I love nature - just keep it out of my lane of traffic

In the morning, I encounter all kinds of wild animals on my way to work.

I don’t go through major rural areas, but I do have woods that border some of the nicer properties in Brookfield, WI and a large pond in Menomonee Falls. Add to that the nature preserve just south of Mill Road and you have a breeding ground for all sorts of wild critters.

I have a few words for my wild friends.

Deer – look both ways, please. If you see a car coming, DON’T CROSS. I know that “suicide by car” is the dream of every deer who is suffering from low self-esteem or depression, but not my car, please.

Geese – (and ducks) YOU CAN FLY!!! Why you have to walk across the road is inconceivable to me. To make it worse, you walk single file and sometimes not even straight across. There is nothing more tempting than seeing if you can squish a whole line of geese with one swerve of wheels.

Wood Cranes – you are big and mean and I am really tired of watching you watch me while I go past. I don’t trust you and am sure you can run up and attack my car if you want to. And you did just that once and are lucky I didn’t panic and have an accident. Stay in the marshes and long grass and leave the pavement alone.

Coyotes – please, go away. You look sort of cute like dogs from a distance, and I would never hit a dog, but then you look mangy and disjointed once I get closer and I wouldn’t feel guilty tapping you to make my point. If you are hungry and looking for food, there are plenty of geese, ducks and wood cranes walking the roads to give you a feast for a while.

Joggers – oh yes, you are on the list too with walkers.  When there is a lane for running, biking and walking, please don’t go in the traffic lanes. If you want to be in the car lane, get a car, drive to the gym and run on a treadmill. If there is no lane for your activity, please walk towards traffic so you know when drivers are coming. And I figured out that the group of 4-6 women that I pass regularly, purposely put the one woman that is doing all the talking closest to the cars because it is obvious that 1) they don’t like her and 2)if someone has to go, let it be Chatty Kathy! On the bright side Chatty Kathy, the people at your funeral will be in very good shape.

Bicyclers – you are the best and the worst. If you stay to the side, are adequately illuminated and obey the traffic laws, I challenge you to run over the animals of my previous rant. If you are one of those who has no protective equipment, no reflective gear and think you are a car to be anywhere in the lane you want, you are a scourge on society and I hope you hit gravel, fall over and skin your knees.

Don’t get me started on other drivers because we all have our quirks. The difference is that the other cars can complain about me too so I won’t even open that can of worms.

It’s so nice to get this out of my system. I feel better.

What a snoozer! (not the dog - that's a schnauzer!)

After reading my recent blogs about me, I have reached a conclusion. I am really boring.

I am not saying this to get you to contradict me or try to make me feel better. In fact, I may erroneously interpret those comments as encouragement and then there is no stopping me. We all know this would not be a good thing. .

I have to face my minuses and pluses and then figure out what the total is. In all honesty, I feel every day that my total is growing because every person I meet, every assignment I finish – those are pluses. But in a different way, every burden I overcome, every mountain I climb and every problem I solve… those are pluses too. The acts of living and being free to succeed or fail are pluses because one is active and the other learning. The acts of being hurt or disappointed or sad are pluses because they require me to think and analyze and put values on the reason I was hurt or disappointed or sad, and the awareness that I still stand regardless.

As it stands, I don’t feel bad about having a boring life. Not everyone can be the interesting one. I believe each of us was designed by God with a purpose. Being boring doesn’t mean I am not special; just not memorable. Being interesting doesn’t make you more special; just different.

Someone once told me they liked to visit me because there was no stress. I didn’t insist that we play games or take walks. I was just as happy sitting with them watching a movie than doing something active.

So I may refer to things in my life that have happened, but not in the “read about me” way I have addressed my earlier years. I need to keep the perspective that my life has been mine for a reason and everyone I meet or write about is part of me and probably more fun to read about because of my skewed view of life and problems.

My life is a compilation of experiences with people, places and things and while I am a ME ME ME person, I prefer to create a picture of people who have made me the wonderfully boring person I am.

So be prepared to meet the real me, as I tell you my stories; even the ones that don’t involve me.

for Nancy - when she talks to God

They say I’m sick – I’m feeling bad.

It’s just too much. It makes me sad.

                                                                                I heard – let’s talk – you shouldn’t fear.

But you don’t know – it’s scary here.

                                                                                But that's why I am here to talk.

                                                                                You can’t forget, with you I’ll walk.

Some days I carry such a load.

                                                                                Like a Cross being carried on a dusty road?

Some days the pain just makes me cry.

                                                                                Like thorns on a head – a spear in your side?

But pain? How can you understand?      

                                                                                See the holes in my feet and hands?

But so many think my days are done.

They look at me like I’m already gone.

                                                                                Remember when they jeered My Son

                                                                                Assuming He was not the “one”

                                                                                Yet He remembered to talk to me

                                                                                And then embraced His destiny.

It’s Cancer Lord! How can I cope?

What if I lose my faith and hope ?

                                                                                Oh Nancy, dear, I’m glad you asked.

                                                                                Because of that, I’ll  take the task.

                                                                                No matter what your earthly ills,

                                                                                Don’t ever doubt My Love…but still

                                                                                My plan for you is evermore.

Tell me what you have in store.

                                                                                On earth your life is just a phase

                                                                                But when it ends your soul will raise.

                                                                                Your faith filled life is just a dream

                                                                                For when you wake, it’s me you’ll see.

So this is just for here and now

And someday to your throne I’ll bow?

                                                                                The details I will not now tell.

                                                                                Just live in love, and in love you’ll dwell.

No More High School

I graduated in 1972 and got a job. It wasn’t my goal.

My mother wanted me to join the U S Army, like Mary did, but I really wasn’t interested. I knew if I did, it would have been a last resort – you know… can’t get a job, gotta do something, so why not join up.

My father wanted me to go to college. For some reason, he thought I would be a great student and make something of myself if I went to college. So I tested and got admitted to college. I was ready to work the summer, saving a little money and then getting a part time job while I was in school.

When I graduated, I started working at Taylor Electric in Mequon as a billing assistant. This began my office experience. I found that I loved the work and was quite good at it. I discovered that each desk had its own job description and the more desks I sat in, the more I would learn. It was better than college because I learned tons about accounting, billing, customer service, computers and much more while they paid me! It may not be the most sincere reason, but the money was the best part.

I started in June, 1972, and Duke got back from the service in February,1973. He had previously worked at Taylor and he stopped in to get his job back after his commitment ended. He walked through the office to visit his best friend Steve, who happened to work with me, 

I fell madly in love.

Duke was 6’4” tall, in his best shape ever, and had just spent his enlistment in Texas so was tan and beautiful. I did everything I could to get his attention and finally there was a company baseball team picnic in June and he got drunk enough to talk to me.

That was it! We were married the following April. It wasn’t even a year but like someone told my mom, “when it’s right, it’s right.”  We just celebrated our 45^th anniversary so all those who said it was too quick or we weren’t the right astrological signs or I was too young, I say… POOP ON YOU!

I worked at Taylor through December 1977. I left for two reasons. I had full vesting in the company profit sharing fund after 5 complete years and I was going to have a baby in February. 

Effective 1/1/78, I was a housewife, and after 2/14/78, I was a stay at home Mom.

High school was over and I was ready to move on.

some details from high school

Back to writing –

I believe I just left high school in my last ME post. OK – I notice I missed a few major things when talking about my years from Sept 1968 to graduation in 1972.

