The Eaglet!

Look at that face!! 

Isn't it the most beautiful face ever!!

I am talking about Eskarina, of course, my beautiful grand daughter, but the post is actually the story of this baby eaglet!  This stuffed toy baby eaglet!  It has a story.

You see ... about 37 years ago I was walking down the isle of a grocery story.   Yes, a grocery store.  (Don't you love it when a story takes an unusual turn.)  I had both my children with me.  My son was about 7 and my daughter was about 4.  Grocery stores back then had a child's section of toys that was designed to snag a youngster's attention and increase sales on non-food items.  Really, it was designed to create an argument over buying this, that or another thing.   On this day 37 years ago, it fulfilled its mission.

I was about half way down the isle when my son called to me that "this baby eagle needs a home."  
I remember turning around still staring at my shopping list and eager to finish up.  I had no intention of being sucked into purchasing a bit of fabric stuffed with artificial polyester - because 'it needed a home.'

He did not throw a tantrum - that would have been the quickest way to defeat - he knew that!  I remember him pleading towards my sympathies.

There was no other eagle in the display.  

This 'baby' needed a friend.  

We couldn't just leave him there.  

Who would take care of him.   

And so on and so on and so on.   

He was so sincere and I could tell he was near tears over this obvious abandonment of a baby eaglet!  (Remember folks, this is a stuffed animal.  Just to hammer the point home - it is still a baby stuffed animal 37 years later!!)  But, no matter.  My son had instantly bonded emotionally with the plight of this poor baby eagle.

Now it should be stated clearly ... I am not heartless.  I bought that baby eaglet (stuffed animal) ... my son took good care of him AND, after my son had outgrown his stuffed animals, that baby eaglet survived my purge of stuff - actually several purges of stuff - right up to the move to the condo.

This past weekend we took our adult children and our grand daughter out to eat - celebratory for an anniversary and a birthday.  I brought the eaglet to the dinner for Eskarina!

And when I pulled it out of the bag, my son got a small smile on his face.

Priceless! 

 Well worth the cost paid 37 years ago!

I do it again in a heart beat!!!

My Dad

I rarely write about my dad - and that is for a lot of reasons.  He died at 54 years of age in 1970.  The picture was taken on my wedding day in 1969.  On this Father's Day I want to honor him as well as share a bit of our troubled history together.

My memories are all colored by a father who was two people to his family.

The sober dad was the man my mom fell in love with.  He was kind and loving.  Pictures show a good looking man and one old movie of him reflected an appealing charm.  Not well educated having left school after the 9th grade, he had other gifts that made up for his educational short fall.  He was a hard worker.  I remember him occasionally telling me that my mom was beautiful.  My mom was a beautiful woman.  I think he loved her until the day he died.

But that love could not overcome his alcoholism.  Alcoholic dad was a nasty drunk.  Alcochol released a hidden anger and frustration.  Those emotions were vented at his family.  I never knew what caused those unhappy emotions but I suspect they came from his own troubled childhood.  As a child and young woman I never understood why my mom stayed married to my dad.  But at his death I got a glimpse of one of those reasons - she worried that he didn't know how much she loved him.  Love can be a powerful motivator.

Now that I am 70 - time and distance from my troubled upbringing have softened the hurtful edges of my relationship with my father.  I understand better how he struggled with an illness - one that consumed him and eventually contributed to his death.  The memories of his hurtful behavior towards his wife and children have faded somewhat and the love has emerged - and understanding.

The header to my blog has a picture on the right of me at around age 5 with my dad at the shore.  I don't remember this time - we looked happy.  But I do remember my wedding day, when he struggled to stay sober until my 1:00 pm wedding.  That struggle he made for me warms my heart even 48 years later.  I know now it was a kind of gift - the only gift he could give me.

He died a year later and never lived to see the birth of his grandchildren.  Sober dad would have been a wonderful grandfather.  And he would have smiled ear to ear at having a grandson.  This August my sister's daughter is having a baby.  A boy.  I hope he is smiling now from heaven at the birth a a great-grand son.

Happy Father's Day Dad.  

"THE" car

So it was a Sunday morning and I was minding my own business, just going about my normal Sunday routine, taking mom to mass ... when this car pulled into a space not too far from mine.  

