When I was quite young, under seven, I always played with a girl across the street named Shirley.  Shirley was one of five kids and the same age as I was, and my mom would let me cross the street to play with Shirley or her mom would let her come over and play with me.  We played outside most of the time because Shirley had a swing set, and because when we were at my house, my mom didn’t want Shirley inside because she touched my mom’s things and asked for food or drinks.  My mom just hated that!

        My favorite place to play was at Shirley’s house on the swing set.  For some unknown or unremembered reason, Shirley and I would take turns singing a song and swinging as high as we possibly could.  I can almost close my eyes and remember swinging to the top of the limits of the swing and singing, “Swinging on a Star” at the top of my lungs.  When I’d finish it would be Shirley’s turn to swing and sing.  We had to take turns because the old swingset would rock with our swinging and if both of us were swinging it would rock right out of the ground.  We were afraid we would turn the swingset over and then we’d be left without our swingset.

            Shirley knew many more songs than I did because she and her family had a television set.  My family went to church a lot and I knew lots of hymns.  Most of the secular songs I knew were from Walt Disney because my family sometimes went to a neighbor’s house and watched the Disney program.  Shirley taught me a lot of wonderful songs like High Hopes, Over the Rainbow and Blue Moon, which were some of my favorites.

            When Shirley couldn’t play outside I sometimes went three houses down from mine and played with Fay.  Fay took piano lessons and I was so jealous.  I would beg her to play for me and I’d sing along if I knew the song.  She taught me chopsticks and a couple of really simple silly songs on the piano including “Heart and Soul”.  Fay’s family was also religious and she knew a lot of the same hymns that I knew.  I’m sure her Mother appreciated my playing with Fay because she got a lot of piano practice in.

As I grew older and learned to ride a bicycle, my mom allowed me to ride down to the end of our street and I became closer friends with Jeanie.  The musical connection between Jeanie and myself was that we were in choir together in high school.  We were also cheerleaders together in high school and it seems every time our squad was on the road to a game we all ended up singing together.

            I will never forget the incredible feeling of swinging and singing with Shirley.  I felt so free and happy.  And I didn’t mind that we had to take turns because it was so worth the wait.  My inner child springs forward every time I am near a playground.  I have no hesitation getting myself to the swingset and I really don’t care if anyone sees me.  I do refrain from singing at the top of my lungs but there are times I could break forth.

            I’ve never learned to play the piano but I remember every song that Fay taught me on the piano.  Sometimes I think that maybe 67 is not too old for taking up the piano, but I don’t have one.

            As for singing together with Jeanie and the cheerleaders, I still enjoying singing whether by myself or with a group.  I sang with a band for a few years and the thrill of my life was singing at Rockford’s Labor Day festival, “On the Waterfront”, in front of hundreds of people.  My friends and family were there for me and it was definitely the highlight of my life.

I have entirely too many good memories of my children, but I include some of my very favorites.  When Addi was very little, just barely talking, we were folding the laundry one day and she asked me, “Is this frog side in?”  I was taken back and asked her to explain.  She said, “Frog side out or frog side in?”  Beyond cute!

When Jessica was three she decided she wanted to be call Leigh instead of Jessica.  I figured she was old enough that everyone could adjust and, so we started calling her Leigh.  I taught her a little song so she could remember how to spell it.  “Jessa Faerber has a new name.  It’s L E I G H. She learned to spell and write her new name. She came home from Pre-School with Leigh written on all her papers.

Well the next year she decided she wanted to change her name again.  She asked me what we had almost named her, and I told her Monica.  That is what she wanted to be called from then on.  Her Pre-School teacher took me aside and said this had to stop. It would be too confusing to all the other children.  Jess and I had a long talk and she decided to become Jessica again.  Problem solved.

When Addi was about four or five she took to wearing a Kool Aid t-shirt, that was much too big for her, and one of my half slips.  When she got tired she sucked her finger and fondled the half-slip.  I was embarrassed to take her out in public.  We decided to go shopping at the local Goodwill store and see if we could find her something more appropriate to wear.  She picked out a pink, what looked to be a flower girl’s dress, that was full length.  I’m pretty sure she wore it out, but she got out of that craze in no time and was back to wearing real clothing.

Jess, Addi and I traveled to Niagara Falls when Jess was four and Addi was six with y sister.  The girls were asleep when we got to Pennsylvania. I told them we had just gotten into Pennsylvania.  Jess looked out the window and asked, “Where are all the pencils?”

On that trip to Niagara Falls we got to see the Cirque de Solei before they ever became popular in Vegas.  The girls also got brand new winter coats from the local coat warehouse outlet, and they each got a finger puppet that was a mouse.  Addi called her mouse “Squeaky” and promised her undying love for the puppet.

