In memory of a most beloved baby.
November 12, 2006
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Nov 12, 2009
Dec 9, 2007
They Paved Paradise to Put Up a Parking Lot
Of course, a mall isn't exactly paradise, I suppose, and a corporate headquarters isn't exactly a parking lot either, for that matter.
But what "paradise" is, of course, depends on the person defining it. To a kid from East Nowhere in Upstate, NY, paradise was Midtown Plaza in Rochester.
Midtown was the nation's first enclosed shopping mall and was completed in 1962. It had a couple of office buildings and department stores attached and/or linked by skyway. My dad worked for Lincoln Rochester Trust/Lincoln Alliance/Lincoln First Bank/Chase Lincoln First in the Plaza and related office buildings for 29 years, I worked a couple of college summers as a bank teller in the Midtown branch and a summer in the leasing department in the Seneca building, my mom and my sister also worked for the Bank in the attached buildings. In fact, in this video (Midtown Plaza in 1963), you can actually see my dad. In the scene where there are people looking through little windows at the construction, he's the third man from the left (the big guy with no hat).
But, when I was little, Midtown wasn't a place to work. Oh sure, people worked there - my dad did, of course - but, no, for a five year old, it was a fantastical kingdom, a place where Santa was real and lived on a glistening mountain that a monorail went through. After gingerly visiting Santa, we'd cross the skywalk to Sibley's department store and walk through their holiday dioramas to a little shopping area they'd set up just for kids.
From the glittering palace that was B. Forman (another department store) to the high-ceilinged dining room at Sibley's with its two-story, drapery clad windows where they served your milkshake still in the metal mixing cup so that you could have seconds, from McCurdy's (also a department store) with it's wonderfully helpful staff, a "lunchroom" that was nicer than most restaurants today, and a bakery filled with innumerable treats, even the long shiny escalators that went from the underground parking garage and the clock - that magical clock that featured hourly music and dancing marionettes from countries around the world - it was a place of unparalleled elegance to a kid from a cowtown that never saw much more than pastures and orchards.
Now, it's 85% vacant and scheduled to be demolished next year to make way for the corporate headquarters of a telecom company. I understand, oh I do understand, but it makes me so sorrowful to lose a place that was symbolic to me of all that was to be yearned for as a child.
You see, homesick isn't about geography; homesick is about a state of mind, a state of being and, try as we might, we truly cannot go home again and recapture what was in the same way we experienced it the first time. I know this. But I did so hope to bring my daughter there one day and see her delight in the monorail that run a circuit around the center court and through Magic Mountain where Santa sat in stately array waiting for good little boys and girls to present their fervent pleas for their heart's delight.
But what "paradise" is, of course, depends on the person defining it. To a kid from East Nowhere in Upstate, NY, paradise was Midtown Plaza in Rochester.
Midtown was the nation's first enclosed shopping mall and was completed in 1962. It had a couple of office buildings and department stores attached and/or linked by skyway. My dad worked for Lincoln Rochester Trust/Lincoln Alliance/Lincoln First Bank/Chase Lincoln First in the Plaza and related office buildings for 29 years, I worked a couple of college summers as a bank teller in the Midtown branch and a summer in the leasing department in the Seneca building, my mom and my sister also worked for the Bank in the attached buildings. In fact, in this video (Midtown Plaza in 1963), you can actually see my dad. In the scene where there are people looking through little windows at the construction, he's the third man from the left (the big guy with no hat).
But, when I was little, Midtown wasn't a place to work. Oh sure, people worked there - my dad did, of course - but, no, for a five year old, it was a fantastical kingdom, a place where Santa was real and lived on a glistening mountain that a monorail went through. After gingerly visiting Santa, we'd cross the skywalk to Sibley's department store and walk through their holiday dioramas to a little shopping area they'd set up just for kids.
From the glittering palace that was B. Forman (another department store) to the high-ceilinged dining room at Sibley's with its two-story, drapery clad windows where they served your milkshake still in the metal mixing cup so that you could have seconds, from McCurdy's (also a department store) with it's wonderfully helpful staff, a "lunchroom" that was nicer than most restaurants today, and a bakery filled with innumerable treats, even the long shiny escalators that went from the underground parking garage and the clock - that magical clock that featured hourly music and dancing marionettes from countries around the world - it was a place of unparalleled elegance to a kid from a cowtown that never saw much more than pastures and orchards.
Now, it's 85% vacant and scheduled to be demolished next year to make way for the corporate headquarters of a telecom company. I understand, oh I do understand, but it makes me so sorrowful to lose a place that was symbolic to me of all that was to be yearned for as a child.
You see, homesick isn't about geography; homesick is about a state of mind, a state of being and, try as we might, we truly cannot go home again and recapture what was in the same way we experienced it the first time. I know this. But I did so hope to bring my daughter there one day and see her delight in the monorail that run a circuit around the center court and through Magic Mountain where Santa sat in stately array waiting for good little boys and girls to present their fervent pleas for their heart's delight.
Nov 16, 2007
I've Been Eating Rice Again.
Jade's blog entry today got me thinking. First, whoever wrote the Nerd Handbook is dead on right and could've been living in my head. Secondly, how helpful it would have been if my parents had been able to understand this stuff.
From that second point, I made one of those leaps to greater self-understanding that only occurs once in a while. John and I were talking about my parents and how they always go to bed at the same time. John asked whether it had always been that way. As I was thinking back, a random memory came a'calling that really made me understand something about myself.
When I was in grad school, I often worked late in the photo labs because I'm most creative at night. I'd come home (I lived at home during grad school - NOT recommended to anyone) and, because I hadn't had supper, made myself a big bowl of rice because I was too lazy/tired/indifferent to make an actual meal and wanted something hot because, well, it was Upstate NY in the winter. I sat down at the TV in the backroom with my big bowl of rice to watch the 11 pm rerun of Scarecrow & Mrs. King on Lifetime. Apparently, my mother got up to go to the bathroom and heard me. She came in and you'd've thought I'd stolen the last can of beans from the soup shelter... no, more like the last can of beans out of the hands of someone who hadn't eaten in a week. She raised such a ruckus, she woke my father. He said something understandable, like "what is going on here?!" and she replies, "She's eating a big bowl of rice!!!" as if she'd been saying "she's murdering the neighbors!" or "she's fucking the dog!" For God's sake, it was a bowl of fucking rice; it wasn't like I'd suddenly decided to cook the sirloin from the freezer of something.
At any rate, in recalling this, I suddenly realized why I am so cynical. I figured it was just a Gen X thing and, to an extent, of course, it is but this was really groundbreaking for me. Of course you're going to be cynical if, no matter what you do, even the most innocent thing could get you in trouble because the rules keep shifting. John compared it to living under a miniature communist totalitarianism - the point is not what the rules are but that the authority owns you.
I wish for you all a big bowl of uncontested rice this evening.
From that second point, I made one of those leaps to greater self-understanding that only occurs once in a while. John and I were talking about my parents and how they always go to bed at the same time. John asked whether it had always been that way. As I was thinking back, a random memory came a'calling that really made me understand something about myself.
