As school gets under way, the summer routines are broken, and new schedules and activities take their place. The leaves may begin to hint at changing color. The temperature becomes more bearable, sometimes pleasant even, and the shadows lengthen as the sun's position changes. Fall is in the air. People in our neighborhood begin to put out Halloween decorations-some displays more elaborate than others, consisting largely of hay bales, cornstalks, scarecrows, pumpkins and chrysanthemums. More people are outside walking. The dogs are friskier, and the cats on the porch spend most of their time curled up on the glider, with its cozy Mexican blanket. It is a lovely, transitional season.
In one of my favorite movies, You've Got Mail, Tom Hanks' character tells Meg Ryan's character that there is something about Fall that makes him think of buying school supplies. He says he would like to send her a "bouquet of newly sharpened pencils".
We had our own ritual of school supply shopping when we were growing up. We piled in the Ford Club Wagon (big blue van) and drove out to Barksdale AF Base to the BX (Base Exchange), armed with our lists (which Mother tried to consolidate to one big master-list) of demanded supplies. As we loaded up our cart in the overly-crowded store, full of other families trying to get their own supplies, one of us would be calling out how many of each item was needed; 18 3-subject notebooks, 6 binders, 8 packs of notebook paper, 2 Big Crayon boxes, and 3 sets of map pencils, etc., while we scrambled to fill the order, before said items were all gone. Other families grabbed for their needs, looking back at us in horror, like we were a swarm of school supply locusts, there to consume everything in our path!
Every year, there was always at least one item on the list, that was totally unavailable - perhaps because it only existed in the imagination of the teacher that put it on her list. Mother referred to this item as the "Holy Grail" of school supplies. The quest for the "grail" would usually have to continue at another (civilian) store... probably in vain, but we would intrepidly go forth, nonetheless. Regardless of the fact that we would indeed not need this item immediately, we were slaves to the "LIST" and had to search for it, or die trying!
As we checked out and exited the BX, it would invariably be pouring down raining! We could have been in the middle of a summer-long drought, but it seemed that it never failed to "break" just in time for our trek to the car, with us laden with our paper goods. We had no air conditioning in the van, so the steamy ride home was less than enjoyable.
Once home, the goods were divided up. We each made our own "pile" of newly acquired notebooks, pencils, pens, etc. We waited to return to school the next day, eager to fill our new notebooks and our minds, with knowledge.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Monday, August 3, 2009
A Rather Odd Question
Yesterday Momma called me to ask "a rather odd question", as she put it. "When did Daddy die?"
I told her, "in 1989, so it's been 20 years."
"Really?"
"Yes," I told her, "it was the day after Memorial Day, a few months before Meg was born."
"Well, okay. I just wanted to make sure he was... dead."
I told her, "in 1989, so it's been 20 years."
"Really?"
"Yes," I told her, "it was the day after Memorial Day, a few months before Meg was born."
"Well, okay. I just wanted to make sure he was... dead."
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Endless Summer
When we were small, summer lasted forever. Maybe because the heat, which generally began mid-April and lasted until mid- to late October, seemed to last forever, especially before central air-conditioning.
Toward the end of the school year, the mid-day heat would climb. We would come into the classroom after second recess smelling of sunshine, fresh air and sweat. This aroma mingled with the moist wintergreen-scented sawdust that the school maids put down (a process which was always a source of fascination to me), sprinkled out of the coffee cans they kept on their carts, to catch and retain some of the chalk dust and playground dirt we carried in with us from our play, then swept up with those broad brooms they used. We sat at our desks, usually for reading or arithmetic or geography (the population of _ is this, its main product is this, its main export is that, its main import is this... ), something capable of producing a near-coma by itself, but add to that the oscillating fan, whose drone was both comforting (when it blew in your direction and you were fleetingly cooled by the small breeze) and cruel (when it was pointed elsewhere), and it took all of our will-power not to doze off.
At home the heat continued, tempered by the shade and the cool grass in the yard and the one window-unit air-conditioner in the house. The air-conditioner was located in the den/boys room (which, for you grandchildren, became the dining room at Grammy's house). The unit did its best to cool off the den, kitchen and living room, but didn't reach as far as the bedrooms or bathrooms whose doors remained shut to retain the coolness to the main part of the house. At night the windows were all opened and the attic fan was switched on to bring a steady (if not always cooling) flow of air to all. As soon as the sun started to rise, punctuated by Daddy switching on our room overhead lights and declaring, "Rise and shine, Sunshine!", the fan was switched off and windows were shut as we emerged from our humidity-dampened sheets.
We played most of the time outside anyway, but if Daddy felt like the traffic was coming and going too much and we were "letting all of the cool air out" we were locked out for a time. He literally locked the door and we were refused entrance. We generally sat in a commiserate group on the grass awaiting the time we were to be readmitted.
Our time was spent in varied activities. In our yard, we climbed the mimosa trees. We would hang-out on the large, smooth-barked branches for hours, fanning ourselves with the fern-like leaves and shucking the seed-pods. On the vacant lot next door (now the Ellis') we discovered a "clay factory" (a deposit of clay on the banks of the channel) where Marty and I mucked about while the older kids made works of art. We had a rope swing that swung out over the channel from the high bank (loads of fun, unless you happened to swing wide and smack into a large cypress tree on your way back), and we constructed "survival" shelters (I'm sure for some Boy Scout requirement). We rode bikes either up and down Laguna Lane or around the "circle" of our driveways and Laguna and South Lakeshore. We played or fished at the pier and, for a time when it was legal, we even swam at the piers (which, for Marty and I, who didn't swim, consisted of Daddy's form of lessons, i.e. throwing us in). When swimming in Cross Lake wasn't legal, the boys devised a way to still have some watery fun: they took out the little sailboat we had and tipped it over. Then when the Lake Patrol came by, they had a legitimate excuse for being in the water, swimming, "Our boat tipped over!" (Of course, you were taking your chances with the alligators while in the water, too.)