First – I did discover four loves that I still have today. One is English (poetry, literature, the classics and the modern) – one is Math – one is writing and the last is baseball.

Second – I also had a few dates in high school so was not a complete wallflower. I always had a date to dances and events because I had friends that were male and when we went out somewhere it was strictly platonic. Except for one…

Third point – I met a guy named John at Milwaukee County Stadium the summer between Soph and Jr years, and we became a couple my junior year of high school. I took him to my prom and then he took me to his school homecoming dance when I was a senior. It was that event that broke us up as he wanted to smoke marijuana at the dance and I was totally against any kind of drugs or artificial highs. I didn’t even drink…that came later.

BUT when he told me that by not smoking grass I was spoiling his good time I decided that we were done. I did give him one chance to apologize and repent, but he was rather weak and couldn’t see his life with no pot. So I turned my back on him. I dated many boys after that but until I met Duke, none was serious.  I can’t say if John was my first true love or if I was even in love or just infatuated, but I can say that my self-esteem and confidence shot through the roof once I stood up for what I believed in and let my “love” know that it was me first or he alone. I made a similar speech to Duke a few months after we started dating and he threw away the pot and kept me. Smart move, Duke! (yes I am laughing as I write that.)

I had to keep myself first because there was no guarantee that anyone else would. My father always told us to be proud of who we were and remember that we should be kind to everyone because it was our station to be nice to those less perfect. His answer to personal doubt was “you’re a Pearson – you’re better than that.”

A wonderful way to grow up, don’t you think? It probably explains a lot about my attitude to this day.

moving on

Jesus' life is starting to run down.
He kept telling His followers that His time was limited... and now the phrase "days are numbered" means so much more.

There is the ride into the city. Palm Sunday tribute and cheering from all the people. They want Jesus to be their King - conquering all the peoples that are against them. But Jesus isn't that kind of King.

To make it more confusing Jesus knew the end was near. He knew the plan and that His years were nearly over. But with the swell of support, it had to be tempting to be the King.

But Jesus knew one thing that was hard for the people to comprehend. He was the King.

After the ride, He did all He could in the few days allotted Him, and ended with a solemn dinner with His friends. He tried one last time to get through to them that there was a plan, and although the 12 were part of it, they would not be able to control it.

Judas was the most tragic because he had already decided to betray his friend. Judas was misguided and didn't see the big picture till it was too late.

Peter was secure that Jesus was his special friend and was surprised when Jesus told Peter of his imminent betrayal. Yet Peter betrayed Him anyway.

After dinner there was prayer, arrest, trial and death. None of this was unexpected to Jesus and He accepted His fate. Everyone else thought they could change things. But no one was able to cancel the plan or deter the will of God.

(note: Let this be a lesson to us. If God wouldn't change His plan to save His own Son, why do we think He will change it for us?)

So the same people who were singing "hosanna" on Sunday were yelling "Crucify Him!" less than a week later. Ever been in a mob or at an interactive Passion Play? It is really easy to just get sucked into the crowd mentality, especially if you will be punished, beaten or killed if you try to object.

identity crisis...not

Another interesting thing to me is that Jesus always spoke of the Father. He told the people about God as if God were His God too. 
I wonder if all the while they were traveling, the apostles realized that Jesus was more than the Son of God? Did they know He actually was God?

It was hard enough for the simple people of early Nazareth (and the rest) to see Jesus as a Savior, but had He played the God card, it would have blown their minds. All the signs were there, but tradition had made them expect a different kind of redeemer. The miracles alone were not enough to sway them. 

Jesus spoke with such authority that from youth, the educated listened to Him. He spoke with such passion that His words alone encouraged the people to follow Him. He spoke with such kindness and optimism that He inspired the world, even to this very day, to be like Him. 

So there He goes - speaking, healing and caring. And here we stand, emulating Jesus while knowing He is God. 

Now that we are in the midst of Lent, will we listen like the original 12... or the simple people of Jesus' homeland who knew Him as the son of a carpenter and blessed of God. 
Or will we listen as part of the faithful of all generations and ages, who know that God was really a Man in the body called Jesus, and lived and worked and loved and laughed and suffered and died, so that we all could be saved from our own human foibles. 
I can't figure it out. But that is why I keep writing. Because it is definitely worth the effort to try. 

Magic Man?

When Jesus went out, He performed many miracles with no fanfare. At least not at first.

We all have seen magicians and there is a lot of preparation - much hoopla and fireworks. Did the apostles go and prepare the people for "something never seen before on sand or stage. The one, the only, the great "Christini!" The crowd would go wild wondering what cool trick was going to be exhibited that day.

No - that is not what happened because there was no magic. Jesus didn't get up and plan how many people He would trick, but He went out knowing that there were many He could help.

Magicians use objects and sleight of hand. Look at the right hand - the left hand is holding the cards.
They tell people what they are thinking and predict where they will go, but they don't do anything to the person.
Jesus didn't do anything except ask God to reward the faith of the people and heal them. He didn't do tricks - He performed miracles. He channeled the power of God and used it to show the faithful that they were not forgotten. He didn't do it for a headline or show in Vegas. He did it because He couldn't help it.
Most of Jesus' miracles healed the person. From disease and torment to fear and evil spirits, all He needed to do was tell them they were healed - and to make it sweeter, He forgave their sins so they could be praising God.
Imagine the apostles witnessing the first healing miracle. They had to be as astounded as the rest and they also had to have the greatest relief that following Jesus from their boats or homes or families, was indeed the best choice.

Magic act? No. Tricks that Houdini could duplicate? Never!
 Actions that inspired faith to grow and thrive for generations and centuries? Of course, and that is the biggest miracle.

need a friend?

Jesus was building a reputation with His gentle ways and firm grasp of Scripture.  He had received attention after His Cana miracle and He was inspiring the Jews to get back to their heritage and serve God according to the Bible.

Jesus was ready to begin His mission but He needed help.

Jesus asked 12 special gentlemen to join Him. Jesus didn’t offer them a good time or a salary – just the chance to make a difference. This was back in the day when you looked someone in the eye and spoke to them. There was no text messaging; no email. No emoticons or tweets. Can you imagine?

Jesus texts:  Simon -  🐟 👨??? C-me.   JC    Simon texts back:  👍. S

No – Jesus approached, watched and then spoke to them. Remember that Jesus knew already that the 12 people He would spend the next years with would be the same 12 that loved and protected and denied and betrayed Him. But He asked them anyway. And they accepted. They went to their families and other friends and said goodbye. They saw this was the opportunity of a lifetime.

There are indications in the New Testament that occasionally the 12 would go back to their boats or homes, but that was not a permanent situation and since Jesus' years in ministry are not documented minute by minute, perhaps He needed a breather every now and again too. His travels were extensive but He was still just a guy from Nazareth.

His duty as a man, son of Mary and Joseph, did not totally vanish when He started His ministry as the son of God. There were probably some things He still had to do as part of mortal life. He was a dutiful son and needed to finish many things before He could go off with His friends. 

And when the gang got back together, with Jesus as the lead, it was wonderful. 

I can’t think how moving it would be to be in the group that would be considered Jesus’ Apostles, but even more that the group would be His friends.

The Apostles didn’t know all they were getting into but they knew one thing for sure. When Jesus needed friends, THEY were chosen first.