When I was in grad school, I often worked late in the photo labs because I'm most creative at night. I'd come home (I lived at home during grad school - NOT recommended to anyone) and, because I hadn't had supper, made myself a big bowl of rice because I was too lazy/tired/indifferent to make an actual meal and wanted something hot because, well, it was Upstate NY in the winter. I sat down at the TV in the backroom with my big bowl of rice to watch the 11 pm rerun of Scarecrow & Mrs. King on Lifetime. Apparently, my mother got up to go to the bathroom and heard me. She came in and you'd've thought I'd stolen the last can of beans from the soup shelter... no, more like the last can of beans out of the hands of someone who hadn't eaten in a week. She raised such a ruckus, she woke my father. He said something understandable, like "what is going on here?!" and she replies, "She's eating a big bowl of rice!!!" as if she'd been saying "she's murdering the neighbors!" or "she's fucking the dog!" For God's sake, it was a bowl of fucking rice; it wasn't like I'd suddenly decided to cook the sirloin from the freezer of something.
At any rate, in recalling this, I suddenly realized why I am so cynical. I figured it was just a Gen X thing and, to an extent, of course, it is but this was really groundbreaking for me. Of course you're going to be cynical if, no matter what you do, even the most innocent thing could get you in trouble because the rules keep shifting. John compared it to living under a miniature communist totalitarianism - the point is not what the rules are but that the authority owns you.
I wish for you all a big bowl of uncontested rice this evening.
Aug 13, 2007
23 Random Things for the Easily Entertained
because, Lord knows, they sure aren't terribly interesting otherwise! Honestly, I wouldn't be subjecting y'all to these if I hadn't been specifically tagged (and then reminded).
1. I won 3rd place in an energy use awareness poster contest in 5th grade. My poster featured a duck outline with various energy saving ideas inside and the headline "If we don't save energy, we're all dead ducks!" I won a yellow clipboard folder that I had for many, many years and, actually, I think I still have it somewhere.
2. I really don't want to review the contract I am reviewing. Reviewing contracts is BORING.
3. My shoes had to be special-ordered when I was a kid because my feet were so wide.
4. I have a high tolerance for mess but, after a while, the mess makes me feel frantic.
5. I've finished reviewing that contract and have no excuse to not do this meme.
6. My daughter has a really obnoxious toy that goes off randomly at night and freaks me out.
7. When I was single, I used to take The X-Files on Friday nights and watch it Saturday mornings because it freaked me out too much to watch it alone at night.
8. In between my sophomore and junior years of college, my friends and I used to go and hang out at the Perkins a couple of towns away - it was open 24 hours and we'd sit there drinking coffee until 2 am and then I'd have to get up at 5:30 to catch a ride to work with my parents. It was the Summer of Caffeine.
9. A couple of times when we were there, someone egged my (parents') car. I always wondered why someone would feel the need to be that mean to me.
10. I accidentally punched Julie P in the boob in 9th grade homeroom.
11. I am really stretching here...
12. I love licorice allsorts, toffee almond crunch, and buttered popcorn jelly bellies.
13. My c-section scar still bothers me (physically) sometimes.
14. I absolutely loathe mushy bread-type foods - from stuffing to bread pudding - YUCK! The same goes for virtually all custards/souffles/creme brulees/etc. The texture makes me slightly sick.
15. The song on my iTunes at the moment is Semisonic's "Closing Time". "Time for you to go out to the places you will be from... Gather up your jackets and move it to the exits; I hope you have found a friend... every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end."
16. I actually kind of like "Goodnight Moon" but I really dislike that Pooh book with the sounds.
17. I'm not good at meditating. I'd like to be but I just won't put in the effort needed to get there.
18. If I could do any job I wanted in the world, I'd be torn between Broadway star, astronaut, and fighter pilot.
19. When we were young, we had an enormous vegetable garden which we kids had to weed. Our neighbor, Mrs. Swift, used to call my mother and tell her when we were goofing off instead of weeding. Someone who would go away on vacation and leave food on the stove in pots really had no business doing that! (We used to water their plants and feed the poor fish/hermit crab du jour.)
20. Up until the moment I got my diploma, I was sure that Smith was going to realize that admitting me was a mistake and tell me to finish my degree somewhere else.
21. I have come to peace with being the ornamental child. So has my mother. Finally.
22. I have not come to peace with my weight. Neither has my mother.
23. I am still not going to send my Pelikan to JerseyTjej. Sorry, JT.
Ha! I'm done! Woohoo!! (Except that now I have to go enter invoices into my jewelry parts database - doesn't *that* sound like fun?)
1. I won 3rd place in an energy use awareness poster contest in 5th grade. My poster featured a duck outline with various energy saving ideas inside and the headline "If we don't save energy, we're all dead ducks!" I won a yellow clipboard folder that I had for many, many years and, actually, I think I still have it somewhere.
2. I really don't want to review the contract I am reviewing. Reviewing contracts is BORING.
3. My shoes had to be special-ordered when I was a kid because my feet were so wide.
4. I have a high tolerance for mess but, after a while, the mess makes me feel frantic.
5. I've finished reviewing that contract and have no excuse to not do this meme.
6. My daughter has a really obnoxious toy that goes off randomly at night and freaks me out.
7. When I was single, I used to take The X-Files on Friday nights and watch it Saturday mornings because it freaked me out too much to watch it alone at night.
8. In between my sophomore and junior years of college, my friends and I used to go and hang out at the Perkins a couple of towns away - it was open 24 hours and we'd sit there drinking coffee until 2 am and then I'd have to get up at 5:30 to catch a ride to work with my parents. It was the Summer of Caffeine.
9. A couple of times when we were there, someone egged my (parents') car. I always wondered why someone would feel the need to be that mean to me.
10. I accidentally punched Julie P in the boob in 9th grade homeroom.
11. I am really stretching here...
12. I love licorice allsorts, toffee almond crunch, and buttered popcorn jelly bellies.
13. My c-section scar still bothers me (physically) sometimes.
14. I absolutely loathe mushy bread-type foods - from stuffing to bread pudding - YUCK! The same goes for virtually all custards/souffles/creme brulees/etc. The texture makes me slightly sick.
15. The song on my iTunes at the moment is Semisonic's "Closing Time". "Time for you to go out to the places you will be from... Gather up your jackets and move it to the exits; I hope you have found a friend... every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end."
16. I actually kind of like "Goodnight Moon" but I really dislike that Pooh book with the sounds.
17. I'm not good at meditating. I'd like to be but I just won't put in the effort needed to get there.
18. If I could do any job I wanted in the world, I'd be torn between Broadway star, astronaut, and fighter pilot.
19. When we were young, we had an enormous vegetable garden which we kids had to weed. Our neighbor, Mrs. Swift, used to call my mother and tell her when we were goofing off instead of weeding. Someone who would go away on vacation and leave food on the stove in pots really had no business doing that! (We used to water their plants and feed the poor fish/hermit crab du jour.)
20. Up until the moment I got my diploma, I was sure that Smith was going to realize that admitting me was a mistake and tell me to finish my degree somewhere else.
21. I have come to peace with being the ornamental child. So has my mother. Finally.
22. I have not come to peace with my weight. Neither has my mother.
23. I am still not going to send my Pelikan to JerseyTjej. Sorry, JT.
Ha! I'm done! Woohoo!! (Except that now I have to go enter invoices into my jewelry parts database - doesn't *that* sound like fun?)