When we got to the hotel that evening we were all pooped.  I got the girls changed into their pj’s and into bed when Addi suddenly exclaimed, “I’ve lost Squeaky.”

My sister thought it had fallen out in the car and went to check.  No Squeaky.  Addi was sobbing and carrying on so, I thought she would never get to sleep.  She did eventually calm down and go to sleep.  In the morning when we got to the car, there on the ground lay Squeaky.

Years later I came across Squeaky and mailed him to my sister as a remembrance.

When the girls were very little they got so bored on rainy days.  I taught them to play Wonder Woman.  They donned their bathing suits and rubber galoshes.  I tied a towel around their necks and masking taped their wrists and foreheads. They ran around in the rain, splashing in puddles and fighting off the bad guys in the cul-de-sac.  I am so very sorry I never got a photo of them dressed as Wonder Woman.

When we first moved to northern Illinois we decided that we would explore every city park we could find as they grew tired of the two playgrounds at Lake Summerset.  I packed balls, hula hoops and these stilts, that I had made out of coffee cans and rope.  They each asked a friend to join us and we drove all over northern Illinois and southern Wisconsin playing on the playgrounds.

Peace be with you.

After my Junior year in high school I was close friends with a guy named Roger Hamlyn.  He was a geek and had started his own radio station in his bedroom. We weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend, but just friends.  He introduced me to his friend, Bill Howard, who was the manager of the Chautauqua Park facility in our neighborhood.

Roger and Bill were talking about how they needed some workers for their concession stand in the park and I said I’d be interested in trying the job.  My parents didn’t want me to work until I got out of school, but I insisted that I could walk to the park each day (It was around a 20-minute walk) and walk home at the end of the day.

My first assignment was for a Jerry Lee Lewis concert.  There was this great big concert hall at one end of the park and they had big events all the time.  I drew fountain sodas at the concert.  No alcohol was allowed because of the Christian Chautauqua thing.

Jerry Lee Lewis brought down the house.  He played on the top of the piano, under the piano and from the floor.  The crowd loved him.

I got paid 75 cents an hour and I believe I was there for two hours.

My next assignment was the actual concession stand.  I made cotton candy (which I despise to this day), snow cones, corn dogs, popcorn and drew fountain sodas.  We had to wear these little aprons for our uniform, so I took one home and my mother made one for me.  It was red and white checked.  It really helped save my clothes as snow cones and cotton candy make a mess.

I met a ton of kids that summer.  We had a deaf Christian camp group come through and I learned a lot of sign language.  I met boys from New York, Michigan, and Indiana.  We sometimes stayed after work and went to the coffee shop and had burgers with some of the campers.

I got to know the girl who ran the Putt Putt golf course and she did the best thing in the world for me.  We kids who had the same hour lunch break would get together and cook our lunch sometime.  She had a hot plate and brought the stuff to make sloppy joes.  I was so inspired that in the next few days, I made sloppy joes for my family for dinner.  I can’t even remember the girl’s name but she definitely changed my life.  Maybe her name was Jane.

Before that I had never ventured into my mother’s kitchen.  She didn’t like me in there because I broke things.  I cleaned her bathroom, which she considered too unsanitary to clean, and I stayed out of the kitchen.  That summer I also had a cheerleading seminar at a local college where I ate lasagna for the first time.  When I got home my mother and I learned to make lasagna.

Because of that job, I was hired at Frisch’s Restaurant in the new Dayton Mall.  I was the fountain girl.  I came in early to do prep work, made ice cream sundaes as ordered, wrapped sandwiches for the carry out, cut and prepared the pie display and whatever else I could do to help the restaurant run smoothly.  I loved that job!

My Daddy

          “Anyone can be a father but it takes a special person to be a daddy.”  Hallmark card

  

          This morning at our usual Sunday breakfast, I had a wonderful realization about my father.  My friend was telling a story and responded that she saw a lot of her father in her son and in herself.  I thought to myself and brought to my mind’s eye an image of my own father.  I told the group at the breakfast table that I thought the only thing of my father that I had inherited was the ability to tell a good story.

          Later while writing in my journal I realized what a marvelous gift my father had given me.  I am a writer.  I tell stories and thanks to my father’s gene pool, I tell a pretty good tale.

          When I was a little girl one of my favorite things to do was to say to my father, “Daddy, tell us something about down home.”  My parents were from the rural Kentucky hills and their childhood seemed to be Waltonesque to me.  Big family, not much money but a whole lot of love and adventures for kids running free in the countryside.

          My dad would conjure up a story about when he was a kid.  He had such wonderful stories to tell.  My favorite one was about the time his brother had challenged him to see who could throw a rock the farthest and my father had hit his brother right between the eyes with his throw.  We would all laugh and Daddy would just beam with obvious delight.  We kids would ask for more and more stories and he would agree and give us another rendition of one of his favorite memories.