We had our share of chores to do. Mowing the lawn, edging the driveway, weeding the flower beds, picking the green beans, dusting the furniture, vacuuming the carpet, helping with supper preparations, setting and clearing the table and washing, drying and putting away the dishes, helping to wash the clothes (first at the laundromat, then later, with our wringer-washer and series of rinse water tubs) then hanging the clothes on the lines and, of course collecting them from the lines when they were dry, folding and putting them away, making our beds (which I discovered was easiest if you only slept under the bedspread instead of the sheets and blankets), caring for the pets, and always, taking care of anyone younger than yourself.
We had another military family, the O'Malleys, Mary Pat, Nancy and Timmy and Katie, down Laguna, as well as Gayla Benson, Cynthia Martin and Alton Parker. At the O'Malleys' house, we acted-out songs like "Ahab the Arab" (complete with costumes) for our own entertainment, then drank iced Kool-Aid in colored aluminum tumblers. In the evenings, when the temperature would become more tolerable, we would rally the neighborhood kids to play badminton, crack- the-whip, Mother, May I?, and Red Rover in our backyard, or we would play baseball on the lot next to the Benson's house. As it waxed closer to fall, we would switch to football. We played until dark, or until someone got called home, signaling that we should probably all do the same.
It was a simpler time. We didn't have a lot of luxuries like central air conditioning, automatic washers and driers, dishwashers (Mommy always said she had seven), but we had all we needed... we had each other, and all the days of the long hot summer.
Toward the end of the school year, the mid-day heat would climb. We would come into the classroom after second recess smelling of sunshine, fresh air and sweat. This aroma mingled with the moist wintergreen-scented sawdust that the school maids put down (a process which was always a source of fascination to me), sprinkled out of the coffee cans they kept on their carts, to catch and retain some of the chalk dust and playground dirt we carried in with us from our play, then swept up with those broad brooms they used. We sat at our desks, usually for reading or arithmetic or geography (the population of _ is this, its main product is this, its main export is that, its main import is this... ), something capable of producing a near-coma by itself, but add to that the oscillating fan, whose drone was both comforting (when it blew in your direction and you were fleetingly cooled by the small breeze) and cruel (when it was pointed elsewhere), and it took all of our will-power not to doze off.
At home the heat continued, tempered by the shade and the cool grass in the yard and the one window-unit air-conditioner in the house. The air-conditioner was located in the den/boys room (which, for you grandchildren, became the dining room at Grammy's house). The unit did its best to cool off the den, kitchen and living room, but didn't reach as far as the bedrooms or bathrooms whose doors remained shut to retain the coolness to the main part of the house. At night the windows were all opened and the attic fan was switched on to bring a steady (if not always cooling) flow of air to all. As soon as the sun started to rise, punctuated by Daddy switching on our room overhead lights and declaring, "Rise and shine, Sunshine!", the fan was switched off and windows were shut as we emerged from our humidity-dampened sheets.
We played most of the time outside anyway, but if Daddy felt like the traffic was coming and going too much and we were "letting all of the cool air out" we were locked out for a time. He literally locked the door and we were refused entrance. We generally sat in a commiserate group on the grass awaiting the time we were to be readmitted.
Our time was spent in varied activities. In our yard, we climbed the mimosa trees. We would hang-out on the large, smooth-barked branches for hours, fanning ourselves with the fern-like leaves and shucking the seed-pods. On the vacant lot next door (now the Ellis') we discovered a "clay factory" (a deposit of clay on the banks of the channel) where Marty and I mucked about while the older kids made works of art. We had a rope swing that swung out over the channel from the high bank (loads of fun, unless you happened to swing wide and smack into a large cypress tree on your way back), and we constructed "survival" shelters (I'm sure for some Boy Scout requirement). We rode bikes either up and down Laguna Lane or around the "circle" of our driveways and Laguna and South Lakeshore. We played or fished at the pier and, for a time when it was legal, we even swam at the piers (which, for Marty and I, who didn't swim, consisted of Daddy's form of lessons, i.e. throwing us in). When swimming in Cross Lake wasn't legal, the boys devised a way to still have some watery fun: they took out the little sailboat we had and tipped it over. Then when the Lake Patrol came by, they had a legitimate excuse for being in the water, swimming, "Our boat tipped over!" (Of course, you were taking your chances with the alligators while in the water, too.)
We had our share of chores to do. Mowing the lawn, edging the driveway, weeding the flower beds, picking the green beans, dusting the furniture, vacuuming the carpet, helping with supper preparations, setting and clearing the table and washing, drying and putting away the dishes, helping to wash the clothes (first at the laundromat, then later, with our wringer-washer and series of rinse water tubs) then hanging the clothes on the lines and, of course collecting them from the lines when they were dry, folding and putting them away, making our beds (which I discovered was easiest if you only slept under the bedspread instead of the sheets and blankets), caring for the pets, and always, taking care of anyone younger than yourself.