Jul 11, 2007
Jul 6, 2007
Eight is Enough
Ok, I was tagged by Jade and, as she said, since she did what I told her to do, turnabout is only fair play. Still, 8 things people don't know is kind of tough... Maybe it'll have to be 8 things *most* people don't know...
1. Um... Oh! I have one. When I was in sixth grade, some jerk dumped my purse in the toilet. Oh, wait a minute, you knew that one because I think it was in my memories leading up to my 40th. Ok... Here's one... I had to go to "Special Gym" as an elementary school student because my fine motor coordination was so poor. In Special Gym, we did things like traces our way through mazes with a pencil without letting the pencil touch the side "walls" of the maze. We also practiced making neat and tidy cuts with scissors.
2. When I was in 8th grade, I almost got beat up over a boy who didn't know I existed by said boy's jealous girlfriend. I got out of it because my friend Nora told her I wouldn't defend myself and she refused to fight anyone who wouldn't. Truth be told, I wouldn't have had the first idea *how* to defend myself!
3. When I was pregnant, I went through 3 sets of batteries for my vibrator. Heh heh heh... (TMI? Sorry - I'm only on 3 and I'm already stretching for things folks don't know.)
4. I think my mother is a spoiled brat.
5. I both loved and hated that my grandmother made almost all of my clothes in elementary school.
6. My feet were so wide as a child (EEE) that my shoes had to be special ordered. My feet remained disproportionately wide until I got pregnant then they stretched lengthwise and sometimes now I can buy medium width shoes.
7. I have always longed for a pair of leather pants (but am pretty sure they'd make me look as if the leather was still on the cow).
8. The best day of my life was not my wedding day nor the day Katie was born but the day I got my pilot's license. This probably says something horrible about me, which bothers me but the truth is what the truth is, I guess. I think why it's that way though is that while both the wedding day and the day Katie was born were the culmination of hard work and lots of love and were incredible moments in my life, each had so many complicating factors... exhaustion in both cases, looking after guests at the wedding, having just had major surgery after 36 hours of unproductive labor with Katie's birth... and the license was just pure elation. That license is the achievement I am proudest of - being a pilot didn't come naturally to me (coordination issues) but it is something I have wanted to do from the time I was very small and it still amazes me that I made that happen.
and a spare, in case you didn't like the vibrator one...
When I recall my wedding day, I immediately get a hint of a crick in my neck. John kept putting his arm around my shoulders - on *top* of the veil. This pulled my head back into a very unnatural position and resulted in me looking quite pained in many of our formal wedding pictures.
1. Um... Oh! I have one. When I was in sixth grade, some jerk dumped my purse in the toilet. Oh, wait a minute, you knew that one because I think it was in my memories leading up to my 40th. Ok... Here's one... I had to go to "Special Gym" as an elementary school student because my fine motor coordination was so poor. In Special Gym, we did things like traces our way through mazes with a pencil without letting the pencil touch the side "walls" of the maze. We also practiced making neat and tidy cuts with scissors.
2. When I was in 8th grade, I almost got beat up over a boy who didn't know I existed by said boy's jealous girlfriend. I got out of it because my friend Nora told her I wouldn't defend myself and she refused to fight anyone who wouldn't. Truth be told, I wouldn't have had the first idea *how* to defend myself!
3. When I was pregnant, I went through 3 sets of batteries for my vibrator. Heh heh heh... (TMI? Sorry - I'm only on 3 and I'm already stretching for things folks don't know.)
4. I think my mother is a spoiled brat.
5. I both loved and hated that my grandmother made almost all of my clothes in elementary school.
6. My feet were so wide as a child (EEE) that my shoes had to be special ordered. My feet remained disproportionately wide until I got pregnant then they stretched lengthwise and sometimes now I can buy medium width shoes.
7. I have always longed for a pair of leather pants (but am pretty sure they'd make me look as if the leather was still on the cow).
8. The best day of my life was not my wedding day nor the day Katie was born but the day I got my pilot's license. This probably says something horrible about me, which bothers me but the truth is what the truth is, I guess. I think why it's that way though is that while both the wedding day and the day Katie was born were the culmination of hard work and lots of love and were incredible moments in my life, each had so many complicating factors... exhaustion in both cases, looking after guests at the wedding, having just had major surgery after 36 hours of unproductive labor with Katie's birth... and the license was just pure elation. That license is the achievement I am proudest of - being a pilot didn't come naturally to me (coordination issues) but it is something I have wanted to do from the time I was very small and it still amazes me that I made that happen.
and a spare, in case you didn't like the vibrator one...
When I recall my wedding day, I immediately get a hint of a crick in my neck. John kept putting his arm around my shoulders - on *top* of the veil. This pulled my head back into a very unnatural position and resulted in me looking quite pained in many of our formal wedding pictures.
Apr 19, 2007
A Few of My Very Best Memories
Yesterday, you got one of my worst memories. I need to go to bed shortly but I'd like to share a few of my very best memories - take them for what they're worth.
- I'm in college. I hadn't been for ages and finally stopped worshipping St. Mattress and got my ass out of bed to go to St. John's Episcopal where I belonged. I'd been feeling really stressed out, under the gun. I walked out of that church after the service feeling like an enormous weight had been lifted off my shoulders. That day, God ceased being an abstract.
- I'm in grad school in Rochester, NY, and singing with the Eastman-Rochester Chorus. We're doing Handel's Messiah (that season, we did the entire Messiah, the Resurrection Symphony, and the entire St. Matt) with the Eastman Philharmonia in the Eastman theatre. Now, you have to understand that I grew up outside of Rochester and went to this annual performance of the Messiah more than once. I remember overwhelming thrilled and astounded to be on *stage* and not in the audience. I've sung some beautiful stuff in some lovely places but that is, hands down, my favorite musical memory.
- I'm in 9th grade and the school year is drawing to a close, bringing the 9th Grade Banquet (a Very Big Deal) with it. I knew that my folks were deciding each month whether to pay the mortgage or the electric bill; I knew that we had a vegetable garden not just to teach us kids to weed. I was in Ames with my dad and we walked through the teenage section and I saw a dress that I would've killed to own. Didn't say anything, just looked at it, fingered the fabric, then followed my dad. My dad... (I'm getting all teary eyed here), my dad who is as typical a clueless guy as they come... my dad remembered which dress it was and he and my mom bought it for me to wear to the Banquet. This is my very favorite memory of all.
Apr 17, 2007
In Memory Of...
I was listening to NPR on my way to rehearsal this afternoon. As they discussed yesterday's horrific events in Virginia, the sociologist they were speaking with (I think it was a sociologist) noted that this event will become a defining moment for the kids who are in college at this point - not just the ones at Virginia Tech, but throughout the country. It got me thinking a little (always a scary thought) about the tragic defining moment of my college life - an event occurring before many of today's collegiate scholars were even born. To them, it's a note in the history books; to me, it was the moment when I realized that, sometimes, things just aren't going to be ok.
It was January and I was a freshman at Smith. It was just before lunch and I was waiting around for the dining room doors to open at Ziskind House. The day was nice enough - sunny as I recall - a pretty winter day; just another normal day as the term got underway. At 11:38 a.m. on January 28, 1986, the Challenger blew up, taking with it 7 astronauts: pilots, scientists, engineers, a teacher.