          The things that made my father’s stories so good were the fact that they were real and had actually happened.  He used expression in his face as he told the stories and you could tell from his face that he was reliving those moments as he told us about them.  He would laugh and clap his hands and we would cry, “what then? What then?” and he would entice us further even if we had heard the story before.         

Daddy had so many stories about hunting and courting my mother and stories about his brother and sisters.  My most unfavorite were the snake stories because I would have bad dreams.  My mother would try to hush these stories but once he got on a roll there was no turning back.

          I think the reason I loved my daddy’s stories so much were that they allowed me a glimpse of him when he was young.  When I envision my daddy I see him, as he was young, smiling and handsome with such beautiful wavy dark hair.  I’ve heard it said that it is a shame that we didn’t know our parents when they were young.  Because of my father’s stories, I did know him when he was young.  He will always be young to me.  And he was a very special person.

        My Daddy used to tell stories.  He was a fabulous story teller.  He was a big cutup and liked to joke a lot.

        He would meet people for the very first time and tell about when he was in the Army.  (He was never in the army.)  He talked about when he got shot and the person he was talking to asked him where he got shot.  He would point to the top of his head and tell them to feel where it went in.

        When they felt the top of his head he would lift his butt, and then tell them to feel where it came out.  They would all just crack up.  (Sorry about the pun.)

Younger daughter, Jessica, gave me the most wonderful Christmas gift.  It is a subscription to Story Worth.  I write stories this year and they create a book at the end of the year.  I am so very excited.  I may be inspired to write more because of this.

This week’s subject is “How did you figure out how to be a parent?”  I have to admit, first of all, that I never intended on becoming a parent.  I am the youngest of three children and so was never around babies or small children.  I never babysat any children, and I hated being around my friend’s small siblings.

When I found out that I was pregnant I bought a child care book by Dr. Spock.  I read it and figured out a few things from the good doctor.  I also talked to my mother about being a parent and she gave me useful advice.  I called her frequently when I had questions.  Why is the baby drooling so much?  Why does she always get hungry when it is my time to sit down and eat?  When will she start to talk? And walk?

At my first six week check up with Addi the pediatrician lifted her arm and there was this big booger under her arm.  He looked at me and said, “She won’t break.”  I was so embarrassed.  She got a good washing at the next bath time.

I think also that instincts had kicked in.  When you have grown this little human being inside you for nine months there is just something internally that tells you when something is wrong.  You want to protect them, keep them clean and from harm.  The miracle that came from the love between two people is hard to resist.

Addi was a pretty easy baby.  She was so pleasant and fun to be around.  She hardly ever cried but if she did she passed out. (Talk about scary!)  Jess on the other hand, was a handful.  She whined and cried constantly.  She had this horrible habit of flinging herself backwards and clunking her head on the floor.  We called her Clunkhead for a while.

Kahlil Gibran wrote about children, “Your children are not your children.  They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself. They come through you but not from you, and though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.  You may give them your love but not your thoughts. You may house their bodies but not their souls, for their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.”  He also wrote “You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.”  I guess this was my inspiration of becoming a parent.

I feel that you just rent children long enough to housebreak them and then send them on their way, hopefully to become responsible adults who will contribute to society.

I had another inspiration about parenting from a co-worker.  Her teenage son was constantly complaining.  She said she told him one day, “If you don’t like it here, move out.  Get a job.  Have your own house where you can do what you want to do.”

I just loved this.  The children were just living in MY house and abiding by MY rules.  And if they didn’t like it, they could just move.

Once when we were driving to my mother’s house the girls kept arguing and being grouchy.  The hubster stopped the car, went around and opened the door and told them to, “Get out.”  He was sick of their moaning and told them so.  They cried so hard but he gave them a good scare and they were much more pleasant after that.

I had this system of warning them if they were bothering my nerves.  I would count to three. They usually quieted down on two.  Addi once asked me what would happen if I got to three.  I said I’d have to take them to the orphanage.

Later on in that year, we had purchased half a beef from my uncle.  We purchased a side every fall.  We had accumulated quite a bit of beef liver and I decided to donate it to a local orphanage. When I parked the car and went to get the liver to take in, the girls asked me where we were.  I answered innocently, “This is the orphanage.”

They started crying and screaming, “No, mommy.  We’ll be good.  Don’t take us to the orphanage.”  I had to laugh, and I had to hide my laughter.  I gave them both hugs and kisses and said I was donating the liver to the orphanage, not taking them to the place.  That was a meaningful lesson in parenting.  Watch what you say.