Teenage years

After all the hoopla and celebration of Jesus’ birth, and an adventure into Egypt, His history pretty much dries up. We know of how He wandered off to be found talking and teaching in the temple. I used to think that His comment to Mary was kind of rude. She was a mother, beside herself in fear that her son was missing (I mean, who wants to be the person who lost the Son of God) and she was understandably upset. When Jesus said, I must be about My Father’s business, it was that snarky kind of comment any young man would make. All teenagers say mean things to test their boundaries, and assert their future independence. And like all young men, I now think He meant it as a statement, not a slap. Jesus may even have been confused that she had concern at all. He assumed she knew His schedule. But as 100 percent human, Mary was not in the loop of all that God had planned.
After years of listening to scholars and preachers, I changed my view. Instead of wondering why Jesus stayed to be with the elders, I wonder why He went back home with the folks.

Jump to one of the next Jesus stories that we are aware of. The wedding at Cana.
So we have adult Jesus at a party. All goes well and then the wine runs low. So Mary let’s Him know and  cuts her down again. He is asking “what do you want Me to do about it?” But He means that her concern about wine will be addressed at the right time. He doesn’t mean to be dismissive but knows she needs patience. She gets it and just tells the wait staff to keep an open mind, cuz something great is about to occur.
Now this is the time some people question why Jesus made more wine when He could have made juice and delivered a sermon on the evils of alcohol. Yes, someone did mention that once to which I replied...keep it in context. Remember place and time and era and it isn’t a promotion of alcoholism. It was a courtesy and a real gift to the hosts.
So Jesus saves the day at the wedding and a simple miracle becomes the turning point. The two stories intertwine now, because Jesus is truly going into the Father’s business.

I don’t know about you, but for me the story is about to get real interesting.

Baby Jesus

disclaimer...this is not Bible study. This is how I feel about Jesus and what I may know...or not.

I remember knowing Jesus as a baby. He was the Son of God, born in a manger. I had no idea as a child what this meant.
In the Bible you see a baby, and then an adult. There was no awkward teen years... no school crushes... no boys playing ball outside. But that had to happen.
Jesus had to eat and poop and spit up on Mary when He was an infant. He had to play ball with His friends and hide and go seek; he must have  watched that cute girl from down the road walk to the well... maybe even tease His buddies when they did that boy thing to get her attention.
Jesus had to do all those things because He was not just God, but a man as well.
God didn’t have the angels announce Jesus to shepherds because they won the blue ribbons at the
Fair. God didn’t steer the astronomer kings because they brought good gifts. God announced Jesus to the lowliest of the low and the highest of the highs because Jesus is everyone’s Savior.
The shepherds walked to the stable and the kings rode camels. The shepherds had a short distance and the kings a long one. But each faction went to where Jesus was, because Jesus was there.
I saw a promise fulfilled... a search ended... a desire satisfied.
In this way, we too must find Jesus from our own place and in our own way. So now you know that as a child, I started my search and finally realize that the person I found is the same one the rich, smart and beautiful people found. He is all there is for all we are.
And that is why I want to tell you what happened to me next.

Break time

Today is Ash Wednesday.
To some this is a time to reflect and pray.
To some, this is time to fast or give something up.
To me? Well, I don’t know.
If I give up a treat or food, it is nothing I haven’t done before to lose weight.
If I try to pray each day, it is nothing I am not doing every day already. It is.just that I think about it being Lent and not about the prayers
If I decide to do something nice or be kind or be considerate, it would be sad that that is a sacrifice for me.
I decided to meet Jesus.
Lent is the in between time. It is the time we lose Jesus the Man and see Jesus as God. It is a time of revelation.
I know as a child I knew about Jesus, but it is time to really know Him. I am old enough now to see what I missed all those years when I felt Jesus was an untouchable deity. So as I go through 40 days of Lent, I will make my own reflection on Jesus. This will be my admission that I know nothing about what I know.

really...who cares

My high school life was peppered with moments of greatness, sadness, frustration and success.

I would like to say that I found myself, but that is stupid. I wasn’t lost. I did however discover some hidden talents I had – from my scholastic abilities to my musical and dramatic talents. As a student, I was smart and had a great memory. I took copious notes and remembered so much detail that I didn’t usually have to study. I was happy to get B’s, thrilled to get A’s, rarely got anything lower and did it all with minimum effort. Valedictorian or top achiever? NO. Honor roll? Yes.

As a performer, I wanted to be in the musicals and plays but I discovered that I was mediocre at best. I was happy to be girl #7 in the third line or the nonspeaking shepherd in the Christmas shadow diorama. Star? Soloist? NO! Stage hand or nameless artist? You betcha!

I had all the credits to go to college and opted to get a summer job after senior year, at which time I discovered I could learn and earn money at the same time. I took a few night courses but my dreams of college died. I started with college English and then took cake decorating & party foods, needlepoint, gourmet cooking and a few computer courses. After a few years working, I saw that I should get more accounting experience so took a few accounting courses. I learned by reading books and looking things up. When people started the home computer craze, I was in my element. I could learn millions of things without having to go to the library or buy an encyclopedia. An encyclopedia was a series of books that were arranged alphabetically and you could actually pull a volume out and get info…. The better ones took up multiple shelves to accommodate all the info. (in case you are too young to remember them.)

I have officially condensed my high school years to a few entries. I could mention my individual successes but that is in the past. I will not be advanced today because I was able to take college classes during high school – or get elected to class office – or win a kite flying contest. I will not be more accepted by my peers because I learned certain things better than everyone else. It is that these successes and achievements shaped the person I am today. If I was good before…I had better be best now. If not, whatever good I did or was is not worth mentioning.

here comes the flood of memories

Now I will stop listing by number and just list things.

I found out in high school that I loved English and writing. I took all the required courses and added Creative Writing, Evolution of Tragedy (where I met Henrik Ibsen and fell in love with his grasp of female character), Speech, English and American Literature, Poetry and a few others. I think I took about 8 English classes before I graduated.

I found out I was good at math and took Algebra, Geometry, Advanced Algebra, Trig and Calculus.

I did OK in science (B’s), mainly because I did not care for it. Due to Madonna being a smaller school, there were only 2 upper classmen were taking physics so to justify a class, it was offered to the next grade down if you were getting decent grades. SO Mary needed Physics and I joined the class to make a minimum number. We were all the NERDS if you want the truth. We were smart enough to take physics, even though it for upper classmen.  The best thing about Physics was taking gigantic slinkys and making and calculating waves. I ended up taking biology and physics and another science, could be advanced biology, at Madonna and then chemistry as a senior.

I took Spanish for 3 years and since it was an all girls' school, we had to do home ec - cooking, sewing, knitting and crochet. The teacher couldn't teach us "lefties" so my mom had to teach me how to knit and crochet so I could complete assignments. We sat face to face and I mirrored her. It was that easy. This reflects the teacher we had - she graduated college and couldn't figure this out. 

Gym...theology...history (great teacher - not my favorite class)... the rest of the classes were just that. Classes.

Next, we will have personal stuff that made my high school life memorable. (or not.)

what was high school

I guess I am struggling with sharing my high school experiences because I really do not remember any as being that notable.

Let me run through a few thoughts and see if it triggers anything.

First, to defer tuition, Mary and then I, cleaned the classrooms after school. Just one section of the building if I remember. It was fun? I don’t know.