We had another military family, the O'Malleys, Mary Pat, Nancy and Timmy and Katie, down Laguna, as well as Gayla Benson, Cynthia Martin and Alton Parker. At the O'Malleys' house, we acted-out songs like "Ahab the Arab" (complete with costumes) for our own entertainment, then drank iced Kool-Aid in colored aluminum tumblers. In the evenings, when the temperature would become more tolerable, we would rally the neighborhood kids to play badminton, crack- the-whip, Mother, May I?, and Red Rover in our backyard, or we would play baseball on the lot next to the Benson's house. As it waxed closer to fall, we would switch to football. We played until dark, or until someone got called home, signaling that we should probably all do the same.
It was a simpler time. We didn't have a lot of luxuries like central air conditioning, automatic washers and driers, dishwashers (Mommy always said she had seven), but we had all we needed... we had each other, and all the days of the long hot summer.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Independence Day
When Matt and Mike went on their first out-of the-neighborhood biking adventure, they were nervous about the busy highway they would have to cross. We discussed how they would safely go about making sure it was clear and then proceed, watching out for each other and traffic. I waited, reassuring myself that they would be okay, nervous, but proud of them for attaining this milestone... a little taste of independence.
I am viewed by some of our friends and neighbors as something of an anomaly. I actually allow my kids to go off on a plane to New York City, Washington D.C. and even Japan-without me! (To some of them, going anywhere outside of the state of Louisiana is unthinkable!) While I worry about them and their safety on these trips, I put all of that into God's hands, and hope that the experience helps them to grow and learn (about themselves, as much as the places they are visiting). I think that they surprise themselves to learn that they are capable of taking care of and coping with anything that may come their way.
Mommy, I'm sure, went through her share of suffering through all of the milestones of our independence, but she never held us back from striving toward those goals.
Now, I have the unhappy job of taking her independence away from her, bit by bit. It eats at my soul, even though I know that I do it for her own good. I know that neither I, nor she, are responsible for the necessity that leads me to do it, but the dementia that grips her reason. It makes me so angry and there is nothing to be done to fight it-like tilting at windmills, it's a fruitless battle that will inevitably be lost.
So different from the feelings of encouraging my children to test themselves, I'm feeling nothing but discouraged to see the losses and mourn for all that she used to be.
I have to, once again, put all of that into God's hands, and hope that the experience helps us to grow and learn that we are capable of taking care of and coping with anything that may come our way... with His help.
I am viewed by some of our friends and neighbors as something of an anomaly. I actually allow my kids to go off on a plane to New York City, Washington D.C. and even Japan-without me! (To some of them, going anywhere outside of the state of Louisiana is unthinkable!) While I worry about them and their safety on these trips, I put all of that into God's hands, and hope that the experience helps them to grow and learn (about themselves, as much as the places they are visiting). I think that they surprise themselves to learn that they are capable of taking care of and coping with anything that may come their way.
Mommy, I'm sure, went through her share of suffering through all of the milestones of our independence, but she never held us back from striving toward those goals.
Now, I have the unhappy job of taking her independence away from her, bit by bit. It eats at my soul, even though I know that I do it for her own good. I know that neither I, nor she, are responsible for the necessity that leads me to do it, but the dementia that grips her reason. It makes me so angry and there is nothing to be done to fight it-like tilting at windmills, it's a fruitless battle that will inevitably be lost.
So different from the feelings of encouraging my children to test themselves, I'm feeling nothing but discouraged to see the losses and mourn for all that she used to be.
I have to, once again, put all of that into God's hands, and hope that the experience helps us to grow and learn that we are capable of taking care of and coping with anything that may come our way... with His help.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Grandparents are Antique Little Girls and Boys
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Daddy's Love
Yesterday Momma told me she was thinking about it being Father's Day, and it made her think about how her daddy gave up everything to come see her every weekend. He even came to her school programs ("..and you know how those can be."), often having to hitchhike both ways to be there. When he did come, she said her Aunt (Elise) would fuss at him and complain that it was a hardship to take care of her (Mommy). I told her he did it because he still wanted to be her "daddy" even if he couldn't be there all the time...because he loved her and she was his little girl.
I've always been amazed at the hard life she led as a girl, losing her mother at such an early age, having to be taken in by relatives, only seeing her daddy on weekends and holidays, and it has always amazed me that she in return was such a loving, sweet mother. Maybe she vowed to herself that she would make a better life for her kids.
Nowadays when people are so quick to lay the blame for their wretched lives on anyone else, she exemplifies rising above and making a better life with love and through faith.
The love and sacrifice of her Daddy played a big part.
I've always been amazed at the hard life she led as a girl, losing her mother at such an early age, having to be taken in by relatives, only seeing her daddy on weekends and holidays, and it has always amazed me that she in return was such a loving, sweet mother. Maybe she vowed to herself that she would make a better life for her kids.
Nowadays when people are so quick to lay the blame for their wretched lives on anyone else, she exemplifies rising above and making a better life with love and through faith.
The love and sacrifice of her Daddy played a big part.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Walking Each Other Home
Margaret and Carol were best friends. They grew up together, going to the same church and school. They also shared almost-the-same-day birthdays, Carol's, June 17th and Margaret's, June 19th. As first graders, they conspiratorially rolled down their hot woolen stockings into fat sausages around their ankles.
The friends had a special tradition. They met at the library to while-away the hours, reading and spending time together. When it was time to go home, since they lived an equal distance, but in opposite directions from the central point of the library, they would draw out the time by "walking each other home". Carol would walk all the way or half-way to Margaret's home, then they would turn around and walk all the way or half-way to Carol's home, sometimes ending up by parting once again, back at the library, to ensure that each girl still had an equal distance to walk alone.