NASA to me was the domain of no mere mortals. These were people who walked among the very stars and came back to share that experience with us in the limited way possible. Gods and titans, these.
I had always wanted to be an astronaut. I watched the stars, read science fiction avidly, poured over pictures of the 1969 lunar landing. Fates worked against me: I'm awful at math, I get motion sick very easily, I'm clearly no athlete. But, in my mind, there but for the grace of God went I. And I am ashamed that part of me was still a little jealous that they got to go. That, for that one moment, before things went all to hell, they knew they were going to space.
The poor kids at Virginia Tech will bear no such shame, I am certain. I mourn with them and their parents and teachers and the police responders. I mourn with the parents of the gunman and the community. I mourn for the loss of life; I mourn for the loss of innocence and faith. I mourn with the people for whom this will ever be a moment that separates before from after.
Take this moment and make something of it. Use this to teach yourself to count every day, every person with whom you come into contact as precious and important and as worth reaching out to. Remake this undeniable tragedy into something from which something good and fresh and new springs. What better memorial for the loss of innocence can there be than renewal of purpose and spirit and love?
It was January and I was a freshman at Smith. It was just before lunch and I was waiting around for the dining room doors to open at Ziskind House. The day was nice enough - sunny as I recall - a pretty winter day; just another normal day as the term got underway. At 11:38 a.m. on January 28, 1986, the Challenger blew up, taking with it 7 astronauts: pilots, scientists, engineers, a teacher.
NASA to me was the domain of no mere mortals. These were people who walked among the very stars and came back to share that experience with us in the limited way possible. Gods and titans, these.
I had always wanted to be an astronaut. I watched the stars, read science fiction avidly, poured over pictures of the 1969 lunar landing. Fates worked against me: I'm awful at math, I get motion sick very easily, I'm clearly no athlete. But, in my mind, there but for the grace of God went I. And I am ashamed that part of me was still a little jealous that they got to go. That, for that one moment, before things went all to hell, they knew they were going to space.
The poor kids at Virginia Tech will bear no such shame, I am certain. I mourn with them and their parents and teachers and the police responders. I mourn with the parents of the gunman and the community. I mourn for the loss of life; I mourn for the loss of innocence and faith. I mourn with the people for whom this will ever be a moment that separates before from after.
Take this moment and make something of it. Use this to teach yourself to count every day, every person with whom you come into contact as precious and important and as worth reaching out to. Remake this undeniable tragedy into something from which something good and fresh and new springs. What better memorial for the loss of innocence can there be than renewal of purpose and spirit and love?
Apr 11, 2007
On My Honor
I will try
to serve God,
my country,
and mankind,
and to live by the Girl Scout Law.
And so said I, every Tuesday, with my right hand upraised in the Girl Scout sign.
I joined GSUSA as a Brownie in second grade (they didn't have Daisies then nor were first graders considered old enough yet - much has changed). I remained a girl scout till I left for college. And, I suppose, at heart, I still consider myself a girl scout.
I remember making butter by shaking cream in a jar seemingly interminably, as a Brownie. I remember us putting on a Fly Up play for the Brownies that came after us, once we were ever so old and wise Juniors. I chose the name Priscilla for my character - it just seemed so fun and girly whereas Kelley was just not feminine in the slightest (we had a boy in our grade whose name was Kelly). I remember making felt ice skate ornaments with paperclips for the blades - they are still proudly hung on my Christmas tree every year.
I remember being so frustrated when camping - my mother was one of our troop leaders and, whenever some scout bagged out on her duty, guess who got to do it for her. I still think this is immensely unfair. My mother wasn't much liked in our troop - she didn't let people get away with much and she was rather sharp-tongued and bossy about it. My dad, who went camping with us, was much beloved.
I remember sleeping with Cynthia Her-Last-Name-I-Can't-Remember in a tent at Mendon Ponds and it pouring pitchforks and hammer handles. Our tent leaked and her side flooded. I remember her trying to climb into my nice dry sleeping bag with me - humph! I remember our patrol trying to bake pigs in a blanket over a fire on another camping trip. A fruitless effort until my dad finally suggested (gently) we consider using their reflector oven and not try to do it like they were corn dogs or something. It did work much better. (Thanks, Dad!)
We didn't just camp. My Juniors troop went to Niagara Falls, my Cadette Troop went to Albany, and, best of all, my Seniors troop went to Cape Cod. What fun that was.
Not so fun was the grudge Mrs. Kuhn had against my mother that she took out on me. Mrs. Kuhn's daughter wasn't all that inclined to do as she was instructed in juniors and we've already demonstrated my mother isn't one to take that lightly. Mrs. Kuhn was one of those "my child does no wrong" kind of people and I think you can guess the rest. This came to a head when I was working on my Gold Award project. I had submitted a proposal and Mrs. Kuhn, as my advisor (lucky me) said, "terrific - that will do it for sure". Well, I completed the project and the council firmly rejected it. So, for the first time, I discovered that grownups, too, could be petty as she wanted her daughter to get an award that I didn't so as to get back at my mom. I got "held back," so to speak, and watched most of the rest of my troop get their Gold Awards from the sidelines.
I *loved* the other two of our three leaders for my senior troop - one in particular. Mrs. Schueler. Mrs. Schueler, God rest her soul as she unfortunately passed away a few years ago, was a very sweet lady who liked me a lot and understood I just wanted to be liked but wasn't of a temperment to be liked by other teenagers. She understood thatMrs. Kuhn didn't like me and she tried to make up for it. She was a saint in human garb and made a big difference in my scouting life. She took over as my Gold Award advisor and I got the award my senior year. (In case you're curious, I created a puppet show to teach kids about reading music, recruited junior and cadette girl scouts to man the puppets as part of a Music badge and took it to our district's elementary schools.)
In high school, I was lucky enough to get a campership to go to National Center West for 2 weeks. National Center West is in Ten Sleep, Wyoming, population 320 (at the time). I had never been in an airport so big (Chicago, Denver) or so small (Worland, WY). I remember that I had been supposed to change in Pittsburgh but there was a thunderstorm that hit their tower so we were re-routed through O'Hare. I had no layover - well, about 3 minutes. The businessman who was sitting next to me and who was continuing on to wherever the plane was going next, debarked with me, and talked to the gate agent to get them to hold my flight as I ran through the airport in my girl scout uniform. He also gave me his newspaper to read. (Thank you, whoever you were; I really appreciated (and still do) your help.)
But my most ubiquitous girl scout memory is the songs - oh the singing. I think the part I remember, love, and miss the most is the singing. From The Brownie Smile to the Comstock Camp Song, Music Alone Shall Live, Make New Friends, Taps, song after song after song will live in my heart until the day they put me in the ground.
On my honor,
I will try
to serve God,
my country,
and mankind,
and to live by the Girl Scout Law.
All in all, not such a bad creed.
to serve God,
my country,
and mankind,
and to live by the Girl Scout Law.
And so said I, every Tuesday, with my right hand upraised in the Girl Scout sign.
I joined GSUSA as a Brownie in second grade (they didn't have Daisies then nor were first graders considered old enough yet - much has changed). I remained a girl scout till I left for college. And, I suppose, at heart, I still consider myself a girl scout.