Second, I found that I followed Mary in classes and I considered many of her friends as my friends.

Third, we had dances and because they were in the gym we couldn’t wear shoes. So many times I would work the coat and shoe check before the dance and after. It was when I first found out that some people had really smelly feet.

Stay tuned… this list is gonna go on a few more days...guess a few memories were triggered. 

now in high school

I’M IN HIGHSCHOOL!!! MY LIFE BEGINS!!! ALMOST AN ADULT!!!

Ok, it wasn’t that great. I mean I love change, meeting new people and doing new things. I was not prepared for the move from 8^th grade (early dismissal to help the little kids, bigger cafeteria lunches and being the Top Dog) to digressing down to a lowly Freshman.

You work all those years to be the person younger grade students look up to, and become the person the older grade students treat like a dog.  I get the freshman initiation thing. It is a rite of passage. BUT you are never really prepared for the drop in self-image from 8^th grade to Freshman.

Maybe this is why your freshman friends are so valuable to you. I remember names and things we did as teams. I remember many people who do not remember me. Anyone who knows me knows that I am not a forever friend. I am someone who moves on and treasures memories.

I have very special friends, like Mary Jo that you may have read of earlier. She went through grade and high schools with me. I have “hey didn’t we go to school together” friends. I have “aren’t you Mary’s sister…or Duke’s wife… or someone’s something” acquaintances and  “don’t I know you?” casual contacts.

All of those are because I never closed myself off from meeting, enjoying and being with other people. Being a freshman did not do much for my over inflated ego, but it was a point of change for that part of me that had become complacent and wanted to settle back and rule the world.

I found a new way to be me when I remembered that ME was not all that important. I found out that there is an US that would get me through the rest of my days. (however, this blog is all about ME so I guess some things don’t really change. But at least I have a level of awareness now.)

1968

This is a memorable year for a number of reasons.

1) In June, I graduated 8th grade at St. Agnes Grade School in Milwaukee. I left there an average student, with better than average grades but nothing too memorable, and a bunch of friends.

2) We bought a house in Brown Deer, finally leaving the crowded lower flat that we rented from my Grandma Pearson. We had 7 people in a 2 bedroom dwelling. Mary/myself/Liz in one bedroom. Liz was only 6 and shared a double bed with Mary. Kevin, 4 and Elaine, 2 had the other bedroom. She was in a crib and he, a small twin bed. My parents slept on a hide-a-bed in the living room. The new house had 3 bedrooms and my parents actually had a room with a door and privacy and windows. We were forced to live for a few weeks with my Grandpa Golla when the residents of our new house were not ready to vacate when they were supposed to. My Grandpa was not excited about 5 children living in his house. Part of this was because my Aunt Margaret and Uncle John lived on the same property in a separate house with their 4 boys. Grandma Golla was the one who doted on all her grandchildren, having us over regularly and playing and loving us often. Grandpa tolerated our visits because he would have done anything for Grandma.When she died, so did the visits, dinners and fun.  Grandpa could barely stand my cousins and add 5 more children of various ages...it's no wonder the man didn't live too long after that.

3) in late August, I started as a freshman at Madonna High School, 6680 N Teutonia in Milwaukee. I say the address because anyone familiar with that area will see that building as the safety academy in Milwaukee for training our police and fire departments. The school was much closer to our new house. When Mary Beth started in 1967 she had to ride the city bus from our house in Milwaukee to the school. Now that we were suburbanites, we took a school bus that stopped on the corner and picked us up. Ah, the privilege of the suburbs!

4) in October, I turned 14 - nothing memorable about that, but I did want to have an extra event on the list.

This starts my new series of blogs that will be about being in and surviving high school. 4 years of things that will never be recorded in history or seen as memorable by anyone except me... but I will share so you see that the stuff you remember as boring and mundane just may be a star in the firmament of  "Margaret's High School Years."
                                                                              .to be continued.....................................

Barbie Dolls

       

When we were young, Mattel created and sold the first Barbie Dolls. This rather shapely doll had a cute little ponytail, heavy eye makeup and a limited wardrobe. Unlike the Barbie today, the original one was not a business woman, nurse or astronaut…she was just a doll for dressing up.

When we got our first Barbies, we played incessantly. The best part was that my Grandma Golla actually got an additional doll and tailored a wardrobe around her. For an additional gift, Mary Beth and I each received a suitcase (probably about 18 x 12 and 6 inches deep) filled with hand made Barbie clothes. Grandma took all her leftover fabric and made us suits and dresses and pants and jackets. She made sure we each had one of everything. The clothes were not the machine made clothes of the store that anyone could get, but hand stitched lovingly and each unique because it was made by Grandma. Having her own mannequin made sure the clothes not only fit but could easily be put on and taken off. We added shoes and accessories.

We had the best dressed Barbies in the world.   I am sure that we didn’t appreciate all the special items at the time. We were probably envious of our friends “new” clothes that were like everyone else’s, but they in turn couldn’t believe all the clothes we had.

Added Barbie thoughts…

Pony Tail – 3-wigs - Bouffant. Feet that were designed to wear heels only. Earrings that just poked through a hole in the side of the head – a pretty, short stick pin did the same thing and gave a variety of colors as well. Ken had hair like short felt and there were no friends, sisters or other relations. First car was a pink convertible.

Enough about Barbie...next blog starts a new era. 

My Pearl Necklace

My father could not figure out how to handle his daughters' tears. I have to give him credit. He was the youngest of 4 children, one older sister and 2 brothers, so never saw female tears or was asked to understand them.

With mom working second or third shift, Daddy took care of us girls a lot. So when we would cry he had to figure out how to handle it. His solution? He would go to his bedroom and get a large bandana/handkerchief and dry our tears with it. Then he would tell us that he would hold onto it and the tears would turn into pearls and some day we would get pearl necklaces.

So we spent years crying into his handkerchief and being comforted.

When my Aunt Margaret died, I received her pearl necklace. It was beautiful and you would have thought it would have made me very happy. I waited till my cousin's daughter, Becky, was getting married and gave it to her.
And what of  the pearl necklace my father had promised me?  He did leave me pearls that I will never get to wear. They are for sharing.

Those pearls are ideas and stories and memories. And I will have them forever. 

Charlie Brown Trees

We were not affluent by any means and usually got our Christmas tree after the lots were pretty much picked over. y aunt Margaret always got a long needle, huge tree that I know was incredibly expensive, but she had to have a perfect tree. 

My mom usually picked a short needled tree with at least one spot that was best left facing the wall. My parents believed the tree was about the decorating, not the foliage.

We all decorated together. The lights were glass, screwed into a long cord. The ornaments were also glass, and antiques. They were passed from my grandmother to my mom and I think one of my sisters has them now. There was no garland. It was tinsel, delicately placed strand by strand on each branch…don’t even think about grabbing a handful or putting too many together.

There were a few exceptions – my younger sisters and brother got to put their tinsel on the back of the tree and they were not restricted. They decorated the bad side of the tree so a clump of tinsel beautifully masked the flaws.

When Christmas was over, the ornaments were put back in the boxes. Those without individual boxes were wrapped in soft paper or tissues and placed in a different box. The lights were removed and wound up and packed away. The tinsel…well the tinsel was taken off the tree and spread out on tissue paper to be covered and rolled away to be used again.