When Margaret got married, Carol was a bridesmaid.
Even when they had been married for years and had raised their children, they exchanged letters, frequent letters that often crossed each other in the mail. Questions that one letter asked, might be answered before the letter even reached it's intended recipient. Or one might have to wait for the next letter, following the one received most recently, to get the eventual answer sought, because of the lag in delivery. They could have solved all of this, perhaps, by simply calling each other on the phone to share information, but the special anticipation of waiting for a letter, then upon receiving it, savoring the words (the very thoughts and feelings of a dear friend) was beyond comparison. A simple conversation cannot convey the same feeling as a well written letter, with it's thoughtful composition and honest emotion, free of distraction. A letter can be read over and over...drawing out the time spent with a dear friend
... like walking each other home.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
For Linda and her "Baby"
Daddy was away. Mommy was having car trouble. She didn't know what she was going to do, then she thought about the two boys down the street that seemed to know about working on cars. Just on the off-chance that they would be able to help, she called their house. She asked their mother if she could send one of them down to see if they could take a look. The tall dark-haired and the lighter-haired boy came, clad in jeans and white t-shirts, and fixed the car. She thanked them and I'm sure offered them money for their trouble-I doubt they accepted...
We knew their sister from the bus-stop (which was our driveway). She was a dark haired soft-spoken beauty, but most importantly, she was kind to all of us. We even went down to their house on occasion. Once we sat in a circle in the backyard and, I don't quite remember...did we tell ghost stories?
We did not know the boys, though. We recognized them as just older neighbor boys with cool cars. We always noticed when the burgundy Impala roared up and down Laguna.
It came as a surprise then, when one of the boys that had come down to work on the car, called and asked Linda for a date. She accepted, but wasn't quite sure which one of them was "Ronnie". He was the tall dark-haired one.
They began to date. Every night, we would hear the Impala roar to life, come up the street, pause for a while (*kissing*), then as it roared back down the road, the kitchen door would open, Linda would enter, "hic, hic, hic" (apparently kissing gave her hiccups), enter our room, switching on the overhead light (blinding anyone who hadn't heeded the hiccup warning and pulled the covers over their heads), and noisily got ready for bed.
Ronnie was funny. He'd have just a "tad" of cake or pie. When watching fireworks with us, as everyone was exclaiming over red-white-and-blue, he'd cheer for red, white, and green, saying "Yay, Italy!" He'd take pictures of pretty girls on floats at parades, then wave at the Mayor or Shriners and pretend to take a picture, saying,"Got it!"-so they wouldn't feel left out, but he wouldn't have to waste his film.
Linda called him, "Baby". Once, when two-year old Janet was in her "I'm NOT a baby!" phase, Linda was talking to Ronnie and said "Baby,...". Janet shouted, "Don't call him BABY!" and stormed off.
They were married on June 3, 1973. Yesterday was their wedding anniversary.
It seems fitting that their son, who looks so much like the tall dark-haired boy that worked on our car so long ago, now inhabits the house (down the street from where his dad lived) where it all began.
Love ya, Linda. Love ya, Melissa and Chris...Love ya, Ronnie.
We knew their sister from the bus-stop (which was our driveway). She was a dark haired soft-spoken beauty, but most importantly, she was kind to all of us. We even went down to their house on occasion. Once we sat in a circle in the backyard and, I don't quite remember...did we tell ghost stories?
We did not know the boys, though. We recognized them as just older neighbor boys with cool cars. We always noticed when the burgundy Impala roared up and down Laguna.
It came as a surprise then, when one of the boys that had come down to work on the car, called and asked Linda for a date. She accepted, but wasn't quite sure which one of them was "Ronnie". He was the tall dark-haired one.
They began to date. Every night, we would hear the Impala roar to life, come up the street, pause for a while (*kissing*), then as it roared back down the road, the kitchen door would open, Linda would enter, "hic, hic, hic" (apparently kissing gave her hiccups), enter our room, switching on the overhead light (blinding anyone who hadn't heeded the hiccup warning and pulled the covers over their heads), and noisily got ready for bed.
Ronnie was funny. He'd have just a "tad" of cake or pie. When watching fireworks with us, as everyone was exclaiming over red-white-and-blue, he'd cheer for red, white, and green, saying "Yay, Italy!" He'd take pictures of pretty girls on floats at parades, then wave at the Mayor or Shriners and pretend to take a picture, saying,"Got it!"-so they wouldn't feel left out, but he wouldn't have to waste his film.
Linda called him, "Baby". Once, when two-year old Janet was in her "I'm NOT a baby!" phase, Linda was talking to Ronnie and said "Baby,...". Janet shouted, "Don't call him BABY!" and stormed off.
They were married on June 3, 1973. Yesterday was their wedding anniversary.
It seems fitting that their son, who looks so much like the tall dark-haired boy that worked on our car so long ago, now inhabits the house (down the street from where his dad lived) where it all began.
Love ya, Linda. Love ya, Melissa and Chris...Love ya, Ronnie.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Confirmation
Above is a picture of Mommy when she was Confirmed on April, 6, 1941.
As I said before, she was raised by Uncle Ferdinand and Aunt Elise, who were Lutheran. She had been baptized Catholic, because her mother, Anne was Catholic. She said that Aunt Elise, or "Mama", had asked the pastor to baptize her as a Lutheran. He refused saying that she was already baptized. No matter in what church it took place, it was "good", there was no need to re-do it.