I remember making butter by shaking cream in a jar seemingly interminably, as a Brownie. I remember us putting on a Fly Up play for the Brownies that came after us, once we were ever so old and wise Juniors. I chose the name Priscilla for my character - it just seemed so fun and girly whereas Kelley was just not feminine in the slightest (we had a boy in our grade whose name was Kelly). I remember making felt ice skate ornaments with paperclips for the blades - they are still proudly hung on my Christmas tree every year.
I remember being so frustrated when camping - my mother was one of our troop leaders and, whenever some scout bagged out on her duty, guess who got to do it for her. I still think this is immensely unfair. My mother wasn't much liked in our troop - she didn't let people get away with much and she was rather sharp-tongued and bossy about it. My dad, who went camping with us, was much beloved.
I remember sleeping with Cynthia Her-Last-Name-I-Can't-Remember in a tent at Mendon Ponds and it pouring pitchforks and hammer handles. Our tent leaked and her side flooded. I remember her trying to climb into my nice dry sleeping bag with me - humph! I remember our patrol trying to bake pigs in a blanket over a fire on another camping trip. A fruitless effort until my dad finally suggested (gently) we consider using their reflector oven and not try to do it like they were corn dogs or something. It did work much better. (Thanks, Dad!)
We didn't just camp. My Juniors troop went to Niagara Falls, my Cadette Troop went to Albany, and, best of all, my Seniors troop went to Cape Cod. What fun that was.
Not so fun was the grudge Mrs. Kuhn had against my mother that she took out on me. Mrs. Kuhn's daughter wasn't all that inclined to do as she was instructed in juniors and we've already demonstrated my mother isn't one to take that lightly. Mrs. Kuhn was one of those "my child does no wrong" kind of people and I think you can guess the rest. This came to a head when I was working on my Gold Award project. I had submitted a proposal and Mrs. Kuhn, as my advisor (lucky me) said, "terrific - that will do it for sure". Well, I completed the project and the council firmly rejected it. So, for the first time, I discovered that grownups, too, could be petty as she wanted her daughter to get an award that I didn't so as to get back at my mom. I got "held back," so to speak, and watched most of the rest of my troop get their Gold Awards from the sidelines.
I *loved* the other two of our three leaders for my senior troop - one in particular. Mrs. Schueler. Mrs. Schueler, God rest her soul as she unfortunately passed away a few years ago, was a very sweet lady who liked me a lot and understood I just wanted to be liked but wasn't of a temperment to be liked by other teenagers. She understood thatMrs. Kuhn didn't like me and she tried to make up for it. She was a saint in human garb and made a big difference in my scouting life. She took over as my Gold Award advisor and I got the award my senior year. (In case you're curious, I created a puppet show to teach kids about reading music, recruited junior and cadette girl scouts to man the puppets as part of a Music badge and took it to our district's elementary schools.)
In high school, I was lucky enough to get a campership to go to National Center West for 2 weeks. National Center West is in Ten Sleep, Wyoming, population 320 (at the time). I had never been in an airport so big (Chicago, Denver) or so small (Worland, WY). I remember that I had been supposed to change in Pittsburgh but there was a thunderstorm that hit their tower so we were re-routed through O'Hare. I had no layover - well, about 3 minutes. The businessman who was sitting next to me and who was continuing on to wherever the plane was going next, debarked with me, and talked to the gate agent to get them to hold my flight as I ran through the airport in my girl scout uniform. He also gave me his newspaper to read. (Thank you, whoever you were; I really appreciated (and still do) your help.)
But my most ubiquitous girl scout memory is the songs - oh the singing. I think the part I remember, love, and miss the most is the singing. From The Brownie Smile to the Comstock Camp Song, Music Alone Shall Live, Make New Friends, Taps, song after song after song will live in my heart until the day they put me in the ground.
On my honor,
I will try
to serve God,
my country,
and mankind,
and to live by the Girl Scout Law.
All in all, not such a bad creed.
Apr 10, 2007
A Mini-Dose Because It's Late
How could I have forgotten to share this when I was talking about road trips, I surely don't know, but I need to share it now. I don't even know what made me think of it but anyway. So, as I mentioned, we ate from point a to point b and, when not eating, we chewed sugarless gum. Well, let it be a lesson unto all of you not to fall asleep with gum in your mouth lest it get stuck in your belly button.
What's that you say? "I have an outie, so I'll be fine..."? Oh, noooooooooo....
My sister, proud possessor of an outie, fell asleep with chewing gum (Trident for anyone who cares) in her mouth. Said chewing gum somehow made its way into her bellybutton where it proceeded to get very, very stuck. To this day, I cannot figure how it could have gotten there without having gotten stuck in her hair, her shirt, or whatever. She stridently claims (claims, mind you) that she did not stick it in there for safekeeping.
Just in case you're still thinking you might try this because it's so improbable as to be nigh on impossible and wouldn't happen to you. Trust me on this one. You don't want to try to get chewing gum out of a belly button - innie or outie. You don't. Honest to God, it's not worth the risk. (Although, if anyone cares to try it and wants to post pictures, please send the link!)
Oh, and a brief update... I may, next summer ('08), get to SEE RUBY FALLS and, thank you MJD for the reminder!, SEE ROCK CITY as well! Woohoo!
What's that you say? "I have an outie, so I'll be fine..."? Oh, noooooooooo....
My sister, proud possessor of an outie, fell asleep with chewing gum (Trident for anyone who cares) in her mouth. Said chewing gum somehow made its way into her bellybutton where it proceeded to get very, very stuck. To this day, I cannot figure how it could have gotten there without having gotten stuck in her hair, her shirt, or whatever. She stridently claims (claims, mind you) that she did not stick it in there for safekeeping.
Just in case you're still thinking you might try this because it's so improbable as to be nigh on impossible and wouldn't happen to you. Trust me on this one. You don't want to try to get chewing gum out of a belly button - innie or outie. You don't. Honest to God, it's not worth the risk. (Although, if anyone cares to try it and wants to post pictures, please send the link!)
Oh, and a brief update... I may, next summer ('08), get to SEE RUBY FALLS and, thank you MJD for the reminder!, SEE ROCK CITY as well! Woohoo!
Apr 7, 2007
SEE RUBY FALLS!
But I'm posting another dose of Let's Remember instead...
Ok, the vice grips - I've promised this story twice now and haven't delivered so here it is. Bear in mind this is probably one of those things that is funnier when you're a participant than a bystander... or my sister.
So, I'm about 13-14, which would make my brother 11-12 and my sister 9 or 10. My dad was working on the plumbing (which, of course, entails vice grips). My brother and I tell my sister, very convincingly that the term "vice grips" means a certain female body part beginning with a V. She's convinced beyond a doubt that this is the case. My father yells out to my mother, "Susan! I need the vice grips!" You can imagine how confused my parents were at my sister's horror. My brother and I found this absolutely screamingly funny. Still do. My sister, as one might expect, didn't find it nearly as funny. Still doesn't. (stifled Mwahahahahahaha going on here!)
Now we've gotten the vice grips (hee hee!) out of the way...
My family traveled on vacation. Now, I don't mean we took grand and glorious vacations - my parents had months where they had to choose between the mortgage and groceries (thank God for the garden) - but we took car trips, camping at nights on our way from point a to point b.