And I stopped dead in the center of the road - staring in a most impolite way at the sight of this perfectly restored car.  I could not believe my eyes!!  Here was a Fairlane 500 with the mega wings in the same green color my dad bought over 50 years ago.  Dad's car was a hard top and this was a convertible, but impact of seeing that car again in perfect show room condition was stunning.

Actually I have no memories of any other family cars from all the years I lived with my parents.  I am not a car person.  But this car stood out for exactly one reason.

We lived in an apartment complex in the 1950s on the second floor.  I was raised in apartments.  My parents never owned property and money was tight.  But one day, while mom was making dinner in the small kitchen, she looked out the window that viewed the parking lot and exclaimed:

"Oh my God, what has he done!  I don't believe it."

 What

I ran to the window and saw my dad pulling up in this exact car - huge even to my eye at that time.  I remember the wings and I remember the color because I love green.  I also remember my mom's dismay and anger at him.  I am sure she was thinking ... where was the money coming for this vehicle?

To be fair, if it was my husband and he had just purchased an expensive car without my input I would have been upset as well.  But that was my dad.  He did what he wanted, when he wanted.  He saw it and he wanted it.  So home it came home with him.

Dice!  How cute.  We didn't have those in our car.

Of course, here we were over 50 years later (mom and I) standing in another parking lot staring at pretty much the same car.  Then almost as if history was repeating itself, I couldn't restraint from whipping out my camera, sprinting over, and starting to snap pictures from all directions, calling out to mom in my excitement,

"Look mom!! (click)
  Do you remember???
Dad had this car. (click, click)
  You were in the kitchen cooking dinner.  
You saw him in the parking lot trying to park this very car. (click)
You were so angry, mom, (click, click)
 it was this car with a hard top, 
this exact green,
don't you remember?"
(click, click, click) 

and her saying as she kept walking towards the church (pretending like she doesn't know me, I am sure), and saying pretty much what she said more than 50 years ago ...

"Oh my God, what are you doing? I don't believe you."

Dad would be proud!  :-)

Unfortunately, mom honestly didn't remember the car or the event. 

But it was a moment of fond remembrance of my Dad and sorrow at what Mom has lost.

Two Stories: The Strawberry and The Blueberry

We are in the middle of harvest season. Farmer's Markets abound!

Produce of all kinds is at its peak!

I dislike summer but I love the products of the season.

My blogging friend at The Feathered Nest shared a berry picking story from her childhood! It was charming.

It triggered two berry picking memories of my own - one which was charming and one which I try to forget - apparently unsuccessfully.

The charming one first!

The county where I live used to be more rural 30+ years ago. There were many farms where you could pick your own fruit: peaches, strawberries, blueberries.

One of most favorite memories and pictures is one of my daughter dressed in white as a 4 year old. She went strawberry picking with her mom and picked her way down a row of strawberry plants, eating with gusto.

Dressed in white!

What was I thinking when I dressed her in white?

She had a good time, though.

My second story is not so cute. In the '80s my mom and I decided to go blueberry picking. Blueberries are one of my most favorite fruits. The bushes were chock full of blueberries - and there were a lot of Japanese beetles that year as well. I remember they were all over the berry bushes and flying around us as we picked. They were also in my yard. It was a terrible year for Japanese beetles. We had beetle traps set up everywhere to reduce the onslaught of these destructive bugs.

But I was not deterred on that berry picking day. I ignore the pesky beetles. I just kept picking and picking until we had picked everything we wanted. We paid for our purchase and went home. That afternoon I decided to nibble on my haul of blueberries - right out of the bag I brought them home in. They weren't washed, but I didn't care. It was no different than eating the berries right off the bush while you were picking, and I had already done that. They were tasty.

While I nibbled I watched some TV. Once in awhile I noticed that some berries were crunchy. I was engrossed in the TV show and didn't stop nibbling. At some point I looked in the bag to see how many were left ... and I noticed that some hitch hiker Japanese beetles had made the trip home.

And then I remember the crunch!

YYYUUUKKKKKKKYYYYY!

Yes, I had definitely eaten a few of those beetles. Gross, gross, gross. Even to this day, if I think of that thought while eating, I want to spit out everything in my mouth.

I still love blueberries, but I can't help from remembering that incident every time I eat them.

So now I am retired

I know. I know.

