“From the heart of Rainier Valley” is from Tristin Pagenkopf, one of the last of the blue-light specials, born just off of Rainier Avenue back in 1968. She has a day job. Sometimes she teaches. She’s married to a foreigner. They live in a house in Hillman City that’s seen better days, and they count themselves lucky to live in a fascinating, beautiful neighborhood filled with interesting people and a rich history, which is what she shares with RVP readers on a semi-regular basis.
When I was a kid, we used to get milk from The Smith Brothers delivered to our doorstep. We’d pick up eggs on the way home from church from a road-side stand. This week, someone I have yet to meet in person left fresh eggs on our front porch. Right here in the city. This simple, generous gift took me back to summers in my grandmother’s kitchen. My family feasted on omelets that night, and we pretended we were living in the French village where my parents briefly lived. Moments like this remind me that there is nothing ordinary about this valley we live in.
Our next door neighbors, the ones I first thought were simply renting due to the condition of their house paint, are now familiar to me as gifted musicians. Last night, now that it is warm enough to leave a window or door open, we were treated to a two hour jazz concert as they rehearsed for a gig over in Chelan. Rehearsal is really too crude a word for the music they made.
Michael is a born and raised Rainier Valley gentleman. Most days I envy his calm demeanor and lack of concern for much beyond keeping his big leaf maples under control. I worry when I see his ladder out, and big branches lying in the yard. He’s not one you would expect to own power tools. Some days I’m sure he’s stoned, walking slowly up and down our shared driveway with Alice the Dalmatian. He looks far younger than he is, but he does have a daughter in college. And Sylvia, his wife, has the voice of an angel. To hear her laugh is to know uncommon, pure joy. When she sings, I’m left speechless and touched to the core. How unexpected they both are…
Finally, I have to tell you about the morning Mrs. Folino decided to go for a walk instead of waiting for her ride. It was a couple of weeks ago on Palm Sunday. We had talked at least six times about how I would pick her up and take her to St. Edwards for mass. I confirmed the night before. What I neglected to do was synchronize our clocks.
The morning came, and I went to pick her up. I was 15 minutes early so I drove around the block. Finally, I parked and went to her door, rang the doorbell. Nothing. I tried again (and again).
Lois, a concerned neighbor, came across the street in her bathrobe to find out what was happening. Between us, we called 911 and every hospital in town. Nothing.
The heroic paramedics from Fire Station 28 came and went inside. I had visions of things you just don’t want to think about on a quiet, Sunday morning. They came out and said “She’s not there.” Not home. She was gone. It turns out that they know her from her visits to the firehouse to check her blood pressure. So I went home. Lois called later to let me know that three different police cars had also cruised by.
A couple of hours went by. I was so worried that I managed to plant all my seeds, and dig up every weed in the garden.
Where could she be?
The phone finally rang, and here’s the best part – I got a stern talking to by my favorite elderly neighbor for not picking her up. She had decided to walk to church. That’s right, I got chewed out for being late. I tried to explain that I had been early, but she wouldn’t hear it.
Finally, I asked her what time she had, and it became clear that Mrs. Folino lives her life 20 minutes in advance of the rest of us. And she had left about five minutes before I’d arrived.
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What a beautiful article about your neighbors. Such a nice style, and so appreciative of their quirkiness. I wish everyone saw the world this way.
Thank you! What a wonderful story and lovely neighbors you have — we all have here in RV.
DG
We don’t share eggs on our block but we DO share produce, and in the summer, figs from my trees are welcomed by many neighbors.
That was indeed beautiful. Mrs. Folino reminds me of my Mother. That sums up about a million confusing and amusing conversations I’ve had with her. Your story made me smile with recognition of someone I’ve never met.
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