Archive for the '2008s' Category
Last week I read my hometown newspaper online that an old neighbor of mine had passed away. I have not seen this woman for at least 35 years but her story explains how families dealt with difficulty in the 1950’s.
Her mother died in childbirth, leaving a newborn and 5 other children. That left a father alone to raise 6 children under the age of 10, one of which was a newborn. This was an impossible task for a man who had to work every day.
He turned to his family and his church. As hard as it must have been, he allowed the newborn to be raised by the child’s aunt and uncle (wife’s brother). I’m sure it was not an easy solution but he clearly was thinking of the baby first.
The other children went to live in a home for orphans in a city about 100 miles away. These children were technically not orphans but the sisters who ran the home made an exception for them.
The tragedy of the mother’s death split this family up but only geographically. The father visited his children in the orphanage as often as he could. He was also a part of his infant son’s life as well.
My family as well as other friends and neighbors went to visit the children in the home. This kept these children aware that they were really not orphans.
My neighbor who passed away was the oldest girl of the siblings and when she turned 14, the children were brought home again. The reasoning was everyone was old enough to live in a home without a mother.
I know it must have been hard but they were able to stay together. They visited with their father, relatives, friends, and neighbors as a family. And were returned to their home as soon as feasible.
The baby boy grew up knowing his siblings too, although he never lived with them and was adopted by his uncle and aunt.
This was a true tragedy with no easy solution but family, church, and community stepped in and met the need.
Reading my neighbor’s obituary, I learned she never married and is survived by all of her siblings (including her baby brother) and numerous nieces and nephews.
I have always admired this family because they stuck together through terrible adversity. I have a feeling they will deal with losing her in the same way. What could be better than that?
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I am wearing a new pair of glasses. They fit great and those that have seen them (including me) think they look pretty good. So what’s the big deal- I bought them online! Yeah, that’s right, on the internet. I bought progressive lenses and new frames from an online eye glass store. I got better quality lenses for much less money. I also avoided all that embarrassment trying on frames in the brick and mortar store. I don’t know which is the best part- the price, the ease of buying, the lenses, or the fun of doing one more thing online. Anyway, I was reminded of my first encounter with eye glasses and it wasn’t anything like this. I hope.
I was in the first grade when I started having headaches and vision problems so my mom made an appointment with the only eye doctor in town. Can you imagine a town where there is only one choice in an eye doctor? Fortunately the one choice was a well qualified opthamologist. And the doctor was a woman.
She did it all, from routine eye exams and fitting the glasses to complex eye surgeries. Our little town was very lucky to have her and everyone knew it.
My first encounter with the lady doctor led to my wearing glasses. I cried because I knew I was going to be called Four Eyes! I knew that because I had called kids that wore glasses Four Eyes. We did that sort of thing back then. It was called teasing. It taught the concept of reaping and sowing.
Once my eye problem was diagnosed and I was going to need glasses the next step was picking out the frames. It was almost as hard back then as it is now except for one thing. My mother! She could only stand so much indecision, after all it was just frames and I was only 6 years old. So she stepped in and chose them. The ones she selected had a modern look with contemporary colors (sounds like a brochure, doesn’t it?). They were a lovely shade of pink and blue. I’m not kidding! I thought they were going to look so cool!
Just like my online order, I had to wait a bit for the glasses to come. (One hour glasses were 30 years in the future.) Once they were ready it was back to the Doc for a final check and a fitting.
I loved my new glasses. I could see with ease and that was worth the teasing about having an extra set of eyes. I was beginning to read so I was happy to wear them. I was sure the colors looked great on me too. All in all I felt pretty special wearing my pink and blue plastic glasses every day to school.
Until I saw my school picture. I guess the mirror was magic or something because I’m certain I would have noticed how stupid I looked. How dorky and ugly. I had a major meltdown when I saw myself in my first grade photo. I tried to throw the pictures away. My mother refused to let me. I never exchanged photos with my classmates that year because that would mean they would see them. All in all it was a real blow to my self-confidence.