We, the kids and I, went to Grace's Confirmation this past weekend. Grammy couldn't go, but sent a card that she painstakingly wrote to Grace and hoped she could read it (any one who has ever seen her handwriting knows all too well what she meant).
She told her that "in her day" the girls wore all white, and had corsages. The boys wore suits (often the first one they would ever purchase) and wore boutonnieres.
Grace wore a pretty eyelet dress with an eyelet jacket. Her hair (done up by Linda and myself) was pulled back in the front and hung in curls in the front, and in the pony-tail part of the back. She looked so pretty. At church they were presented with red corsages, which I had the honor of pinning on her.
When the group of Confirmands said the Creed, Grace led the way for all of them. Janet would have been so proud of her... I know Paul was. We all were.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
...and a Hershey Bar!
Yesterday, May 27, Momma looked at the note I place on her calendar every day that tells her the day and date, and said that it was her dad's birthday. She couldn't remember what year he was born or how old he was when he died, but she knew the date.
I couldn't remember it either, and had no luck in my search for the information, so I asked Linda. Being the thorough and meticulous person that she is, she went to the cemetery, not once but twice, yesterday. She found the grave-site and the information we needed, took pictures, and placed a rose on Grandpa's grave for his birthday.
He was born on May 27, 1888 and died on January 26, 1978. He was almost 90 years old.
Momma said,( after her mother died of a lung abcess, when she was 9 months old) her daddy couldn't take care of her and work, so she went to live with Uncle Ferdinand (whom she called "Papa") and Aunt Elise ("Mama"). They raised her along with their children, Frieda and Arnold.
I couldn't remember it either, and had no luck in my search for the information, so I asked Linda. Being the thorough and meticulous person that she is, she went to the cemetery, not once but twice, yesterday. She found the grave-site and the information we needed, took pictures, and placed a rose on Grandpa's grave for his birthday.
He was born on May 27, 1888 and died on January 26, 1978. He was almost 90 years old.
Momma said,( after her mother died of a lung abcess, when she was 9 months old) her daddy couldn't take care of her and work, so she went to live with Uncle Ferdinand (whom she called "Papa") and Aunt Elise ("Mama"). They raised her along with their children, Frieda and Arnold.
Her Daddy (Grandpa Pretzer) would come visit her every week-end and take her to the movies. He always brought her a Hershey bar. (This was the beginning of her love of chocolate!)
I went in to her apartment this morning to tell her about what Linda had learned at the cemetery. She wanted to know where her mother was buried. I told her that I think the name of the cemetery is Holy Cross (because I found a picture of her walking around looking at gravestones, there)...though it could have been where "Mama and Papa" were buried, because Holy Cross is the name of the Lutheran school she attended as a child, and Anne was catholic.
...Along with the news, I brought her a picture I had found of Grandpa (her daddy)
...and, of course, a Hershey Bar!
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Memorial Day 2009
We went to the Chennault Aviation and Military Museum on Saturday, for Memorial Day Week-end. Daddy used to tell me about being at Selman Field in the 40's, but we could find no record of his having been there. Perhaps they came over from San Marcos, Texas where he graduated, got his wings and commission from in 1945, as a part of their navigation training, but were not enrolled there? (If any of you can shed any light on this, let me know). He remembered a lot of details of the area back then, so I don't doubt he was here. I asked Momma about it, but she just said, "I didn't know him back then." -so, I don't know...
According to a newspaper clipping with this picture (above), he served in the military since November of 1943, and was stationed at Nashville, Tennesee and Maxwell in Alabama, before San Marcos.
Anyway, I just wanted to say that I was proud of Daddy for his military career. I am also proud of Herman, Fred and Carl and Maurenne and Amy and Nicholas for all of their military service. We all love all of you and thank you for "stepping up to the plate" for all of us!
Ever since 1989, of course, Memorial Day has had special meaning for all of us-the day Daddy died (It was a Tuesday, but it was the traditonal date of Memorial Day, before they changed it to the last Monday in May). I drove over to see him for the last time. The VA Hospital had lined the driveway with flags, it felt like all of them were there just for him...for me, they were.
Happy Memorial Day!
Monday, May 18, 2009
From a tiny seed...
Today when I went in to fix Momma's lunch, I took her a bowl of cherries. I said to be sure to watch out for the pits.
As a small child, you believe everything your parents tell you. They have all the answers. Your faith in them is unquestioning.
When I was about 2 or 3 years old, I swallowed a watermelon seed. I began to imagine the worst would happen...that it would grow inside of me. Who knew what that would do to a little child? I went to Momma for comfort and for her to make it all better...it must have been a bad day or maybe just her wee-bit-on-the-wicked-side-humor, but her answer although satisfactory, left me a skeptical of her omnipotence...
...Years later, at Linda's dinner table, (we were eating watermelon? perhaps)-she was recounting how as a child, she had swallowed a seed and Arnold (her "brother"-she grew up with) told her it was going to grow inside of her. She prepared to die, she solemnly told us..she told her cat, Tiger, good-bye... (Everyone listened with empathy, and hardly a dry eye among us.)
I piped in, "Then why, when the same thing happened to me, did you tell me, 'Just keep your mouth shut, and the sunshine won't reach it.'!"
She quickly replied, "Well, you were very chatty."
Daddy laughed so hard, ...that big, loud burst of laughter when he was so amused! We all joined in. She couldn't believe she had said that to me.
So, today, she mentioned.."they used to tell us if you swallowed a seed, it would grow inside of you and kill you!"
I just smiled and nodded.
As a small child, you believe everything your parents tell you. They have all the answers. Your faith in them is unquestioning.