Over Easter vacation, we'd go to my grandparents in South Carolina. Eastertime in Upstate NY is frequently still winter and we'd often leave at 3 or 4 a.m. in a snowstorm - the snow flashing white in the headlights in the pre-dawn dark. It was fascinating to go from dark and gray and gritty south - first the snow would disappear, then the redbud and the forsythia would come out, then the azaleas and rhododendron. By the time we got to West Virginia, it was really obvious which cars had come from "up north" - we all had a heavy layer of salt!
From where we were, it was quickest to take U.S. Route 15 down for quite aways even though, at that time, much of it wasn't divided, limited access highway. I remember there was one place where you could see a covered bridge from the road and we always looked out for that with anticipation.
We kids had our own ritual from crossing from state to state. We'd wait until we could see the "________ welcomes you!" sign and start our state-changing chant... "We're in _________ riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii (and this would continue until the exact moment we passed the sign) iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight NOW!" And, of course, if we were crossing into West Virginia, we'd break into John Denver's Country Roads in 3 part harmony (the song made a regular appearance in our elementary school choral concerts).
Like most, we played the typical car games - mostly License Plate Bingo - and, perhaps unlike most, we ate our way down the Eastern Seaboard. My mother believed (a belief which I firmly hold myself) that to travel was to eat - we'd start off with hardboiled eggs, celery and carrot sticks, and an enormous tin of chocolate chip cookies. (It was a very hard transition when I realized that the love of my life dislikes eating in the car and, for a long time, forbade eating of any nature in his car. Fortunately, that has loosened now that he has leather seats.)
We went to Washington, D.C.; we went to Minneapolis; we went to the Black Hills in South Dakota, Glacier National Park in Montana, Maine, Georgia, Tennessee - going through such exotic places as Niagara Falls, Bar Harbor, Detroit (which, honestly, was very interesting - the trainyards and all). We backpacked in state after state, camped in innumerable state and national parks, went on many nature walks - to this day, I have an abiding appreciation for forest rangers. We've hiked many a section of the Appalachian Trail and seen underground caves, creek walked to falls, and sat on huge quartz outcroppings at Shining Rock in the Pisgah National Forest in North Carolina.
I have just one complaint about all this travel. I have never gotten to SEE RUBY FALLS! As we'd drive south, we'd pass billboard after billboard - very plain green ones with large hand painted letters - exhorting to SEE RUBY FALLS! And we never did. I understand Ruby Falls is near Chattanooga somewhere and, goldarnit, before I die, I am going to SEE RUBY FALLS!!
Still to come... girl scouts, music, the 9th grade banquet, college.
Ok, the vice grips - I've promised this story twice now and haven't delivered so here it is. Bear in mind this is probably one of those things that is funnier when you're a participant than a bystander... or my sister.
So, I'm about 13-14, which would make my brother 11-12 and my sister 9 or 10. My dad was working on the plumbing (which, of course, entails vice grips). My brother and I tell my sister, very convincingly that the term "vice grips" means a certain female body part beginning with a V. She's convinced beyond a doubt that this is the case. My father yells out to my mother, "Susan! I need the vice grips!" You can imagine how confused my parents were at my sister's horror. My brother and I found this absolutely screamingly funny. Still do. My sister, as one might expect, didn't find it nearly as funny. Still doesn't. (stifled Mwahahahahahaha going on here!)
Now we've gotten the vice grips (hee hee!) out of the way...
My family traveled on vacation. Now, I don't mean we took grand and glorious vacations - my parents had months where they had to choose between the mortgage and groceries (thank God for the garden) - but we took car trips, camping at nights on our way from point a to point b.
Over Easter vacation, we'd go to my grandparents in South Carolina. Eastertime in Upstate NY is frequently still winter and we'd often leave at 3 or 4 a.m. in a snowstorm - the snow flashing white in the headlights in the pre-dawn dark. It was fascinating to go from dark and gray and gritty south - first the snow would disappear, then the redbud and the forsythia would come out, then the azaleas and rhododendron. By the time we got to West Virginia, it was really obvious which cars had come from "up north" - we all had a heavy layer of salt!
From where we were, it was quickest to take U.S. Route 15 down for quite aways even though, at that time, much of it wasn't divided, limited access highway. I remember there was one place where you could see a covered bridge from the road and we always looked out for that with anticipation.
We kids had our own ritual from crossing from state to state. We'd wait until we could see the "________ welcomes you!" sign and start our state-changing chant... "We're in _________ riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii (and this would continue until the exact moment we passed the sign) iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight NOW!" And, of course, if we were crossing into West Virginia, we'd break into John Denver's Country Roads in 3 part harmony (the song made a regular appearance in our elementary school choral concerts).
Like most, we played the typical car games - mostly License Plate Bingo - and, perhaps unlike most, we ate our way down the Eastern Seaboard. My mother believed (a belief which I firmly hold myself) that to travel was to eat - we'd start off with hardboiled eggs, celery and carrot sticks, and an enormous tin of chocolate chip cookies. (It was a very hard transition when I realized that the love of my life dislikes eating in the car and, for a long time, forbade eating of any nature in his car. Fortunately, that has loosened now that he has leather seats.)
We went to Washington, D.C.; we went to Minneapolis; we went to the Black Hills in South Dakota, Glacier National Park in Montana, Maine, Georgia, Tennessee - going through such exotic places as Niagara Falls, Bar Harbor, Detroit (which, honestly, was very interesting - the trainyards and all). We backpacked in state after state, camped in innumerable state and national parks, went on many nature walks - to this day, I have an abiding appreciation for forest rangers. We've hiked many a section of the Appalachian Trail and seen underground caves, creek walked to falls, and sat on huge quartz outcroppings at Shining Rock in the Pisgah National Forest in North Carolina.
I have just one complaint about all this travel. I have never gotten to SEE RUBY FALLS! As we'd drive south, we'd pass billboard after billboard - very plain green ones with large hand painted letters - exhorting to SEE RUBY FALLS! And we never did. I understand Ruby Falls is near Chattanooga somewhere and, goldarnit, before I die, I am going to SEE RUBY FALLS!!
Still to come... girl scouts, music, the 9th grade banquet, college.
Apr 2, 2007
Only 3 Weeks
And it's time for another dose of "I remember"...
When I was in elementary school, they were putting in phone poles up the road from us (yes, I did indeed grow up in the sticks) and my dad got ahold of one of those giant spools they put telephone wire on for stringing from pole to pole. He sanded and painted it up in whatever colors happened to be lying around in the basement and gave it to the three of us to play with. What a great outdoor toy. It was probably 4' in diameter. You could roll around the middle part, chase people with it, flop it on its side and stand on top. I remember that we used to get scolded for leaving it on its side because the lack of sun underneath would kill the grass. It was a great toy and I'd make one for Katie in a heartbeat if I could get one of those spools.
We lived in a really rural area - a small town in the fruit belt on Lake Ontario. We lived in a house that was 160 years old at the time and was the original farmhouse for the area. When I was very small, there were only 2 other houses that you could see from our house. On one side of the road was a sour cherry orchard and we lived amidst the apples. The orchard owner used to live in our house before moving into the cobblestone house just up the road to the northeast and let us pick all the apples and cherries we wanted. I remember sitting on the screened porch pitting sour cherries with an unfolded paperclip (you don't need those fancy cherry pitters!) knowing that cherry pie, jelly, or crisp would follow.