Sure – the words cheap and bald and ugly and shoddy could have been incorporated into my memory, but they are overshadowed by exciting, funny and wonderful. Our less than perfect trees were family projects, completed in love and cherished in memories.

Be the best YOU

My parents were very fair. They made sure all their children received the same benefits and the same advantages.

There was pressure to be the best we could be, but we were not steered based on their accomplishments or missed dreams, but on who we were as individuals.

In the first case, on Christmas, we all received the same amount and value of gifts. If Mary wanted a bicycle for 100 dollars and I wanted a pair of gloves for 20, I received enough additional gifts to equal what was being spent on Mary. In turn, she received a number of small gifts so we each had the same number of packages under the tree.

On Easter, my mother would prepare baskets for us with the same number or jelly beans or marshmallow eggs. This changed later, but that is for future blogs.

For achievements, Mary was a star, I was a support player. So when Mary starred in a play or show or class presentation, Mom would be there cheering her on. And when I was playing in the support choir, she was there too. I never realized that my part was less important because Mom encouraged me to do the best I could even if I was just handing out programs.

I tried to open my son’s focus to what he was good at without having him feel he had to be something he wasn’t just to please me. Mom and Dad did that for us and I hope I passed it on.

Thunderstorms

I love the smell in the air when a thunderstorm is moving in. It’s a damp smell. The air feels heavier but not unbearable.

I remember many times watching clouds roll in and embracing the change in the air; the smell, the temperature, the look of the sky.

Then once the storm started, a taste like none other. It was pure water. There was no flavor or fizz… just water running from heaven into our mouths.

I remember summer storms where the storm didn’t remove the heat, but soaked us in a hot, deluge of water. The rain cleaned the play off our bodies to prepare us for another game.

I remember thunder that shook the house and lightning that took the power. Sometimes it was so dark from the clouds that the lightning was the only flash that revealed what was going on. Sometimes we sat on the porch and watched the rain; sometimes we ran off and played in it.

The potholes were made for splashing and stomping. The grass would become greener – the flowers would become brighter – the trees would become stronger.

I know longer play in the rain or stomp in the potholes. I worry about the roof leaking or the basement flooding or how can we travel in the power of the storm.

I still love the smells before and after the rain. I still open a drape and watch the splashing of the drops in puddles. There is nothing like the rain.

Juliette Lowe

January 28, 2019

As a Girl Scout I sold cookies, went on field trips and did silly art projects. I learned how to work as part of a team and how to achieve personal goals and earn badges.

Every year all the troops in the school would appear on stage for the Juliette Lowe Pageant. Juliette Lowe was credited for starting the scouts in America and each troop would get an assigned state, theme or country and do a little show from that region.

One year that I specifically remember, we did Hawaii… appearing on stage in muumuus and leis and we did a modified hula. A person in church had the heritage of the islands on her side and taught us how to do a very lovely dance. As a group of 12 or 13 year old girls did their little dance, they imagined themselves on an island, with all the lovely moves of a Polynesian princess. In reality we were a bunch of gawky girls who were anything but graceful and sexy, but that is not why this show was memorable.

As we danced, my mother was in the back of the auditorium with my brother Kevin, a cute little boy of 2 or 3.

The parish priest stopped to talk to Mom and suddenly said, “Who’s kid is that?”

My mother looked up and she was shocked to see my brother, in bright red/black plaid overalls, going up the risers in front of the stage to visit his sister Margaret. I was equally surprised that Kevin was there, and one of the other mothers was off stage and graciously coaxed Kevin to the wings.

He was my buddy but joining the Girl Scout show was not best moment. But I remember it like it was yesterday.

Painting

January 27,2019

When we lived on 28^th street, the house was made of stucco and my father regularly painted it for his mother – the home owner. If you don’t know what stucco is, it is like cement but rough. If you look at a snowbank after the plows come through and you see all lumps of different sizes left on the banks, it is like magnified stucco.

In order to paint stucco, you not only have to brush but you have to tap the brush to paint the spaces between the lumps. It wasn’t odd for Daddy to come in splattered all over with paint from the incessant tap-tap-tapping of the brush on the material.

Mary and I always wanted to help, but that would have been a disaster waiting to happen. We did occasionally get to help, but ended up splashed with bits of paint. So to get our creative juices flowing and our desire to help satisfied, we were allowed to paint the sidewalk.

This entailed my Dad getting some old paint brushes and giving us a bucket of water. Then we painted the sidewalk squares with water, one square at a time, till all was covered. As it dried, we imagined that the cement was covered with a fresh, new coat of water/paint and looked so much better. But it was no brighter or nicer than after a rainstorm.

We didn’t care – we painted while dad painted and when done, the house and sidewalk were brand spanking new.

Drowning

Jan 26, 2019

We frequently went on vacations with my Aunt Margie’s family. We would rent cabins up north and have a huge week long family party. It was usually my parents and Mary and I, , my aunt and uncle and their three boys, and maybe later Liz and Cousin John. Those trips ended one year, probably because they were too expensive, or because life changed, but I remember some fun times.

 I was around 4 or 5 and it was the day we were leaving. To say goodbye to the lake, we walked out on the pier and for some reason, I decided to bend over and drizzle sand in the water. My eldest cousin walked behind me and brushed into me, and I tumbled head first into the water. I panicked. I swallowed water and couldn’t see. My cousin jumped in the water and got me out before any damage was done. I did have to ride home in wet clothes, though.
To this day I tell people he pushed me in... he retorts that at least he saved me. And as a result, I have an intense hesitation at diving head first into any lake, river or pool of water. Luckily I look crappy in a swim suit so not swimming isn’t a great sacrifice for me.

Catching up

Jan 25, 2019

Ok, it is actually the 27th and I am catching up. I have been blogging in my head, so here goes.

As a child, I was never the fastest or best athlete, but I completely tried. I gave my all, but as far as gym class or sports, I did not have a competitive nature. I really wanted two things...to be a good sport and to have fun.
If I could cheer lead for both teams I would. I have always been an optimist. If i lost a serious game of tag, I would remember that I didn’t push anyone over.
If I couldn’t find you during hide and go seek, I would commend your choice of hiding places. I think part of it was because I refused to accept anyone’s criticism of my performance. How sad for someone to say...you really can’t catch, and hear me answer, well you are a powerful hitter. No one can make your frailties a fault, it you augment their skills.
Maybe I should have been a professional supporter.

The future

Jan 24, 2019

I wanted to be a cowgirl like Dale Evans. Should have moved to Texas.

I wanted to be a Mom. Harder than taking care of my baby dolls.

I wanted to be a nun but even Sister Marie Edward ultimately left the order, and she was perfect.

I wanted to be a ballerina, but didn’t have the dedication.

I wanted to be a chef, but preferred to cook for fun.

I wanted to be a lawyer, but that was too much work.

I wanted to be a doctor or nurse...nah! That only lasted a day or two.

I wanted to be the best at one thing, but became ok at many things,

I still don’t know what I want to be, but I will some day.