I skipped a whole bunch of years. But as you move closer to the present, my life mirrors the lives of many. Jobs, kids activities, vacations, family events, holidays, disappointments and challenges, hobbies, your first home, friends ... you know what all that looks like.

My retirement, though, is not what I thought it would be for a number of reasons.

We didn't anticipate medical surprises ... like my husband's decreasing vision. We didn't know that we would be caregivers for 3 elderly relatives. We didn't expect that being professionally successful as we were, we would find ourselves laid off from our jobs ... yes, we were both laid off around the same time in our late 50's, not the best time to get re-employed even in an up economy. This is not an exhaustive list of the unexpected ... but it is what I can share.

Life throws you curve balls, and you just do the best you can to catch them and move on.

Our lives have been blessed in so many ways. I hope I made that apparent in my brief blog posts of my past. To list all the positives would be more than this blog could hold.

I have enjoyed doing this romp through my history but I discovered a very disturbing fact ... I have way too many pictures that are in total disarray in the basement. To give you the scope ... I have the pictures we took (and there were tons), the pictures we inherited from my husband's grandmother, and his father, and his stepmother, and his mother, and let's not forget the pictures mom brought with her when she moved in with us. There are also a lot of historic family documents that need better care. The volume pictures and documents is breath-taking in its scope. And I am now the caregiver for that history.

So although I am done posting old pictures to the blog (for now), I am going to get serious about getting all that stuff in the basement organized and mounted.

It was one of my goals for my next 20 years and I have made very little progress.

Thanks for all the kinds comments regarding my pictures and stories. This was fun for me too. And it is important to look back at where you came from periodically, to take an account of what and who made you ... you, and reflect with gratitude on the many hands that helped you along the way.

I am grateful.

I always wanted kids!

... and I got it in my head that I must have them before I turned 30!

Of course, now-a-days, the trend is to have your children in your 30s. I don't know if that is a generational fad or the result of economic realities. Probably the latter.

I also wanted to stay home to raise them. That was hard for two reasons: it meant living on one salary - half of what we were used to, and I missed working - a lot. But we managed. We didn't have all the bells and whistles that our working friends had. We didn't own a single family home or drive fancy cars. Money was tight all the time. But my husband and I didn't come from financially comfortable homes when we were single so it wasn't such a large step back for us at the time.

I blogged about these two wonderful people who are my kids on their birthdays during the last year - here for my son, and here for my daughter. There is so much more to say.

I hit the jack pot with both kids. They have grown into adults who I love, admire and respect. They are responsible productive adults. They hold strong opinions on the value of family relationships. They are there for me when I need a helping hand. You can't ask for more than that in the children you raise. The world is a better place with them in it ... especially for me.

Here are a few other pictures that tell the story of their growing up more eloquently than any words of mine.

There are many things I would do differently if I lived my life over. Having kids is not one of those things ... I knew in my core I would be a mom!

And if I had been given the opportunity in advance to select the two individuals who would be my kids, I would have chosen exactly these two.

Here comes the Bride!

My husband and I were engaged to be married for 2 years. I met him when I was a Sophomore in college, he asked me to marry him on our third date (my response then: "You don't know me that well"), and engaged to be married within 3 months of our first date. So a longish engagement made sense. But it was long mostly because of my dad. He was not in favor of me going to college and said I was going just to meet a future husband. Well, that is in fact what happened, but I was determined to graduate first. No getting married and dropping out of college for me.

Our wedding was small and simple: a short ceremony at our local church and a buffet lunch at a popular event location. We had about 75 guests. The was no limos to take us from one place to another, no music beyond what was piped in by the restaurant, and no dancing. I don't remember throwing the bouquet or the garter. There was no open bar. We did have a wedding cake, we did do the "cut the cake" thingy and feed each other. I think a few toasts were made.

This first picture shows me with my dad at home before we left for the church. This is about 18 months before he died from a fall at work. I remember he was nervous and was struggling to resist having a drink to settle his nerves. I don't ever remember him in a suit. So when I saw him dressed up in a white Tux I remember thinking how handsome he looked. It is a picture that I like a lot. I am glad he lived long enough to take part in one of life's joys of being the Father of the Bride. It is how I like to remember him.