When I was about 2 or 3 years old, I swallowed a watermelon seed. I began to imagine the worst would happen...that it would grow inside of me. Who knew what that would do to a little child? I went to Momma for comfort and for her to make it all better...it must have been a bad day or maybe just her wee-bit-on-the-wicked-side-humor, but her answer although satisfactory, left me a skeptical of her omnipotence...
...Years later, at Linda's dinner table, (we were eating watermelon? perhaps)-she was recounting how as a child, she had swallowed a seed and Arnold (her "brother"-she grew up with) told her it was going to grow inside of her. She prepared to die, she solemnly told us..she told her cat, Tiger, good-bye... (Everyone listened with empathy, and hardly a dry eye among us.)
I piped in, "Then why, when the same thing happened to me, did you tell me, 'Just keep your mouth shut, and the sunshine won't reach it.'!"
She quickly replied, "Well, you were very chatty."
Daddy laughed so hard, ...that big, loud burst of laughter when he was so amused! We all joined in. She couldn't believe she had said that to me.
So, today, she mentioned.."they used to tell us if you swallowed a seed, it would grow inside of you and kill you!"
I just smiled and nodded.
A "Crown" of Braids
The other day when I was washing and blow drying Momma's hair, she asked if it was long enough to put into braids. She said she used to wear it that way, "and when you pull it up together, it looks like a tiara".
I told her that I have a picture of her looking like that.
It was a little short, but we fixed it like that, and it was very pretty.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Happy Birthday, Barbie!
Okay, so Barbie's actual birthday was the 9th, but I just couldn't get around to it then.
Barbie is 50 years old (just a year and a six days younger than I am), and to celebrate there was this chat site where you could fondly remember, or thoroughly trash everything about Barbie. Many chose the later. Of course, people went on about how her body type was unrealistic, and how she subsequently distorted every young girl's own body image and literally ruined our lives with her stereotypical conformity to the 1960's fashion model/singer/teenage lifestyle, blah, blah, blah...but I have only good memories of her.
Our Barbie dolls came from the 5 and 10 cent store in the shopping center on Lakeshore. Marty's was the blond bubble-cut, and mine was the brunette pony-tailed one. We got new outfits on our birthdays or other special occasions. We enjoyed the beautifully fitted fashions and accessories. My Barbie had the black beaded, strapless dress (complete with long gloves and microphone and stand and dramatic pink scarf). Marty's had the green and blue tulle skirted evening gown. Other favorites were the gold-embroidered dress with matching fur-trimmed coat, and the red velvet swing-coat with hat and purse.
The beautiful clothes were only one aspect of playing with Barbie; we over a period of time acquired Barbie's Fashion Shop-complete with display window, rack of fashions (our Barbies' own wardrobes), a table and chairs (from which Barbie, sitting with her very straight legs, bent at the hips would view the fashion show) and a curtained stage (upon which we presented countless fashion shows)-and Barbie's Dreamhouse-complete with twin beds, couch, chair, coffee table, 2 closets, stereo-TV, books for the bookcases, and a framed photo of Ken. Eventually, we added Barbie Goes to College-divided into a dorm room, Barbie's Sweet Shop, a drive-in movie theater and the back-drop of a crowded football stadium.
We felt somewhat spoiled to have these cardboard creations, because none of our friends had any of them. Oh, some of them had Barbie's Dream Car, but our Barbie's were content to drive around in the latest-model tennis shoe, or if the occasion called for a fancier mode of transportation, a borrowed high-heel or patent-leather Sunday shoe gave the illusion of a sports car or convertible.
Mommy even made some beautiful wedding dresses for our Barbies. I don't remember if it was out of necessity (possibly the store-bought ones were too pricey), or if it was just something she wanted to do for us.
We each even got a Midge doll (after all,a doll can only wear so many fashions at once) to add to the merriment. Again, mine was brunette, while Marty's was blond (her's met with an unfortunate beauty parlor incident, however).
I felt kind of sorry for Janet's generation, because they got hippy-Barbie, and the gimmicky long-haired Barbies that, to me, didn't possess the same qualities our Barbies had. I loved the style and image of our Barbies. It was the sixties after all, and the styles mimicked the fashions of Jackie Kennedy, ladies at church and, most importantly, our own mother. (Although she didn't possess the waspish-waist or even the trim legs...she was always stylish and beautiful in our eyes.)
Meg played with Barbies, too. She often wanted to take pictures of them outfitted in their finery. Her's were the Career Barbies (Pre-School Teacher, Veterinarian, Mermaid?). Later, she got into the collector series-Chinese Barbie, Victorian Barbie, Barbie as Rapunzel, and a few classic Barbies including the 35th Anniversary Edition which was a remake of the 1959 original with the striped swimsuit, sunglasses and heels.
I'm glad that Barbie was a part of my life, both as a child, and in my daughter's life, as a parent. I never looked to her as a career guide or role-model, she was a doll...and a treasured part of my childhood.
Happy Birthday, Barbie! (and me)
Barbie is 50 years old (just a year and a six days younger than I am), and to celebrate there was this chat site where you could fondly remember, or thoroughly trash everything about Barbie. Many chose the later. Of course, people went on about how her body type was unrealistic, and how she subsequently distorted every young girl's own body image and literally ruined our lives with her stereotypical conformity to the 1960's fashion model/singer/teenage lifestyle, blah, blah, blah...but I have only good memories of her.
