My Life in the Little Brown House, part 9; Piano lessons, Bathroom

After the northwest room ceased to be a bedroom (I never figured out what happened to the bed and dresser that were in it — sort of a cedarwood construction) the family used it as a sort of play and general purpose room. I suppose I included it in my morning sweeping shore. The piano had been moved there from its previous place in the parlor and there it was that the older children practiced on it and were given lessons by our Aunt Ruth. I know that Clarice, Vivian and I had lessons but I’m pretty sure that Vincent never started. After the move to the farm Vivian continues with the instruction from Aunt Ruth, but it stopped for me, and I think Clarice also. I can see myself now seated on the piano bench with Aunt Ruth beside me, going through the scales and arpeggios in the various combinations of flats and sharps. She also assigned simple compositions such as “The Happy Farmer” by Robert Schumann which was a favorite of mine — indeed it is the only specific piece I recall.

I never acquired much skill but this early introduction to the piano did two things for me. First it later on led to an attempt at developing some facility on the instrument, though without any substantial success. This happened while I was living in San Pedro and I took lessons for awhile with a lady who was the organist at the second Lutheran church in the town. I continued the activity (but not any lessons) after the move to the San Francisco are and I actually rented a piano for awhile. But the activity gradually dwindled and though I’ve sat down at the piano occasionally over the years, even such occasions have become rarer and rarer. More important was the second effect and that was to engender in me a liking for piano music, indeed for other keyboard instruments also such as the organ. And in a general way for music of whatever kind. I date my liking, even preference for Bach’s music to the influence of the piano teacher I had in San Pedro.

Adjacent to the northwest room of the little brown house was the bathroom. As in most, if not all, houses in Gowrie at the time it was the one and only bathroom in the building. The bathtub was the old-fashioned kind with the claw feet and it was tucked into a nook on the east side of the room, below the staircase going to the upstairs. The headroom as a consequence was a little limited at one end. Midway on the west side was the wash basin with a little cabinet above it, having a small mirror. Here it was that my father shaved every morning, using an old shaving mug (with the soap in the bottom of it) and an old-fashioned straight razor. I remember the device he had for honing the razor. It wasn’t the usual kind of strop where the user holds the razor and moves it over the strop (as the barbers at the barber shop in Gowrie did). Rather it was a little device that he would hook onto the door knob; the razor was inserted and the stop was pulled alternately one way and then back through it. The action was such that the razor would be honed on one side when the strop was being pulled on way and on the other side when the alternate pulling step was being completed. Vaguely I recall doing the stropping under my father’s supervision. In later years he changed to a safety razor and that is what he was using when I started to shave. This was after we had moved to the farm and when I started I just used his equipment when I wanted to shave. When my grandfather Strand died his personal belongings were dispersed and I acquired the safety razor that he had used in his later years. It was a Keen Kutter brand razor of rather different design and used a special kind of blade that could be re-sharpened with a little stropping device; I used it pretty regularly for quite awhile until it was superseded by a more conventional safety razor, and later on by a series of electric razors. I still have my grandfather’s razor as about the only relic I have of his.






















Keen Kutter razor and hone

During most of the year the bathtub was used only for the Saturday evening baths. The series of baths started with the youngest of the children and progressed age-wise through the family, with my father and mother having theirs later in the evening — when most of the children if not all of them were already abed. In the summer the evening baths took place oftener, perhaps being a daily occurrence. To conserve the soft water which was used for laundry and bathing, etc., the bath water was re-used by later bathers, with perhaps some additions. I think in the years after the family moved back to town that the use of the soft water and the cistern was abandoned and the water from the town system was used. This city water came from a well, or wells, and was relatively “hard” so there was a water softener unit in the basement. I suspect also that the furnace had been converted to natural gas; with my father being incapacitated with Parkinson’s disease in his later years he would not have been able to stoke the furnace with coal and cobs.