After the procession down the isle my dad handed me off to my future husband. There was a near catastrophe just moments after this picture was taken. You see my dad had poor vision with big coke-bottle lenses in his glasses. Visually he was limited. Just as I took my fiance's hand and stepped toward the alter, my dad stepped behind me heading for the pew. Apparently he missed stepping on the short train of my dress by a fraction of an inch. I heard some people gasp as we walked forward, but I never turned around to see what caused the concern. Some things are better not known.

Here we are in the reception line. Clearly we were both glad to have gotten past the ceremony.

I was very thin then. I bought the size 6 dress off the rack and had it altered down to a size 4. That was the last time I saw a size 4 on this body!! Most brides lose some weight before the wedding, either intentionally or due to nerves. Neither was the case for me. I was just terribly thin growing up. I really didn't gain any normal weight until after I was married and had left the stress of living at home behind me.

The photography was a gift from the Best Man. We were thrilled because it was an expense we didn't need to incur. Unfortunately, the photographer sent a colleague on the day of the event and this colleague was not as experienced or skilled. Many of the pictures were terribly done or over exposed. Most of the best shots came from the guests who brought their own cameras. So we never had a traditional wedding album. But we have enough pictures to remember the event. Obviously wedding pictures don't insure a successful marriage. It is what happens after that day that makes or breaks the relationship.

Our honeymoon was modest as well. We spent 4 days in Williamsburg, Virginia. It still is one of our favorite places to visit.

In this day and age of elaborate, expensive weddings and honeymoons to far off, exotic locations, our experience was tame. I think it was tame by the standards of that time as well.

I kind of feel that the mega sized weddings of today are more a sign of our culture than anything else ... like the jumbo houses that people buy but really can't afford, super sized restaurant meals that no can eat all of, rental storage units to house all the stuff we bought but can't fit into our house ... it is that kind of thinking has permeated the process of getting married. Bigger is better. More is better.

If I had it to do all over again, I would pick the same kind of wedding I had 42 years ago. I wouldn't change thing.

Oh ... I might change one thing - no high heel shoes!!

Teacher Teacher

Graduating from College with a degree in Education sort of predisposes you to teaching, I guess.

I never thought much about teaching before entering college. Sadly it wasn't a life long goal. What I wanted was go to college, and my parents pressured me to pick a major that would get me a job ... like Nursing, Teaching, ... uhh ... at the time I felt like those were my only choices. My parents wouldn't have paid for a Degree in Theatre Arts - and in hindsight I can see that a degree in performance arts wouldn't have paid the bills. When you live at the lower end of the income spectrum - practicality must rule. Taking time to explore my options was a luxury I didn't have. Nursing? I wasn't prepared from high school for college level science or math so Nursing was out. Teaching it was. My degree was selected by default!

What I discovered was that I had a hidden gift to teach! My first years as a teacher were for Second Graders - 7 to 8 year olds. I enjoyed it, but teaching children wasn't my gift. I left classroom teaching after 4 years to raise a family. When I returned to the work force in non-teaching jobs, I fell into teaching roles - new employee orientation, adult trainer, mentoring. I did some form of adult teaching all my work life. My gift was teaching adults ... and I have heard that observation repeated back to me many times.

Still, if I had it to do all over again, I wouldn't pick teaching, but the knowledge and skills I learned from those years have served me well.

Here are two pictures of my time in the class room.

This first picture is my student teaching year. I am on the far left - standing next to the top row of students. On the far right is my mentoring teacher, Mrs. Miller. Mrs. Miller was 73 years old at the time and that was her last year of teaching. I was asked to return to the school the next year to take her place. No one could take her place. She was a wonderful teacher and mentor, but I was in the right place at the right time. I got the job.

This last picture is one of 4 classes I had during my time at this school. I chose this year to show you specifically because of my outfit ... very 70's - a bold, ugly plaid pant suit.

Whatever was I thinking?

:-)

The question still remains ... if there were no pressures and time to decide what my major would be ... at 64 I still have no idea! The College Degree opened employment doors over my whole working career.

I got the college experience which I wanted, and I got the benefits of having the piece of paper.

High School and the "Great What Ifs"

High School ... how does anyone survive it!

I wasn't one of the in-crowd. I didn't date. I didn't go to prom. I wasn't part of any highly regarded club or student government. I wasn't college bound. I wasn't traditionally pretty or popular, I struggled academically, I wasn't stylish (money was an issue), my mom wouldn't let me wear make up until I was 16 or shave my legs until I was 18. I looked so much younger than everyone else, but in high school looking more mature was very important. I had to take public bus transportation with a transfer in the middle of the trip for my senior year (we had moved out of the county at the beginning of my senior year so I was sort of illegally attending the high school.)