Our Barbie dolls came from the 5 and 10 cent store in the shopping center on Lakeshore. Marty's was the blond bubble-cut, and mine was the brunette pony-tailed one. We got new outfits on our birthdays or other special occasions. We enjoyed the beautifully fitted fashions and accessories. My Barbie had the black beaded, strapless dress (complete with long gloves and microphone and stand and dramatic pink scarf). Marty's had the green and blue tulle skirted evening gown. Other favorites were the gold-embroidered dress with matching fur-trimmed coat, and the red velvet swing-coat with hat and purse.
The beautiful clothes were only one aspect of playing with Barbie; we over a period of time acquired Barbie's Fashion Shop-complete with display window, rack of fashions (our Barbies' own wardrobes), a table and chairs (from which Barbie, sitting with her very straight legs, bent at the hips would view the fashion show) and a curtained stage (upon which we presented countless fashion shows)-and Barbie's Dreamhouse-complete with twin beds, couch, chair, coffee table, 2 closets, stereo-TV, books for the bookcases, and a framed photo of Ken. Eventually, we added Barbie Goes to College-divided into a dorm room, Barbie's Sweet Shop, a drive-in movie theater and the back-drop of a crowded football stadium.
We felt somewhat spoiled to have these cardboard creations, because none of our friends had any of them. Oh, some of them had Barbie's Dream Car, but our Barbie's were content to drive around in the latest-model tennis shoe, or if the occasion called for a fancier mode of transportation, a borrowed high-heel or patent-leather Sunday shoe gave the illusion of a sports car or convertible.
Mommy even made some beautiful wedding dresses for our Barbies. I don't remember if it was out of necessity (possibly the store-bought ones were too pricey), or if it was just something she wanted to do for us.
We each even got a Midge doll (after all,a doll can only wear so many fashions at once) to add to the merriment. Again, mine was brunette, while Marty's was blond (her's met with an unfortunate beauty parlor incident, however).
I felt kind of sorry for Janet's generation, because they got hippy-Barbie, and the gimmicky long-haired Barbies that, to me, didn't possess the same qualities our Barbies had. I loved the style and image of our Barbies. It was the sixties after all, and the styles mimicked the fashions of Jackie Kennedy, ladies at church and, most importantly, our own mother. (Although she didn't possess the waspish-waist or even the trim legs...she was always stylish and beautiful in our eyes.)
Meg played with Barbies, too. She often wanted to take pictures of them outfitted in their finery. Her's were the Career Barbies (Pre-School Teacher, Veterinarian, Mermaid?). Later, she got into the collector series-Chinese Barbie, Victorian Barbie, Barbie as Rapunzel, and a few classic Barbies including the 35th Anniversary Edition which was a remake of the 1959 original with the striped swimsuit, sunglasses and heels.
I'm glad that Barbie was a part of my life, both as a child, and in my daughter's life, as a parent. I never looked to her as a career guide or role-model, she was a doll...and a treasured part of my childhood.
Happy Birthday, Barbie! (and me)
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Saying Good-Bye
It was a year ago today (Sunday, though the date was the 10th) that I took Mommy to see Janet.
Linda was heading back to Shreveport, so she would take Mom that far, and John would pick her up there to take her home. I know Mom was shocked by how Janet appeared, bald and so ill, but Jannie needed to see her mommy one more time. She needed to say good bye. I touched her arm and said, "Janet, Mommy's here." She said, "I know."
I stayed behind to help Paul care for Janet, and give him a chance to rest and be at home with Thomas and Grace. I ended up calling him sometime in the wee hours of the morning, and disturbed his rest.
I could tell that the end was near and she might be waiting for him to be there. He told her that he loved her, and what a good mommy and wife she was, and that he'd take care of the kids...
She seemed to relax and took her final breaths...then rested in the arms of Jesus.
We love you, Paul for the love and care that you gave to her. No one could have made her happier.
We love you, Thomas and Grace. I know that whatever you do in life, you will always make your momma proud.
God bless you all.
Linda was heading back to Shreveport, so she would take Mom that far, and John would pick her up there to take her home. I know Mom was shocked by how Janet appeared, bald and so ill, but Jannie needed to see her mommy one more time. She needed to say good bye. I touched her arm and said, "Janet, Mommy's here." She said, "I know."
I stayed behind to help Paul care for Janet, and give him a chance to rest and be at home with Thomas and Grace. I ended up calling him sometime in the wee hours of the morning, and disturbed his rest.
I could tell that the end was near and she might be waiting for him to be there. He told her that he loved her, and what a good mommy and wife she was, and that he'd take care of the kids...
She seemed to relax and took her final breaths...then rested in the arms of Jesus.
We love you, Paul for the love and care that you gave to her. No one could have made her happier.
We love you, Thomas and Grace. I know that whatever you do in life, you will always make your momma proud.
God bless you all.
Letting Go
Meg has made it safely to Japan and is, seemingly, adjusting well to it. Of course, she had quite a travel adventure (all her flights were late, so she barely made her connections) to tell us about.
We have SKYPE, a computer "phoning" system, so we can talk to her and see her (thanks to webcams), and she can see us, i.e., her brothers can make faces, dance, and be totally silly in real time for her. It's such a miraculous thing, to see and hear her so clearly, from the other side of the world! It's like something from The Jetsons or Star Trek...the kids can't think why we are so amazed by this (they are so technologically advanced).
She's living in a dorm, full of exchange students. Her roommate is from Kenya, Christine, and she is meeting people from all over the world, including a fair amount from the US. She has a "speaking partner", Naru, who is a freshman English major (she'll help "Megu" with her Japanese and Meg helps her with her English), and a "home visit" family (only the daughter speaks some English) to learn the culture from. She's taking a full class schedule, but will still have time to explore the country (already she's been to Kyoto and Osaka... she's in Hirakata City).