Special nights

Jan 23, 2019

When we were younger, there were big movies. Films like Sound of Music and My Fair Lady were shown downtown at a theater. Attending The Ice Capades and stage shows were rare. Tickets were purchased ahead of time and it was like attending a Broadway show or event.
When mom and dad wanted to expose us to movies and the arts, we would prepare for weeks. Mary and I had to be on our best behavior the week before the show or we couldn’t go. Our table manners had to be perfect as well, because the show was preceded by a dinner at a good restaurant. I mean soup and salad...entree...cocktails (kiddie, but a cocktail none the less)...dessert. It was a time for us to be wined and dined like adults and then off to the event. We wore our Sunday best. We acted like ladies.
My parents raised us to be a tribute to them. We would be gracious to the wait staff, respectful to our parents and other adults we would meet, and good to each other.
It was easy because by learning how to act in public, we became better, more gracious adults. By learning to appreciate the people who waited on us, seated us and even took our tickets, we learned that everyone is important and should be thanked for the service they give. And by these events being few and far between, they were so very special and created a lasting memory for us.

The library

Jan 22, 2019

When I was in first grade Milwaukee opened the Atkinson library. It was half mile from my school and we would have field trips, walking from 25th and Capitol to 19th and. Atkinson. After my quick trip to library school at the age of 4, this was heaven.
My favorite story is one of our first trips there. My mom was chaperoning the trip and when we arrived we gathered in a room to hear from the librarian before we could get a book. As usual, I was fooling around so when I got to the room, all the front chairs were filled. I wanted a front chair, and based on my actions, I felt I deserved one. I simply walked to the front, tapped a little girl from my class.on the shoulder and signaled to her that she should get up and give me her seat..
My mother was mortified by my actions, and more shocked when the little girl got up and moved to a back row.
I must have had a secret, bossiness that my mom never saw. At home I was Mary’s little sister and not a demanding child. She saw, at the library, that I was not all I appeared to be.
I probably got first choice on books too...but my mom never told that part of the story. Just that I went to the library, and I OWNED IT. Still makes me laugh today to think of my mom telling that story over and over when people told her I was a sweet, kind child. They never would have known without the library story.

First story

Jan 21 2019

When I was in grade school I started writing. My memory has me older than six and younger than ten when I wrote my first short story.  Remember it today, because it cemented two things.
First, words were my life. They opened my soul yet hid my emotions. They could reveal and disguise. They could build or destroy. But most of all, they are necessary to be me.
Second. I have always loved a good pun.
You have to know the old folk song “ The Old Grey Mare” to see what I mean.
My story was about the leader of a town who had a daughter. He was always cranky and rude. One day something happened that changed his heart and the last line of my story was... “ The old grey Mayor...he ain’t what he used to be,”
So I am not corny and silly just as an adult. I have always been this annoying.

Mary Jo

Jan 20, 2019

I am not the best friend, because I always had sisters. I embrace people in the moment and love their company, but I respect their right to move on and to have better friends than me. There is one person though, that I am not related to but who enriched my whole life.

My first friend in school, that I remember, is Mary Jo. We were somehow joined at the hip for all of grade school and went to the same high schools as well.
I remember walking to her home and playing all day. She was an only child when we met.  I was the youngest of two girls. In the end she had two younger brothers and I ended up two younger sisters and one brother, so our homes remained totally different.

After high school, we went our separate ways. I joined the work force and went to night classes as it pleased me. She went to college, becoming a physical therapist. I receive birthday and Christmas cards from her every year. I am not that consistent.
Mary Jo was always the kind one. She was smart and pleasant and gentle. I was the one fighting to be funny and I was bossy and clumsy. I remember one year we had identical coats and from behind we looked like twins. Her aunt would see us in church and not know who was who as we sat together in our class pews. She said we even wiggled the same way.
Mary Jo has two sons and grandchildren that she dotes on. We still stay in touch, her more than me. She is a nurturer. She sews beautiful toys and outfits for her grandchildren, including masterful Halloween costumes. Her heart broke after her husband lost a battle with cancer. She is a young widow, my age, and has never wallowed in grief. Her posts and contacts express her sadness, but still highlight the joy and satisfaction she has received from her family and friends.
I may not be the greatest person, but God still keeps great people in my life. People like Mary Jo. I am indeed blessed because of her.

i don’t feel good!

Jan 19, 2019

Ok, because I am feeling under the weather, you get my memories of childhood illness.
Not the yucky part, just the happening.

Being sick meant warm blankets, plenty of rest and special attention from mom. I don’t remember being sick often, or having sickness be a horrible thing, except for the remedies. Complain about an upset stomach and you had two choices...warm milk with melted butter (horrible) or warm 7-Up, with the instructions to “drink it while it is fizzy.” To this day I can’t drink 7-Up without thinking of throwing up.
I do remember that if I was sick, Mary had either been sick right before me or would be right after. We shared a room and toys and time, so also health. Mary had severe sore throats so we both had our tonsils removed. I got the mumps one week and Mary the next. Measles, chicken pox, and the rest ... we did it like tag team wrestlers. I feel better so “tag...you’re it!”My poor mother had to be a nurse consecutively till we both healed. Poor mom. When I see parents today with more than one young child I hope they have the love and grace my mom did to get us through it.

I don’t relish illness, but the warmth of healing will always be what I remember.

One car

Jan 18, 2019

As previously stated, mom worked at a place called Globe Union, second shift. It was probably about a mile from our home. 

I can’t tell you how she got to work. That is not my memory. I think Mary and I would stay home for the short time between mom leaving for her work and Dad coming home from the post office. So maybe she would walk. 

I do remember that on some cold nights, we would take the car to Mom so she could drive home when she got home late. Dad would pack up his two girls and drive to Mom on her lunch break. Then we would walk home. Two girls and dad, bundled up for a walk back home. 

I remember a snowball fight, with all three of us running and laughing as we headed back. 

I remember many cold walks, with snowbanks all around and two little girls enjoying the brisk night air. 

We walked to and from school. We walked to see our friends. We walked to, well to everywhere.

The memory is of a family with only one car. We all cooperated with each other. When we had to walk, we did. When we had to share the car or our time, we did. We made sure that if one of us needed to be somewhere we all worked together to get him or her there. The best thing is that my memories have nothing to do with complaining of having to walk, but relishing the time we had together, whether walking or playing or any of a million other things. We made do. 

Break time

Jan 17, 2019

After 16 days, I thought I would talk about how it’s going.
First thing to clear up is why all my memories seem to be from really young me. Well the answer is that if you had 65 years of memories and 12 months to divvy them up, the logical thing is to break it into blocks. January should be mostly memories of my time on 28th street in Milwaukee.
Second thing to clear up is why my memory blogs are not all nostalgic and introspective. Cuz that is not the way my brain works. When I remember something funny, I will tell you. When I remember something topical, I will tell you. When I remember something deep or beautiful or touching, I will tell you. When I remember why I walked into that room... well, that’s pretty much something I will tell me when I figure it out.
Third point is that if anyone has a pool going as to how long I will keep this up, let me know. Based on my past blogging this is already a record. And I can be bribed to miss a day it your number is coming up.
So if you are an integral part of my life, remember when you and I met and look for your special appearances when my blogs cross that timeline.