It was a gigantic high school. There were about 1,000 students in my graduating class alone, and the other classes were just as large. It was easy to "get lost" in the mobs of students.

I know, I know.

From the perspective of approximately 50 years later these are not life-shattering things. But layered on top of a dysfunctional family life ... I remember it as a pretty heavy burden to bear.

In my Senior Year in High School things changed. You see, at that time I wanted to be an Actress! (figured ... I would be more interested in make believe than real life.) I was taking Drama classes in a high school with a regional reputation for exceptional quality theatrical productions. I was lucky. Today the school is a magnetic school for the performing arts. Goldie Hawn (Actress) and Connie Chung (News Anchor) were both graduates of that high school. Performance history runs very deep in that school.

In my Senior year I cheekily tried out for the Senior Class Play. This play was one of two major theatrical productions each year. That year the play was Our Town. I auditioned for the part of Emily, the female lead. Clearly, based on everything I said above, I had no chance of getting the part. I remember at try-outs I had a sinking sensation in my stomach. I watched all the beautiful, popular girls audition for the part of Emily. They all delivered their lines exactly the same - like they had discussed the exactly right way to do the part in their cliquey groups. Ironically I had planned to do exactly the same presentation in my audition. But in that moment changed my approach. I used different inflections, rhythm, pauses, blocking. I was going to be noticed!!!

A week later I walked up to the bulletin board outside the drama department to check the list of cast members. There was a large group of students clustered around trying to do the same thing. I had to squeeze between students to get close enough to read the cast list. And it took me probably a full 5 minutes for the message my eyes were reading to be recognized by my brain. My name was listed for the female lead! And once my mind accepted what was written, I don't think I would have believed it except for the congrads of other students around me as I stood there stunned.

I remember one thought that popped into my head at the time: "What have I done?" :-)

If I had known what the day had in store for me, I would have insisted on shaving my legs! :-)

And so, here are some grainy pictures from my yearbook of the performance. The first is me at the beginning of the play, alive and well and getting married.

And below is me dead. I look pretty good for dead, don't you think?

For those who don't know the play Our Town, the message of the play is to love your life, every minute of it. In this scene Emily has died and is with others who are also dead in the town grave yard. The town is gathered at her grave site. The dead behind me have over time become totally disinterested in the ways of the living. But Emily who is newly dead (you know that because I am wearing white.) :-) ... Emily can still remember how wonderful life is-was, and how sad that the living don't see that.

That play was the beginning of change for me. I started hanging around with the Drama in-crowd. Now I was "in" too. Most of the Drama crowd was heading to college. So I decided I wanted to go to college too (this would have been about December of my senior year). I was not prepared academically or financially to do this, and by today's standards deciding to go to college 6 months before graduation from high school is just not done ... but I wasn't getting hung up on the sniggly details. Life can just pass you by if you get tripped up by details.

I had one Year Book from high school - my senior year. We couldn't afford for me to have the others. The book was filled with well wishes from tons of students and teachers.

I think that momentary desire to stand out from the in-crowd in that audition changed the course of my life in a large way. But the questions I often ponder are the "what ifs".

What if ...

• mom had not supported my desire to stay in my current high school for my senior year.
• I hadn't auditioned for a play I had no chance of getting a part in.
• I hadn't gotten ornery and decided to be "different" on purpose during my audition.
• Mom wasn't willing to pick me up every school night after play practice at 9:30 pm for 3 months.
• I hadn't spent time with college-bound students and changed my mind about going to college.
• Mom hadn't (after picking herself off the floor) supported my wish to go to college and found the way to pay for it - because there were no scholarships for me, no family inheritances, no extra money just laying around. This had to have been tough for her.

All I can say is two things ...

• I believe completely in the message of Our Town. Life is wonderful and we should enjoy every single minute.
• and, Thanks mom!

The Geek Squad has spoken!

So here is the update I received by email on my camera from the Geek Squad!

Your product is in the hands of Geek Squad®, getting the care and attention it needs. We are working diligently to complete the job as quickly as possible – no action on your part is necessary. We'll contact you as soon as the product is complete and ready for pickup. We're on it. Things will be better soon. Geek Squad

"Things will be better soon."

