there any other brand of tissue?) fetching requests, to be quiet.   I like to think the tile is still in place, sealed under whatever wall-to-wall carpeting is there now, waiting to re-emerge some day.

For all its promise of being soft and comfortable, the red shag carpet had an unpleasant dry texture and musty, dusty smell. Perhaps that was partly due to the fact that Mom "didn't believe in professional carpet cleaning." I recall building Legos and losing small round studded pieces in the shag forest on Christmas Eve and Christmas Morning (I preferred to do my Lego building on the lumpy bumpy blue carpet in the "boys" bedroom upstairs in my early years, and in the smooth, "short-haired" blue carpet of the "remodeled" duck wallpaper bedroom in my later years) . The red shag carpet wasn't great for playing, except for building up sock-footed static for spark touch battles in the evening dark of the living room.  Of course these were less frequent as the living room filled with flowered couches, coffee tables, and a menagerie of porcelain dolls.

When I was old enough to wield the Electrolux vacuum with its rotating brush power nozzle and 40-pound power unit complete with spring loaded, auto retracting cord, I would vacuum the same red shag carpet.  I remember going to the Kelsch's house and seeing perfectly placed backgammon rows in their brown living room carpet, wondering why their carpet shone so nicely.  When I tried to reproduce the same in our red shag, the best I ever got was a vague shadow of triangles at the edges of the room where the carpet was less worn and could still be "brushed".  I can distinctly remember the sound of a small, round Lego stud piece being ground up in the power brush then ricocheting down the hose piece to the sealed bag in the power unit, never to be clicked in to place again.