Break is over... tomorrow’s memory will be back to young me.

playing

Jan 16, 2019

Televisions were in most but not all homes. The shows were limited and no one watched all night like we do today. So what we watched at night we used during the day we inspire our play. After westerns like Maverick, Sugarfoot and  Cheyenne, we would roam the range the next day. We had felt cowboy hats and the swingset swings and glider would double for horses. At Mom‘s parents house, we would play 77 Sunset Strip, using grandpa’s stand up radio as a switchboard and communication device. I heard that after we would leave, Grandpa would complain that those darned kids changed all his stations again.
We would make our front porch into a pirate ship, boarding it by climbing over the railings, walking the plank to the deep recesses of the ocean below...ok it was just the lawn, but it seemed pretty scary when jumping down.
We saw variety shows and would do skits and play act, with old blankets for curtains. We all had our share of old clothes, including ball gowns and accessories to use for costuming and dress up.
At one point, Mary and I decided to be tree doctors and would peel the bark off the lilac bush in the yard and cover it with water and leaves to heal... I believe we killed the bush. That never happened on tv.
There was hopscotch, red rover and sneak up.
Usually we had to be home and inside when the street lights went on. On the rare occasion that we were out after dark, we played hide and go seek or night time tag.
We rode our bikes and roller skated. We walked to friends’  houses and back again. We giggled and told stories. We read books, played games and did jigsaw puzzles.

Young people today wonder what we did before video games and the internet. We lived! Oh, we lived  like kids today can only imagine.

Telephones

Jan 15, 2019

Well of course, at my age I have seen many phones. Our first phone was a black, dial phone, weighed a ton and sat on a desk. It was a “party line” where you shared the line with another person. When you needed to make a call, you slowly raised the receiver and listened. If there was a dial tone, the line was free. If you heard voices, you were supposed to politely and quietly hang up the phone till the line was clear.
Once we got a private line, things were better. UPtown 37865 was our number. My aunt was EVergreen 35602. Dial the letters. UPtown is 87...EVergreen is 38... and there was HIlltop, 44... HOpkins, 46...and it went on. We started telling people the words, then advanced to all numbers.
Now phones changed too. They became lighter and a princess phone was designed and was available in colors. Then we went to push button phones, wall phones, novelty phones and cordless.
Suddenly homes had multiple phones, in different rooms.
Imagine life where you had to find a phone to use that was not in your purse or pocket.
Imagine a world where you could put a dime, then quarter, then whatever, in a coin slot and dial the phone. If you didn’t have a coin, you would dial zero and get an actual person to place your call and collect the fee from the recipient.
Phones...operators...caller assistance/information; walls, desktop, cordless and finally mobile.
Phones and communications have changed often in my life. But we still need to touch base with each other. That has not changed and never will.

Ice cream

Jan 14, 2019

No, not the store bought kind. Does any one remember old fashioned hand churned ice cream?
The machine was a wooden bucket with a metal canister inside and a bar on top that had a handle for cranking. There were paddles in the canister to keep the contents moving.
You put the ice cream mixture in the canister, then covered and inserted it in the bucket. You would pack, broken pieces of around it and salt...like sidewalk salt. I don’t know the science, just that it made ice cream.
Put on the cover and start cranking. The paddles would revolve and the mixture would freeze against the inside of the canister. Add more ice, more salt, and soon you would feel resistance and know the mixture was hardening. And your arms would be tired from constant revolving motion. You never did it alone because once you started churning, you could not stop. The person who was working with you would actually turn a few times with you so you could let go of handle till your turn to turn came up again.
It was difficult and tiring, but great fun. I don’t know if the ice cream was the best because of the work involved in making it or because it was really the best, but it doesn’t matter. It was the best because in my memory, there was none better.

Spaghetti

Jan 13, 2019

For as far back as I remember, we had a garden. Although my grandma had roses, my mom was not into flowers. She planted tomatoes and peppers and  green onions. She also had marigolds. They don’t  attract bugs and pretty much take care of themselves. I find they make you look like a gardener. Which, like my mom, I am not.
Back to spaghetti. When we harvested the tomatoes, mom made homemade chili, which she froze, and spaghetti sauce. I remember blanching the tomatoes to make peeling easier, cutting and crushing them and watching mom add the spices and slow simmer the sauce till it was ready to cool and put in containers for freezing.
She would make tons of meatballs and divide them up so that they could freeze in the sauce, gaining flavor and the richness of the sauce.
There was one problem that I didn’t know about till my mom died and I inherited her cookbooks. Mom didn’t use any spice in her sauce except garlic powder, salt and pepper. The recipe she used had oregano, basil and thyme in the sauce/meatball recipe.
I really don’t remember mom using any spice except salt, pepper and garlic. As far as herbs went, parsley was the flake of choice.
 Ow, My dad and I took gourmet cooking classes together and learned all about spices so I am comfortable with them. Dad and I talked cooking and food. We discussed many fancy and wonderful dishes.

But here’s the truth. I have made mom’s spaghetti with all the spices and it is a delicious and tasty recipe. But in my heart, I still remember the simply spiced, homemade sweet tomato sauce that mom made for us. That is the sauce worth writing about.

Parties

Jan 12, 2019

I love parties. I love seeing people have fun and will do my best to make it happen. I like events with many people and fancy food and games and fun.What I don’t like is being the center of attention.
This strikes me as odd because I do like to be noticed, but this party thing where I have to let everyone have a part of me just doesn’t work.
When I turned 6, my parents threw me a birthday party. All my friends in school were there. At that time, we lived in a lower flat, owned by my father’s parents. Grandpa and grandma lived upstairs.

After  the presents and food, when we were all playing games, I walked upstairs to sit with Grandpa. He was a sickly man and I loved to sit wit him and rub his back. Imagine my mother’s face when she walked into the living room to see how things were going and all my girlfriends were there, but I wasn’t. Imagine my surprise when she came upstairs and scolded me for leaving the party. To this day I don’t see why she cared as it appeared the party went on in my absence.

So I don’t throw myself birthday parties. But invite me to yours, and I will have a great time!
I love parties!

Roller Skates

Jan 11, 2019

My mom worked at a company called Globe Union, and one of their products was roller skates.
These were not leather boots with a wheel base attached to the bottom, not cool like a roller blade or hot like the kids today have with wheels actually imbedded into their sports shoes.
Ours were metal bases with metal wheels, adjustable to fit many different lengths and widths, sized with a twist of a metal key. Twist the screw by the toe and the grip tightened to grab the front of your shoe. Twist the screw under, and you can make your skates longer or shorter.
When Christmas came around, it was a good day if we got shiny new skates. With extra keys too, because those stupid things got lost all the time. We didn’t want a white Christmas because if sidewalks were clear you could skate while on Christmas vacation.
It was simple and healthy fun. The skates weighed more than shoes and the higher you lifted your feet to propel yourself the more exercise your legs got.
Sidewalk skating  also improved your mental awareness. Why you ask?
Because in order to really skate, you had to know and remember every bump, crack and shifting in the concrete walkway. If you were not on top of it or got distracted, your knees would pay the price.
Next time you see me, please don’t look at my knees.

Capitol Court

Jan 10, 2019

Capitol Court was an outdoor mall in Milwaukee. It entertained a TA Chapman’s and Schusters...then Gimbels-Schuster and finally just Gimbels. There were many other shops and every year they would set up Santa’s workshop, called the Kooky Cookie House, where you could meet with the happy gift giver and get a real gingerbread cookie. For Chrismas, they constructed a huge tree and we would go out in the cold to see it lit.
As part of the Christmas celebrations, The mall would have a secret shopper program where people were hired to walk up to the shoppers in the open areas and give them surprise gifts.
One year Mary Beth got a gift... my mom got a gift.. only I was giftless. My mother knew I was just being a pouty little girl, but she also wanted me to feel as important as she and Mary, so she packed me into the car after we got home and walked me around the mall till the secret shopper approached me with a gift.
I was thrilled.
Looking back, there was no reason for her to do this except that she wanted me happy. I think that as the younger sister of two girls, she knew what it felt to be overlooked because your older sister was prettier...or kinder...or smarter. I think she raised MaryBeth and I as equals because she was  compared to her sister and didn’t want us to have the any resentful feelings towards each other.
It seems silly I guess. I respect and love my older sister because my mom let us be ourselves and at the same time, part of a team.
I just recently figured out that Mom probably gave up a great part of herself to become our mom and dad’s wife. As we all aged, she became independent of those titles and broke the mold. As a result the memories she created for me will live as long as I do.
And the sweetest was our trip to Capitol Court.