How do they know I am having adjustment problems?!?! Is there no privacy in this world anymore or am I just paranoid? (Rhetorical question - no need to respond.)

:-)

The absence of my camera has been interesting. I have had my moments of dismay at not having my camera. For example:

• My daughter and I went bridal dress shopping with my future daughter-in-law. I would have loved to share that with you. I wouldn't show the dress she picked, of course, but maybe just tease you with pictures of the lace and stuff. It was a fun time and I am very upset about my lack of pictures. I may share our adventure without pictures, but pictures make it so much better.
• My grand-dogs have been extra extra special cute. I know they are just teasing me because Grandma isn't pointing the "flashy box" thingy at them all the time now. Don't get used to it boys ... the camera "will be back."
• I finally get out to dinner with friends and my husband (you know, pretending to be a grown up and "playing" with adults without my mom), and I don't have my camera. *sigh*

On the upside, I have totally enjoyed selecting the older pictures and reminiscing. Don't get me wrong or anything, but I was damn cute!!! I got less cute as I got older. It is tough to peak at age 7 in your looks. Its all downhill from there. :-)

But I am eager to share some other stuff I have uncovered and remembered. I have my high school years coming up - who doesn't have something interesting to share about that time. I plan to share some of my wedding pictures too - memories of that day. And, of course, a bit of my time as a young wife and mother.

You know, people always complain about growing older. That is just plain wrong, wrong, wrong!!

Think on it ... all the life you would have missed if you hadn't grown older and had the time to experience life. I remind mom of that fact frequently when she gets frustrated with her ill health. She has lived to 85 (so far), and Dad died in his 50s. Think of all the things he missed! I know for a fact that he wanted a son, so missing out on his grandson was a HUGE loss!

I celebrate every year I have lived - grateful, grateful, grateful.

And bring on more years!!!

I am really looking forward to moving through the past years with you while we wait for my camera to return - like in 12 days, but who is counting!!!

Not me.

The Girl Scout and the Daughter

I did my time at being a girl scout! I wasn't a ardent girl scout, but the choices of organized activities for kids wasn't so great then as it is today. I still have my sash with the badges that I am wearing in this picture, but since my stupid camera is broken I cannot provide the picture proof (13 days).

But I have something even more special from that time than a girl scout sash ... a hand written note from my father to me.

I should explain about my father.

Dad died in 1970. He was an alcoholic. As is typical for the family members of alcoholics, we didn't share that fact publicly. It was something you hid. And you made excuses to cover that fact that you couldn't have sleep overs or any other typical kids-focused activities at your house. I didn't think of it as so unusual at the time because I grew up with those normal pieces always missing from my life. You don't miss something you didn't have in the first place.

His disease did not impact the supervisory job he held until his death ... it impacted only his family. And even to this day when we are more enlightened about this disease, I wasn't sure what to share and what to avoid in giving this information. But for you to understand just how special the hand written note from my father was ... you need to know the back story.

And the back story is that when he was sober he was the most charming, loving, warm father you could ever want. I have those wonderful memories along with the ugly ones. So when you read this note - this was the man my mom fell in love with and had children with. The "other" man had an illness that was not well understood at the time.

One other thing ... he wasn't an educated person. He finished school, but his interest wasn't in learning or reading. I don't believe he had any interests outside of his job. We have nothing else of his. He had no collections or cherished possessions with which to remember him. What I have inherited are mostly memories - and many of those are filled with unhappiness. But I have this letter, and it is a reminder that all people are multifaceted. This letter allows me to remember his good side and that he loved his family.

And so ... Dad always left for work very early in the morning, before we were out of bed. The morning he wrote this note and left it for me, he was responding to a stack of items on the kitchen table that I was going to take on a Girl Scout camping trip that day. He mentions Lucky who was our dog at the time. To stop and write this note was something way out of the ordinary for him.

The paper has not withstood the test of time very well. It is yellowed and split at one of the folds. I am sure Dad used some dime store pad that was just laying around in the kitchen. But the words and the emotions expressed still resonate with me 41 years after his death.

It was a message to just me, and it was not tarnished by alcohol.

Thanks, Dad.

Now we are 4!

Early years as a Maryland resident included some pretty large events for a 7 year old child.