I was in my early 30’s when a church we were attending put a bulletin board up in the back and invited the congregation to share photos of themselves through the years. I decided it was time for me to get over that first grade picture. So I took a thumbtack and stuck that picture up for everyone to see. And the more I looked at it the better I felt. Seeing my picture all those years later I realized I wasn’t so ugly as awkward. I was glad to finally close that door even if it took over 25 years.
Now I’m wondering if my mirror is still magic when I look at my new glasses? I guess I better have a photo taken and then see what I think. I will say this the frames are not pink or blue!
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My daughter’s family went for a train ride this weekend. A ‘Thomas the Train‘ train ride. Thomas the Train travels the world hooking up with with other trains to visit with fans. My granddaughter loved the ride and it brought back the memory of when I rode a train. This photo is of her looking out the window of a Thomas the Train made of leggo blocks. Yeah, leggos!
When I was very young, trains were still an important mode of transportation. Most small towns had a passenger rail service. Like most small towns the railroad tracks ran right through the center of it.
The factories in our town used trains to move their products. These tracks ran right into the industrial area and for many years the trains were more important than trucks. Of course that has all changed.
We also had the passenger rail service. And that’s the one I rode on.
I was 11 years old when the rail service was going to be discontinued in our community. That would have been 1962 before Amtrak was created in 1971. My mother was concerned that trains would disappear forever and I would never have the experience of a train ride. It’s odd to me now that she didn’t care if my brothers ever rode a train. She was determined to take care of this possible lack in my life’s experiences and to that end she devised a plan.
She called my neighbor’s daughter who had moved to a town about 15 miles away. Her idea was to put me on the train in my town and ride to the next one. I would get off at that station and my friend would be waiting for me. It was a great plan and she was going to see it executed no matter what.
I honestly didn’t care if I ever rode a train. But that didn’t matter. So on the last day of passenger rail service in my home town, my mother rousted me out of bed early in the morning (it was summer so I didn’t get to skip school). She made me wear a nice dress because I was going on a train. I packed an overnight bag (something I had never done) and we were off to the train station.
My ticket was purchased and then we waited. Of course we were early because Mom was so excited I was going to ride the very last train that would ever stop there for a passenger. I, on the other hand was scared to death.
I know I was 11 years old but the unknown is tough for a child and being alone was the real problem. Mom was to excited to see how unexcited I was. Talk about living vicariously through your child. When the conductor yelled “All aboard” Mom was ready. She put the ticket in my hand, gave me a kiss and pushed me toward the steps of the biggest thing I had ever been on. My mother must have been the only one in town concerned their child needed this experience because I was the only one going up those steps that morning. (No wonder they shut the service down)
I moved down the seats, found one close to a window and sat down. I peered out the window to find Mom waving her arm off. I was ready to cry but found myself waving back at her anyway. I felt like I had been put on the orphan train.
I’d love to say it was a wonderful ride. Truth is I only wanted it to be over. I wanted to see a friendly face at the end. I spent the 15 miles worrying instead of enjoying. But everything went according to the plan. I was met at the station and I spent the night at my friend’s house. The 15 mile ride home was in a car.
As fearful as I was at the time of my train ride, I have always been grateful to my mother for her foresight. Because of her, I was the last person to board the train in our town. And she was right, I have never been on one again.
Looking back 46 years, I think I actually saw the scenery as that train moved down those tracks for the last time. In fact, I’m pretty sure I enjoyed myself.
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We just harvested our pitiful crop of potatoes. Problem is we planted about as many as we grew. I know the math isn’t good but we haven’t had the rain we needed. Now when our family was growing up we managed to do a much better job. And fortunately everyone loved the spuds in our house, even the dogs!
One year our oldest son wanted a Golden Retriever for his birthday. I think it was the 12th one but I claim a senior moment and don’t really remember. We scoured the AJC (Atlanta Journal Constitution) classifieds and found a puppy that filled the bill. The dog was100 miles away but a kid only turns 12 (I think) once. So we headed off to get the birthday dog. He was sweet and cute and I still remember (no senior moment here) Jay sitting in the back of our station wagon (before mini-vans were invented) holding that dog with the biggest grin on his face. He was happy with his present!