It's always been a dream of hers to go to Japan, so when this opportunity came up...She had to go for it! It was part of her scholarship to have a stipend for a semester abroad, so (though, ideally, I thought England or Scotland) we said she could.
I know she's going to learn and grow from this experience, even more so than at Alabama (Roll Tide!). John and I know that God is leading her wherever she needs to go, so we're not worried about her. Our prayers and love go with her.
We have SKYPE, a computer "phoning" system, so we can talk to her and see her (thanks to webcams), and she can see us, i.e., her brothers can make faces, dance, and be totally silly in real time for her. It's such a miraculous thing, to see and hear her so clearly, from the other side of the world! It's like something from The Jetsons or Star Trek...the kids can't think why we are so amazed by this (they are so technologically advanced).
She's living in a dorm, full of exchange students. Her roommate is from Kenya, Christine, and she is meeting people from all over the world, including a fair amount from the US. She has a "speaking partner", Naru, who is a freshman English major (she'll help "Megu" with her Japanese and Meg helps her with her English), and a "home visit" family (only the daughter speaks some English) to learn the culture from. She's taking a full class schedule, but will still have time to explore the country (already she's been to Kyoto and Osaka... she's in Hirakata City).
It's always been a dream of hers to go to Japan, so when this opportunity came up...She had to go for it! It was part of her scholarship to have a stipend for a semester abroad, so (though, ideally, I thought England or Scotland) we said she could.
I know she's going to learn and grow from this experience, even more so than at Alabama (Roll Tide!). John and I know that God is leading her wherever she needs to go, so we're not worried about her. Our prayers and love go with her.
"When you walk through a storm..."
Mommy always calls in here to check,"Has someone walked Shadow?" Of course, we have. We walk him and Daisy every morning and every evening, without fail.
One night she took Shadow outside, after dark, "because no one walked him yesterday".
I told her that we walk him every day, no matter what. I said we were like the post office,
"Neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night..."
Once when Hurricane Gustav was raging outside, Mommy came into the house, because she was "afraid of the storm". At almost the exact instant, she asked if the boys were going to walk the dogs. I said, "Mommy, you came in here because you're afraid of the wind, rain, and lightening, but you want to make sure my kids take your dog for a walk in it?!"
So, of course, we walked the dogs in the storm...
One night she took Shadow outside, after dark, "because no one walked him yesterday".
I told her that we walk him every day, no matter what. I said we were like the post office,
"Neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night..."
Once when Hurricane Gustav was raging outside, Mommy came into the house, because she was "afraid of the storm". At almost the exact instant, she asked if the boys were going to walk the dogs. I said, "Mommy, you came in here because you're afraid of the wind, rain, and lightening, but you want to make sure my kids take your dog for a walk in it?!"
So, of course, we walked the dogs in the storm...
Saturday, February 7, 2009
January "made me shiver..."
Well, we've had the stomach virus,
Not at all a pleasant experience, but it totally made me appreciate why in cholera epidemics, they invented the "cholera cot", because there's no way your going to make it to the bathroom anyway... at least it was somewhat staggered, so that there were enough bathrooms for the victims at the time. Mommy had a very mild case, thankfully.
and now we (Mike, Matt and I) have had the flu.
(John and Mommy had flu shots so they didn't get it). Matt and I are still having lingering respiratory problems, i.e., "coughing up a lung"every morning.
We're hoping that we are through with being sick for a long while.
Of course, it brought to mind the January when Marty was supposed to have her Wizard of OZ birthday party (for some reason, they always played the movie every year in January). That year her birthday happened to fall at or near the play date. We had designed an elaborate yellow brick road on the dining room table, a Barbie was dressed as Dorothy, and the cake was the far off Emerald City (I'm sure it rivaled anything the Ace of Cakes has to offer, today). As the date and time of the party drew near, we were "dropping like flies", falling victim to whatever ailment we had (flu?, virus?). Anyway, the party had to be cancelled. As we all lay about the house, presumably wherever we "dropped", Herman laid on the couch moaning loudly. Mother commented to him, "We all have it!" To which he replied, "Yeah, but it hurts me more!"
Not at all a pleasant experience, but it totally made me appreciate why in cholera epidemics, they invented the "cholera cot", because there's no way your going to make it to the bathroom anyway... at least it was somewhat staggered, so that there were enough bathrooms for the victims at the time. Mommy had a very mild case, thankfully.
and now we (Mike, Matt and I) have had the flu.
(John and Mommy had flu shots so they didn't get it). Matt and I are still having lingering respiratory problems, i.e., "coughing up a lung"every morning.
We're hoping that we are through with being sick for a long while.
Of course, it brought to mind the January when Marty was supposed to have her Wizard of OZ birthday party (for some reason, they always played the movie every year in January). That year her birthday happened to fall at or near the play date. We had designed an elaborate yellow brick road on the dining room table, a Barbie was dressed as Dorothy, and the cake was the far off Emerald City (I'm sure it rivaled anything the Ace of Cakes has to offer, today). As the date and time of the party drew near, we were "dropping like flies", falling victim to whatever ailment we had (flu?, virus?). Anyway, the party had to be cancelled. As we all lay about the house, presumably wherever we "dropped", Herman laid on the couch moaning loudly. Mother commented to him, "We all have it!" To which he replied, "Yeah, but it hurts me more!"
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