Our house had large lilacs on all four corners and a couple extra to spare. The old owner figured they'd been there for near on 100 years. The air smelled so lovely in the spring. (I'm allergic of course, so I was stuffy most spring but I love it anyway). When John and I moved into our house, the first things I planted were two tiny lilacs. My mother had beautiful flower beds of iris along the south edge of the yard, and ones around the house with annuals and the few tulips that managed to survive and peonies - the second thing I planted were two small peonies (that are no longer small). She also had some ferns and ivy from the house on Yorkshire Road (the house she'd done most of her growing up in once her peripatetic parents had settled down for a while). I had a piece of that ivy for a while but I'm not easy on potted plants.
At any rate, our house was surrounded by apple trees and there was one in particular we kids called the "pee pee tree". It was the subject of many a dare among us and our cohorts to sit on the extended branch about 5' up and pee. First, you have the balance issue - it's not exactly easy to balance with one's bahooty hanging over the branch or, for that matter, relax enough to pee! Then, of course, you have the "pee in public" issue. But, most of all, it was the "If Mom catches us, we are so beyond dead" factor that both made it incredibly difficult and a great dare at the same time.
Anne Shirley was right about her Snow Queen. Apple trees are wonderful - they're beautiful in bloom. I'm not talking about the dwarf trees that so many orchards plant now because they're easier to pick; these were the real deal. Probably 30' tall with branches cascading to the ground, creating a veil of privacy around the trunk - and ideal spot for hiding. By fall, the branches, once loaded with delicate white flowers, were loaded with greenings, tolman sweets, and cortlands - big apples in clusters just calling our names. But be careful of the poison ivy underneath and the worms inside. (Not nearly as gross as it sounds, honest!) My grandfather's wake was held out under those apple trees as was every one of our graduation parties. I'd always thought my wedding reception would be there but, by the time I was married, my parents had moved out of state when my dad was laid off. Thus, my "apple blossom time" never came and my wedding reception was at a hotel in Massachusetts.
As I grew, the road grew in population. First, there was the house on the corner of Lincoln and Whitney but that was ok, the people are wonderful and are very, very dear to us. Then there was a house across the street and then one next to that. By middle school, we didn't have easy access to the cherries anymore but we made do - the neighbors let us cut through their yards. When I saw Lincoln Road last year, it's pretty well filled up from stem to stern. Whitney Road was paved when I was in middle school, I think. Or part of it was at least. It's not the place I remember but I suppose there are many people who would say that.
It has been hard for this girl from a cow town (yes, it really was - we had several dairies in addition to the fruit) to adjust to life in suburbia. But my emotional journey from nowheresville to wethinkweresomethingsville is another post altogether.
Still to come... travels with the family, girl scouts, music, the 9th grade banquet, the hilarity of vice grips (honestly, they are *very* funny).
When I was in elementary school, they were putting in phone poles up the road from us (yes, I did indeed grow up in the sticks) and my dad got ahold of one of those giant spools they put telephone wire on for stringing from pole to pole. He sanded and painted it up in whatever colors happened to be lying around in the basement and gave it to the three of us to play with. What a great outdoor toy. It was probably 4' in diameter. You could roll around the middle part, chase people with it, flop it on its side and stand on top. I remember that we used to get scolded for leaving it on its side because the lack of sun underneath would kill the grass. It was a great toy and I'd make one for Katie in a heartbeat if I could get one of those spools.
We lived in a really rural area - a small town in the fruit belt on Lake Ontario. We lived in a house that was 160 years old at the time and was the original farmhouse for the area. When I was very small, there were only 2 other houses that you could see from our house. On one side of the road was a sour cherry orchard and we lived amidst the apples. The orchard owner used to live in our house before moving into the cobblestone house just up the road to the northeast and let us pick all the apples and cherries we wanted. I remember sitting on the screened porch pitting sour cherries with an unfolded paperclip (you don't need those fancy cherry pitters!) knowing that cherry pie, jelly, or crisp would follow.
Our house had large lilacs on all four corners and a couple extra to spare. The old owner figured they'd been there for near on 100 years. The air smelled so lovely in the spring. (I'm allergic of course, so I was stuffy most spring but I love it anyway). When John and I moved into our house, the first things I planted were two tiny lilacs. My mother had beautiful flower beds of iris along the south edge of the yard, and ones around the house with annuals and the few tulips that managed to survive and peonies - the second thing I planted were two small peonies (that are no longer small). She also had some ferns and ivy from the house on Yorkshire Road (the house she'd done most of her growing up in once her peripatetic parents had settled down for a while). I had a piece of that ivy for a while but I'm not easy on potted plants.
At any rate, our house was surrounded by apple trees and there was one in particular we kids called the "pee pee tree". It was the subject of many a dare among us and our cohorts to sit on the extended branch about 5' up and pee. First, you have the balance issue - it's not exactly easy to balance with one's bahooty hanging over the branch or, for that matter, relax enough to pee! Then, of course, you have the "pee in public" issue. But, most of all, it was the "If Mom catches us, we are so beyond dead" factor that both made it incredibly difficult and a great dare at the same time.
Anne Shirley was right about her Snow Queen. Apple trees are wonderful - they're beautiful in bloom. I'm not talking about the dwarf trees that so many orchards plant now because they're easier to pick; these were the real deal. Probably 30' tall with branches cascading to the ground, creating a veil of privacy around the trunk - and ideal spot for hiding. By fall, the branches, once loaded with delicate white flowers, were loaded with greenings, tolman sweets, and cortlands - big apples in clusters just calling our names. But be careful of the poison ivy underneath and the worms inside. (Not nearly as gross as it sounds, honest!) My grandfather's wake was held out under those apple trees as was every one of our graduation parties. I'd always thought my wedding reception would be there but, by the time I was married, my parents had moved out of state when my dad was laid off. Thus, my "apple blossom time" never came and my wedding reception was at a hotel in Massachusetts.
As I grew, the road grew in population. First, there was the house on the corner of Lincoln and Whitney but that was ok, the people are wonderful and are very, very dear to us. Then there was a house across the street and then one next to that. By middle school, we didn't have easy access to the cherries anymore but we made do - the neighbors let us cut through their yards. When I saw Lincoln Road last year, it's pretty well filled up from stem to stern. Whitney Road was paved when I was in middle school, I think. Or part of it was at least. It's not the place I remember but I suppose there are many people who would say that.
It has been hard for this girl from a cow town (yes, it really was - we had several dairies in addition to the fruit) to adjust to life in suburbia. But my emotional journey from nowheresville to wethinkweresomethingsville is another post altogether.
Still to come... travels with the family, girl scouts, music, the 9th grade banquet, the hilarity of vice grips (honestly, they are *very* funny).
Mar 24, 2007
Turning 40 in about a month
Ok, so I meant to post this on the 21st but never got there; I'm getting ready for my first booth at a business showcase for the jewelry and things are crazy.
At any rate, it occurred to me on the 21st that, wow, I would be 40 in exactly 1 month. And I was thinking, which is rather a rare occurrence these days as I'm moving too fast to actually thing anymore, and decided that a good way to lead up to the big 4-0 is to share some history here and there over the next month.