He named him Sam. Good name for a puppy and great name to grow into. Sam was doing fine, learning the ropes of becoming a dog. And Jay was enjoying being a dog owner. And then we got the phone call that changed Sam’s life and ours. Sam’s parents needed a home and we lived in the country so we agreed to take them. It seemed like a good idea at the time. We would have 2 adult Goldens that would eventually produce a litter of puppies. We’d make a little money and have lots of fun too. Great theory but the reality was a whole lot different.
Mom and Dad dog had never been out of a fence and we didn’t have a fence. So these dogs thought that until they hit the fence wall they were free to roam. Obviously this mentality gave them a very large area to roam in. Like the entire known world. We tried to use a chain to keep them confined but the old saying ‘How are you going to keep them down on the farm after they’ve seen Pariee’ describes Mom and Dad dog perfectly. They weren’t giving up their freedom for anything. And no little, ole chain was going to stand in their way. And when mating time came around no little, ole chain was going to stand in their way.
So we soon had 12 Golden Retriever puppies, 2 adult maniac Golden Retriever dogs, and sweet, little, half-grown Sam. Our son AJ wanted to keep one of the puppies and we thought it was a great idea. He chose one that had white on his forehead because that white wasn’t a desired trait in show dogs. He named him Lion. The other 11 puppies were to be sold as soon as they were old enough. I learned ’soon’ didn’t eactly seem like soon when it came to puppies getting old enough to leave home.
We found ourselves chasing Mom and Dad dog all over the neighborhood. I guess one good thing was returning the items they picked up and brought home gave us a chance to visit with our neighbors. We eventually found homes for these poor, crazy animals before my family had to find a home for me (I mean mental institution).
That left 13 dogs still roaming around finding things to get into. I loved the puppies but they were a handful. I found myself getting up in middle of the night to feed the runt. I called him Rusty. He thought I was his mother and I guess I felt like I was. Fortunately the feeling passed quickly.
The pups were just the right age to roam when it was garden planting time. To keep an eye on them, I took them to the garden with us while we planted potatoes. They had a great time in the dirt, moving up and down the rows, tumbling over each other and getting a taste for potatoes too. The little critters would nibble on the potatoes in the row before they were covered up. We thought it was great fun to watch them help with the planting. I just never realized they were developing a taste for the spuds. But they did.
One by one the little darlings found their way to new homes to have new adventures. Rusty was the hardest to see go but we gave him to an older man who needed a great dog for companionship. Like Sam did, Rusty filled the bill.
Meanwhile as the potato plants grew and produced potatoes, Sam and Lion would stroll to the garden and dig one or two up whenever they wanted a snack. Several of the other pup’s owners told us how their dogs would dig potatoes in their garden.
Good thing we have a poodle now who doesn’t care a thing about potatoes (’cause she’s French not Irish, I guess). Frankly, the harvest this year just isn’t large enough to share with a dog.
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The other morning my little granddaughter became acquainted with a box turtle. It was passing by and decided to stop on her patio and visit. Seeing a photo of it brought back memories of our youngest son and his turtles.
AJ was 6 years old when we arrived in Georgia. We bought an old fixer-upper (it may be compulsive or a form of self-t
orture). At any rate it was an old farm house and we managed to get 5.5 acres with it. It was about 3 miles from a small town in the North Georgia mountains. A great place to raise children with lots of space for them to roam.
We had cats, dogs and horses for a very brief time. And in no time at all our youngest child had an assortment of turtles. He started out with one that he found somewhere in the yard. It was little and cute and fit nicely in a shoe box. He named it Jack. Jack stayed in that confined space for awhile and then he found another little turtle. That gave him the idea to create a space for both turtles outside in a more natural setting. He worked hard at getting a nice place for them to live in. It was under the old apple tree in the back yard with enough grass, dirt, and roots for his turtle buddies to hang out in. The problem was confining the little creatures. It wasn’t like they were looking for a place to rent. He’d put them in his turtle resort and the next day chances are one or both would be gone. Fortunately it’s true that turtles don’t travel very fast so he would round up his guests and start all over again. As you can imagine this became a frustrating way to have pet turtles. But he still enjoyed them and lots of little turtles came by to visit. One day he came up with what I think was a brilliant idea.