I guess what I mean to say about parenting is that I never really learned how to be a parent.  I just made it up as I went along.  I probably wasn’t the nicest mother at times.  I suffered from PMS from Hell once a month, and I’m sure I was a bitch to live with.  On the other hand, I did read to my children and tuck them into bed.  I tried to make sure that they had what they needed but tried not to overdo the nurturing.

My nickname from my children is Smother.  So, I guess I probably overdid the loving thing.  But I think they still like me.  And I feel they both have become responsible adults and are contributing to society.

Peace be with you.

The first Christmas that I recall as a child was the one that I wished for a tea set.  My parents insisted that there was not extra money for a lot of gifts that year and we would have to settle with underwear, socks, oranges and fresh nuts.  We went to church that evening and when we got back I headed to bed to find on my bed a little tea set.  I was so excited, and I really believed that Santa Claus had truly heard my wish.

At church we children always got a little white box that was filled with hard candy.  I have always hated most hard candy but in the box was usually these cream drops.  My brother always called them a most unfortunate derogatory name and I hated him for it.

My mother would make this apple stack cake that she kept in place with candy canes.  She would bake for several days to get all the layers.  I believe there was at least six or eight layers.  She dried apples in the fall to make her cake.  It was a very special cake and we all loved it.  I don’t know why she stopped making them when we got older.

In high school our entire choir would hop a school bus and go caroling in four-part harmony.  That was one of my very favorite Christmas memories along with our Christmas concerts.

When the girls were little we would love surprising them on Christmas morning with lots of lovely gifts under the tree.  Addi got a little Volkswagon one year and the girls had so much fun with that thing.  Another year they got a small slide and they could hide under the stair part.  Dad invented a game called “dolly diving” where he would walk their dolls up the stair and fling them off down the slide.  They would erupt in gales of laughter and try it themselves

.

I was the Girl Scout leader for my girls from Kindergarten to third grade and I always mase sure we went Christmas caroling for our December meeting.  I love to carol and I forced them to go with me.  I had a blast and I know the old folks that we caroled loved it as much.

We also had a group that put on plays at the Lodge here at Lake Summerset.  We were called the Five and Dime Theatre Company.  We would write the plays and perform for our audience.  We usually had about 30 to 50 people attend, including our friends and relatives.  One year one of the three kings backed out on me at the last minute and I had to fill in wearing my neighbor’s afghan and a Burger King crown.  Not one of my best memories but still a special one.

The girls have grown and gone on to their own families and memories.  I have spent several fond Christmases in Arizona with the Muse family enjoying the warm weather and family joy.

This year is the first Christmas that I am a grandmother.  Younger daughter, Jess, and her husband, Anthony, have given us a miracle of a grandson, Vincent.  I got to go visit for Jess’ baby shower and to see my baby pregnant.  I also spent a few days with them after Vinnie was born and got to hold him, sing him lullabies and rock him to sleep.

This afternoon we will Skype with the girls and open our presents. I can’t wait to see little Vinnie for his first Christmas.  I know there will be many more to come but the first is just so very special.

Merry Christmas and peace be with you.

I just love a good pot luck.  I know some folks who hate them because they don’t trust other peoples’ cooking.  The hubster is one of those.  I like trying other peoples’ cooking to find new recipes.  In the past I have found cheesy potatoes, corn bread salad, several wonderful cookie recipes and an excellent recipe for Swedish meatballs.

As luck would have it, I was invited to a recent holiday pot luck.  I took taco cheese dip because I really wanted it but hate to make it because I eat all of it.

I tried a Chinese ramen salad that was very tasty.  There were yummy corn casserole and a notable cranberry cookie dessert.  As I was passing by the table one of the most obnoxious odors accosted me.  I leaned down to discover which dish held the aroma.  As I pretty much always take one spoonful of each dish, just in case it is wonderful, I took one small spoonful of this casserole.

Back in my dining chair, I ventured a taste of the horrible smelling concoction and almost heaved.  I chewed a bit of what I assumed was meat.  I strategically spit the taste into my napkin and got up, threw it in the trash and got myself another napkin.

I have no idea if the casserole was rice, potato, overcooked Noodles or what. and can only venture to guess what this casserole was.  I came up with the most horrid thing imaginable.  It was snake shit casserole.  There, I’ve said it!

Years ago, I had gone to another pot luck with my friend, Nancy, and we had the worst soup I had ever eaten.  We decided that it was butt hair soup.

The next time I saw Nancy I had to tell her about the snake shit casserole.  We had a good laugh.

Although I consider myself an adventurous food consumer, I believe I will be cautious the next pot luck that I attend.

PS  I did a Google search for snake shit casserole and there were images that came up.  I am so very frightened.

Peace be with you.