Sunny Day

When Sesame Street first came out in 1969, they had a part of their opening montage a hoard of kids running through a park on an apparent migration toward Sesame Street itself. The visual images in addition to the lyrics “On my way to where the air is sweet, Can you tell me how to get to Sesame Street?” told me that I had to run away. I had to get to Sesame Street somehow. At age four and five I had a vague idea that Sesame Street was back east, somewhere in New York City. I began laying plans for my escape.

Also when I was four or five my mother would do most of her shopping at the Safeway store in Juanita, just a couple of miles south of our house in Kirkland. This was one of the original Safeway’s, too. Its architecture was similar to a quanset hut, barrel shaped. Large arching glu-lam beams stained darkly supported the roof. It was about a quarter the size of a Safeway now days. Safeway figured into my escape. I reasoned that the name had some deep meaning. I thought that they would guarantee your safety traveling to and from their store. Safeway was security to me.

On one of the trips to Safeway, I began pricing items that I could buy on my way to Sesame Street. Rye bread was important, but it was also expensive. I loved butter on rye bread. At five years old, I could have survived on that. The best deal I could find for the money was a head of lettuce. Iceberg lettuce was at the most expensive a quarter a head. I probably priced it on a very highly priced day. I could live eat lettuce all the way to Sesame Street.

The price was reasonable: a quarter. I knew where to find quarters. People back then would use a thing called pay phones. You could make a phone call for ten cents. When people made calls around Safeway their hands would be full, their fingers sticky from pinching fruit in the store and they would have to search through their pockets for the dime. In their search they would drop nickels, pennies, dimes and even quarters. Outside any Safeway, I was sure I could find a treasure trove of forgotten coins. I could scrounge enough of them to fund my escape.

I had it all figured out. I would constantly move from Safeway to Safeway scrounging dropped nickels from the parking lots and sidewalk around the phone booth. I would buy lettuce and if I had enough money rye bread. I didn’t think I could ever get as extravagant as butter, but I didn’t know. My security would be set, my destination would always be Safeway. I had the plan, I could make it to Sesame Street, I just never set a date to start the journey.

Late in May, just before Chrissy returned from the US for the last time, I was searching for something to eat in our little fridge. There wasn’t much and I didn’t feel like cooking. I wanted something akin to salad. I had a head of Iceberg lettuce in the bottom drawer. I pulled it out and ripped it in half and continued to shred it with my hands. I ended up shredding the entire head of lettuce onto my plate. I didn’t have any other things to put into the Iceberg salad, but I did grate some cheddar cheese on the top. I never did like dressing, anyhow. I didn’t have any rye bread either, but the croutons I put on the top worked. That night I ate my dinner. I wouldn’t call it a salad, but it did confirm that my plan would have worked. I know that I could make it to Sesame Street.