He decided that every turtle that came to visit he would name ‘Jack’. And he wouldn’t try to confine them. He figured out you really couldn’t do that if you wanted them to live naturally. The first year we lived in that house the majority of the turtles seemed to be all very small box turtles. I don’t know if those turtles simply grew up or future little ones found another path but it was mostly bigger ones that came by to visit as the years passed.
Since each turtle that found it’s way to our place was given the same name, our son wanted a way to keep track of them. To help, his dad gave him a material that is used to mark metal in fabrication. AJ would number each Jack that passed through. Number one came by when he was just over 6 years old. There were well over 20 Jacks proudly carrying a number on their shells by the time AJ found other interests. Because he had marked them he realized that some of the same turtles come to visit him several times.
Every time I see one I wonder if it has a number on it and thanks to AJ I’ve come to call any box turtle Jack.
And now our granddaughter is entertaining her own turtle visitor. Who knows maybe this is just the beginning of a long friendship with the little critters.
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Yesterday my granddaughter and I had lunch together. I fixed the toasted cheese sandwiches and prepared the cantaloupe while my two and a half year old grandchild set the table. I’m not kidding! She did this task on her own. She put placemats out, placed a fork on them (which she got out of the drawer on her own), and finished up the job by putting a napkin beside the fork. I was quite impressed, and it reminded me of how helpful her own mother has always been around the house. Except for that one time she protested.
When our children were growing up, kindergarten was a half day affair. You either went to the morning session or the one after lunch. I still think it’s a better plan. That means a 5-year-old only spends half the day away from home. But I’m admittedly old fashioned when it comes to caring for children.
Our daughter was in the morning session and loved every minute of it. Her teacher was a wonderful woman who was old enough to be her grandmother. She was everything I wanted for our daughter’s first teacher. Kind, strict with a sense of fairness, and a handle on the fact that kids need to have fun.
The 4 hours of school were wisely planned each day. Some supervised play time to allow the children to interact with each other. There was the usual rote recitation of the alphabet and counting, and the favorite part for our little darling–story time.
The story was always the last thing of the morning so the children went home with what they just heard uppermost in their minds. Some times the story would teach a lesson about manners or morals and sometimes it was just a fun story. Our daughter always tried to get the most out of what was read to her.
Often she would share the story on our drive home but sometimes we never knew what she had just listened to. Then there were rare occasions when she would apply the story to her present circumstances. One particular day it was very easy for me to figure out what she had just heard.
Lunch always immediately followed our return from kindergarten. After lunch on the day I’m thinking of I asked my little girl to do what I had asked her many times before. But I was about to get a response that was entirely new. I said, “Honey, while I clean up the dishes I want you to go clean up your room and put your toys away, please.” She did not hesitate. She turned and walked to her room. In no time at all she was back in the kitchen. A very annoyed child was standing in front of me. Her little hands were on those little 5-year-old hips declaring, “Why do I have to clean my room? I feel just like Cinderella!”
I knew what story was read that morning.
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I always appreciate it when someone gives me something. I especially like it when the gift is actually useful. A few weeks ago one of my daughter-in-law’s gave me a gift that fits this description perfectly.
As I wrote in an earlier post, I have made and still make a lot of pies. The last of this summer’s blackberries went into 2 pies yesterday. I shared one with my granddaughter and her folks since she has become my biggest pie fan. So the gift I received has made making pies even more fun.
It’s a Pastry Cloth and Rolling Pin Cover and I highly recommend it. The concept is so simple and yet has eluded me all the years I’ve made pies. The cloth is made of canvas and the rolling pin cover is like a cheese cloth. You sprinkle the cloth and the rolling pin (in it’s cover) with flour. It creates a non stick surface to roll out the dough. The idea is you won’t need to use more flour to roll the dough. We all know tough crusts are are the result of overworking the dough. This cloth allowed me to roll the dough with no more flour than I covered the cloth with. And it only took a few minutes to get the dough rolled to the correct size and thickness. It makes for a very flaky crust without the work. I bet Betty Crocker had one of these years ago!
I love it when I learn something new. This little gift has given me new joy to something I have always loved doing. I’m not planning on making a pie a day but maybe once a week. I need to consider that my sweet husband’s metabolism has changed a bit since 1972.
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