• My sister was born in 1954. I remember mom waving to me from the hospital window after my sister was born - children visitors were not allowed. I clearly remember my first view of my sister. Sitting in the back seat of our car at the hospital entrance, Mom got into the front seat with my sister in her arms. I leaned over mom's shoulder asking to see the baby. The blanket was pulled away and the largest dark brown eyes I'd ever seen were staring back at me. She had dark hair and an olive complexion. She definitely favored dad from her earliest days.
• I began first grade - for the second time! In New York City they let students enter first grade mid-year - for me in January. In September Maryland wouldn't recognize a half year of first grade. I was never a great student in grade school, so it was probably a good choice. If I had started second grade, I would have been so much younger than everyone else and I would have been missing some basic skills.
• I developed my first neighborhood friendships - one of which has lasted my life time.

Here is a picture of me on a swing in the playground right outside our bedroom windows. The building is located right behind me. The playground was a magnet for all the neighborhood children. And I imagine it was great for mom. She could look right outside the bedroom windows to check on me. I love this picture because it shows me pretty well decked out in my dress coat and purse. I love the purse!! I wonder what I had in it. I have no memory of ever being dressed up but obviously I did.

Countdown clock: 14 days!

Maryland - our first home was ...

... a motel room off Route 1 in College Park shown in this post card. Back then they called these motel rooms "cabins" or cottages. I think the term "motel" became more common later.

This place was called Haass' Haven. The back of the post card has this description: "On U.S Route 1, 10 miles North of the Nation's Capital. Modern Cabins, Shower or Bath in each. P.O. Address: 8419 Baltimore Avenue, Berwyn, Maryland. Phone Tower 6691. Mr. and Mrs. Carl Haass, Owners." Too funny. Shower or Bath in each ... I guess not too long ago there were outhouses.

In my mind, the area seemed very green and lovely ... almost country, and maybe in the 1950s Route 1 was mostly green. Of course, I was coming from New York City, even alittle grass was "very green" to me. The motel I think stands today but is seedy looking as you would expect after 60 years. That whole area is now built up with uncontrolled and random development.

We came to Maryland in the summer. This picture was taken in July 1951. I was 4 years old. I don't think we made a permanent move to Maryland until I was almost 6, but the details of that time are spotty. It must have been warm because I remember the heat and humidity (probably hotter than New York) and in this picture I am in a sun dress. I also remember a small plastic pool Mom had for me to cool off in outside while we lived in the motel. No air conditioning then.