So, here it goes...
My first school experiences:
My elementary school was an open classroom environment. It was organized into teams. Teams A and B were each mixed first and second grade; C and D were each mixed third and fourth grade; and E and F were each mixed fifth and sixth grade. We didn't have desks, there were tables and the walls weren't fixed but just movable panels. You didn't have to ask permission to use the bathroom, you just went and came back. It didn't occur to us to dilly dally or whatever. We were respected and expected to be worthy of that respect and, for the most part, we lived up to it. (After that, going into a traditional-style middle school was AWFUL.) Our principal was Mr. Moshano and I think I can remember most of my teachers: kindergarten: Miss Haak and Mrs. Riley; Team B: Mrs. Sampson, Mrs. Swan, and Mrs. Adams; Team C: Mrs. Daley; Team E: Mrs. Yaworski, Mr. Adama, and Miss VanDyke. I liked my teachers and, as far as I remember, they seemed to like me.
I remember waiting for the bus for Kindergarten. It's the first day of school. I'm wearing a blue turtleneck I think and a red/green/blue plaid kilt/skort thingie (yes, it was public school; this was the 70s, remember - fall of 1972, I expect). It's warm and sunny, midday. The maple trees in the yard are still green. I remember very little about the school day itself. And I cried at the end of the day because I didn't know which bus to get on and I was scared.
The second day of school, I had on a yellow knitted or crocheted skirt that my grandmother had made and on the way home Mike Barone pulled it up to look under it. I, of course, cried.
I remember being in 2nd grade and so frustrated with math, being kept in the classroom at lunch for special help and, you got it, crying. I also remember in second grade though, going with my friend Maggie to the 3rd grade for reading - lest you think all I did was cry!
I remember all through elementary school having to go to "special gym", which was, for me at least, intended to address my eye-hand coordination issues. I remember having to do mazes and make sure that my pencil didn't touch the sides at all. I had to practice using scissors and such.
I remember the auditions for "Ghost Towns Never Die"; I was probably 5th or 6th grade. I was one who had been asked to stay and took it upon myself to repeat Miss Muller's statement that "if you haven't been asked to stay, you can go back to class." How perfectly wretched and insensitive of me! I remember the show itself - my character's name was Nancy and the only line I remember is "It's in my saddle bag; it's in my paint set!" (had to do with cobwebs and turpentine being the solution for a sprained ankle - go figure).
I remember Mark Kellogg calling me the "green machine" and "booger picker". My school life changed permanent for the worse when he started that. There is nothing schoolkids love more than someone to pick on and the stigma lasted well into high school. I remember Mr. Moshano came upon me crying (he was sitting in for Mrs. Yaworski who called in sick and they couldn't get a sub) and he just sat down on the floor next to me and asked me why I was crying. He was a very nice man.
I remember someone putting my purse in the toilet when everyone was out at field day on the last day of school in 6th grade. (Yes, I did cry.) I remember Nora Bradbury coming to find me and helping me fish it out and just being with me when I needed a friend. We never did find out who did it but I still think (very un-Christianly) that I'd like that person to suffer the same pain that poor little gawky, geeky 6th grader suffered.
And now I'm crying in memory of that - how sad is that? But I'm really tired so one can never trust one's emotions when one is so tired. So, now that I've left you with the first chapter in my personal history, I'm going to bed.
Coming in future posts: the peepee tree and the rolling thing (or "my backyard", growing up in a rural town, the 9th grade banquet, the hilarity of vice grips (I know, they don't *sound* funny....)
At any rate, it occurred to me on the 21st that, wow, I would be 40 in exactly 1 month. And I was thinking, which is rather a rare occurrence these days as I'm moving too fast to actually thing anymore, and decided that a good way to lead up to the big 4-0 is to share some history here and there over the next month.
So, here it goes...
My first school experiences:
My elementary school was an open classroom environment. It was organized into teams. Teams A and B were each mixed first and second grade; C and D were each mixed third and fourth grade; and E and F were each mixed fifth and sixth grade. We didn't have desks, there were tables and the walls weren't fixed but just movable panels. You didn't have to ask permission to use the bathroom, you just went and came back. It didn't occur to us to dilly dally or whatever. We were respected and expected to be worthy of that respect and, for the most part, we lived up to it. (After that, going into a traditional-style middle school was AWFUL.) Our principal was Mr. Moshano and I think I can remember most of my teachers: kindergarten: Miss Haak and Mrs. Riley; Team B: Mrs. Sampson, Mrs. Swan, and Mrs. Adams; Team C: Mrs. Daley; Team E: Mrs. Yaworski, Mr. Adama, and Miss VanDyke. I liked my teachers and, as far as I remember, they seemed to like me.
I remember waiting for the bus for Kindergarten. It's the first day of school. I'm wearing a blue turtleneck I think and a red/green/blue plaid kilt/skort thingie (yes, it was public school; this was the 70s, remember - fall of 1972, I expect). It's warm and sunny, midday. The maple trees in the yard are still green. I remember very little about the school day itself. And I cried at the end of the day because I didn't know which bus to get on and I was scared.
The second day of school, I had on a yellow knitted or crocheted skirt that my grandmother had made and on the way home Mike Barone pulled it up to look under it. I, of course, cried.
I remember being in 2nd grade and so frustrated with math, being kept in the classroom at lunch for special help and, you got it, crying. I also remember in second grade though, going with my friend Maggie to the 3rd grade for reading - lest you think all I did was cry!
I remember all through elementary school having to go to "special gym", which was, for me at least, intended to address my eye-hand coordination issues. I remember having to do mazes and make sure that my pencil didn't touch the sides at all. I had to practice using scissors and such.
I remember the auditions for "Ghost Towns Never Die"; I was probably 5th or 6th grade. I was one who had been asked to stay and took it upon myself to repeat Miss Muller's statement that "if you haven't been asked to stay, you can go back to class." How perfectly wretched and insensitive of me! I remember the show itself - my character's name was Nancy and the only line I remember is "It's in my saddle bag; it's in my paint set!" (had to do with cobwebs and turpentine being the solution for a sprained ankle - go figure).
I remember Mark Kellogg calling me the "green machine" and "booger picker". My school life changed permanent for the worse when he started that. There is nothing schoolkids love more than someone to pick on and the stigma lasted well into high school. I remember Mr. Moshano came upon me crying (he was sitting in for Mrs. Yaworski who called in sick and they couldn't get a sub) and he just sat down on the floor next to me and asked me why I was crying. He was a very nice man.
I remember someone putting my purse in the toilet when everyone was out at field day on the last day of school in 6th grade. (Yes, I did cry.) I remember Nora Bradbury coming to find me and helping me fish it out and just being with me when I needed a friend. We never did find out who did it but I still think (very un-Christianly) that I'd like that person to suffer the same pain that poor little gawky, geeky 6th grader suffered.
And now I'm crying in memory of that - how sad is that? But I'm really tired so one can never trust one's emotions when one is so tired. So, now that I've left you with the first chapter in my personal history, I'm going to bed.
Coming in future posts: the peepee tree and the rolling thing (or "my backyard", growing up in a rural town, the 9th grade banquet, the hilarity of vice grips (I know, they don't *sound* funny....)
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