Sledding

January 9, 2019

Close your eyes and think of those cold winter days when you were young. It’s not too hard today where the wind chill puts the degrees into the single digits. But you are young, and there is snow everywhere, and no school. You eat breakfast and instead of lolling in front of the tv, you put on warm clothes, snow pants, a winter coat, boots, scarf, hat and mittens and run outside.
Your sled, saucer or toboggan is waiting and you join all the other kids for Winter fun. On a normal day, you find the largest snowbank in the neighborhood and take turns sliding down. Sometimes it was four or five feet high.
But there are those rare days where your parents take you to the local park where the hills are massive and so many kids slid down already that the surface is hard and shiny and slippery. You set your ride down, get on and kick off. It’s like flying...especially when you hit those bumps and fly up and sometimes off. Your face burns from the cold, your fingers tingle with frostbite and you can’t even feel your toes...so you pick up your flying carpet and drag yourself back up the hill and do it again; and again; and again.
When you are done you are cold and tired and ready for the warmth of home, homemade hot cocoa (not instant but the stove cooked, constantly stirred kind) and time to talk and recount the excitement of your day on the hill.
I still think of those days when I look down the embankments on roads or the highway. I still remember how my teeth and face hurt from too much cold and too much laughter. Even today, when I am outside in the bitter cold, I have pain in my fingers and toes from not knowing when to come in when I was younger. And as I think about those days I know one thing.
 It was worth it!

Church

January 8, 2019

I was raised Catholic so many of my memories revolve around church. We attended early mass every Sunday, in dresses and shiny shoes...pretty hats and on high holidays, white gloves.
I worship in a different church now, but I have fond memories of services of my youth. Even now, when I attend a Catholic wedding or funeral, I am touched by the ceremony. People make fun of it, but every act means something. The incense, the blessed water, the standing or kneeling or sitting, the sign of the cross and genuflecting... it is not subservient or silly, but respectful in acknowledgement of our smallness and God’s greatness.
That said... I remember when someone accidentally put a hot coal in the incense box and while we worshipped clouds of sweet smelling smoke wafted in from the prep room behind the altar. Never saw ushers move that fast before.
I remember Baptism ceremonies in the front of the church using a crystal bowl that looked more like a punch bowl than a religious device. When asked “why do you use a punch bowl” I responded, “because people thought a beer pitcher was crass.”
I remember first communions with lines of angels processing forward; confirmations with the youth of the church affirming their faith; weddings of hope; funerals of promise.
I remember which priest spoke well, which was quickest for confession, which was crankiest and which was friendliest. I remember Latin and not knowing what was being said, but you knew it was important because it sounded important.
We lit candles, sang hymns, responded to prayers in one great group. Church bored us, excited us and formed us. I am who I am today, in part, because of where I was on Sunday mornings.
I may not be the Catholic girl of my youth, but she is still in here...and I embrace her for the memories she made for me.

Figure skating

January 6, 2019

Step aside Dorothy Hamill; forget Nancy Kerrigan. They were nothing compared to the Pearson sisters in the winter.
The rain gutters on the house we lived in on 28th St dropped excess water. It made a huge puddle on the walkway between the front and rear doors. No one walked on that area because using the rear door led to the yard and garage and the front door led straight off the porch and to the street. So in the winter, the sunlight and melting snow created an ice rink of sorts that there was no use salting, because no one walked there.
However, you could run down the walk from the rear of the house, hit the ice with a well placed boot and gently glide three feet into the waiting snowbank. Yes, we switched feet, waved our arms blanketed in heavy coats and winter gear  and plopped like falling rocks, laughing and pretending we got perfect scores.
It was just imagination run wild. We thought we were in white skates, cute skirts and landing jumps like the pros.
In retrospect, it may seem pretty lame, but we didn’t spend our time in front of the computer or tv. We didn’t play interactive video games joining hundreds of people in make believe worlds. We went outside in the real world and created a different world no one else would share. You may not understand, but that’s ok. Because I do.

Turtles

January 6, 2019

Mom didn’t like animals in the house. No dogs, or cats, or even guinea pigs...a future memory on that one. So we could occasionally have a goldfish if we won it at the church fair or a turtle.
Years ago you could have a little green turtle, about the size of an Oreo. We had one or two at any given time. They lived in a plastic pan that you filled with water, and there was an island in the center that the turtle could go up on to dry. It even had a snap on palm tree so that the turtle felt tropical.
When you have toddlers in a house and accessible turtles, things can get ugly. I remember my brother, at the age of two or three being fascinated by our green buddies. On more than one occasion he had to be told to leave them alone.
The last turtle incident that I remember was when he decided they could fly and would launch them down the hallway. It wasn’t odd to look up at your bedroom door to see a turtle fly past.
Oddly, I don’t have many turtle memories after that...as if just disappeared.
Maybe mom was more of an animal lover than we thought.

Preschool

January 5, 2019

 My first school memory is library school. I was four and my sister Mary had been taken from me and deposited in St. Agnes grade school kindergarten. My mother said it was normal, but I know Mary was taken against her will.
To keep me from sulking and driving her crazy, Mom started taking me to library school.  The children went to a room, sat on the floor and while our parents sat outside, someone would read to us. And then we could take a book home till the next session, sometimes the book we had just heard. I had a terrific memory and could see the words of the story, remembering what was said and how it sounded. This is how I learned to read.
Back in the day, you didn’t learn to read till first grade, so a four year old who could read was a novelty.
I also developed a love of books. They became my friends when I was alone as well as my tool for learning.
Some kids are forced to learn, and some are not ready. I chose to learn, and have never stopped.

Cookies

January 4, 2019

Of course it’s another food memory. Who doesn’t get a whiff of nostalgia when they smell baking bread, hear sizzling steak or taste home made fudge? Or whatever your memory is.
Mom would bake cookies almost every Saturday. Peanut butter, imprinted with crossed fork tines and chocolate chip with walnuts.
After cooling they were placed in a large Tupperware container, divided with foil- one side peanut butter and one choc chip.
For Christmas, they were made small, bite sized, for putting on a cookie tray with about fifteen other kinds that mom made. There were meringues, tinted pink and light green, thumbprint, three or four kinds of refrigerator cookies, including pinwheels; cookies shaped like bells (relatively easy to make) and candy canes; everyone’s favorite and some no one would eat, but they were tradition...like anise balls that had the consistency of rocks and were only good if soaked in coffee. As a child, I was not allowed to drink coffee, so they were inedible to me.
It was awesome.
I choose to never forget cookies, and to preserve that memory, I will eat as many as I can.

So, my theory is that as long as there are cookies, I will not get Alzheimer’s. (We will discuss logic on a future entry)