Later we moved to a second floor apartment in a large brick development. We never lived in our own home, always in apartments or rental units. More on our apartment living next time.

~~~~~~~~~

15 days until my camera comes home, but who is counting!

More blanks filled in.

The story goes that dad moved us to Maryland to follow a job opportunity and to get away from his mother-in-law. How much of that was due to my grandmother's personality vs my father's personality ... is unknown. Gram was French/German and Dad was Cjeck/Polish. They probably butted heads at times.

In this picture was taken in Astoria, New York right outside our apartment (September 1951) when I was 4 years old. It probably was taken within a year of our move. My most vivid memory of this time was learning to roller skate. I clearly remember the feeling of rolling uncontrollably down a city sidewalk with increasing speed while a parent or an aunt walked quickly backwards in front of me, arms outstretched waiting to catch me if I fell.

Terror is usually a memory of note - even at 4!

Another memory is of Thanksgiving. We celebrated this holiday several times at my Great Aunt Grace and Great Uncle Otto's apartment in New York City. In this picture (1949) I am 2, but it was repeated enough that the memory stuck. The remember the room being filled with a lot people. I also remember the curved arched doorways. Seeing this picture I now see that the room was very small. I think the dining room table was set up in the living room - probably the biggest room of those tiny apartments. To a small child it must have seemed like a crowd. :-)

Memories of my childhood become more complete after we moved to Maryland.

Distance Memories

How far back can you remember? Sorting through the pictures of my distant past I am sometimes surprised.

For example, I don't remember this picture (1947) - no surprise there! I would assume only geniuses or savants would remember anything prior to their first birthday.

I don't remember this picture (1948) either - too young, but the woman is my Aunt Phebe who I blogged about previously. She is just as I remember her - a beautiful, warm and loving person.

I remember a small bit of this picture (1950) at 3 years old. The photographer had placed my hands just so on the fake board. I remember him messing with my fingers and being asked to hold that position. I also remember my mom put my hair in pin curls to make it look like that.

No memories of this picture (1950) - with Santa holding a Candy Cane just out of reach! I'd like to see him try that now!!

Pictures can prompt memories further back than you might suspect. I am so glad to find these pictures tucked away with mom's stuff.

It also prompted the desire to print out some hard copies of pictures that I now have saved on my computer. Years and years from now, would someone have access to my electronic copies if they were curious?

Doubtful.

In so many ways photo albums seem like a thing of the past, but so much past would be lost if electronic copies are lost or technology changes or fails. I have stored many pictures in the last 10 years on my computer. Time to print out some hard copies for future albums.

The Sisters and The Charmer

I guess I should have posted these pictures first because they pre-date my birth. I just found them in a stack and they are favorites of mine. The one above is my mom with her sister during the 1930s. Mom on the right is probably about 12 years of age. Her sister was about 5 years old. They were very close growing up and they continued to be so even to this day. And mom's sister is my favorite Aunt.

Mom remembers being thrilled when her sister was born. She spent alot of time caring for her baby sister. Once mom described her sister's birth as something of a gift for her - someone born just for her. It sounds like a thought a 7 year old would have - but I understand the sentiment behind it. I used to think that their close relationship wasn't such a big deal. But life sometimes teaches you differently - it really is a big deal - a remarkable gift, actually.

Below is a favorite picture of my dad at age 29 in 1946. Some people are blessed with a young look all their lives. Dad was one of those people. This picture was taken the same year my parents wed. From other pictures and from the rare movie footage we have, Dad was a handsome young man. His dark hair, charming looks and demeanor were passed down to my sister and her 2 girls.

The one regret I have for my dad is that he didn't live long enough to meet any of his grandchildren. The choices he made in his life sadly shortened his life. He missed so much.

It started with ...

(June 1947)

... a first grandchild. That was me. A first grandchild on both sides of the family. So it was a big deal - as it is with every first grandchild. The picture shows 4 generations of my mom's family. Me on my mom's lap, her father on the left and his mother on the right.

Mom was a beautiful woman. Dad always said she was beautiful as a young woman. In the pictures and movies I have seen of her from that time I think she resembles Ingre Berman.

(September 1943)

And Dad was a handsome young man. Dark with a boyish look to him. I can definitely see his charm and attraction in this picture. I am sure they made a beautiful couple. Of course in this picture my mom was 17 1/2 years old and dad was 26. World War II was still going on. She looked older than 17. The age difference seems a bit large from our perspective now - maybe not so much then. And she appears to have a drink in her hand. Guess the age restriction for alcohol consumption was started much later. I know mom graduated from high school at 16 as a result of skipping 2 grade levels and was working in Manhattan when she met my dad.

I was born just before their first Anniversary. I didn't hear much about their first years together. There aren't that many pictures either. Mom's marriage to dad was difficult. Details are not important now, but during that time her choices were limited. She was married for life, and her family and religion would permit no other choice.

Don't get me wrong! Both my parents were wonderful people in their own ways. They both loved me - the few pictures I have show that clearly. But dad had problems, and it made living with him harder and harder as the years past. From the point when my own memories are established, I don't remember them ever "happy". And yet, I know they loved each other ... even when things were very bad. Before my dad died in 1970, mom was the one holding the family together. She was the one who was our constant! And yet, while I sat with her in the funeral home waiting to pick out a casket for my dad, I remember her clearly saying ... "How will I do without him? Do you think he knew that I loved him?"

My mom's life was never easy those 24 years she was married, but she made a commitment. Knowing how she lived, struggled and sacrificed, I am not sure I could have made the same choice.

But these pictures show hope and possibilities. I believe it shows love. It is how most unions begin.

It is how my story began.

Looking back

Well, I am photo limited right now. My camera is broken and I don't think I will be buying another one all that soon.

But I am drowning in pictures. Literally drowning. Albums and albums.

So why not show a few of those.

I have completely enjoyed the blogs where old photos were spotlighted. I have thought to do the same on my blog.

I might not be able to publish everyday, as I need to sort through my pictures to find what makes sense to use. And maybe not every blog entry will be focused on this theme. But it will be a constant for the next few weeks.

So, here we go!