Back in the olden days, there weren't shopping centers and malls like Gateway or Fashion Place. There weren't big box stores like Target, Home Depot and Walmart. If you needed clothes, shoes or underwear, you went to a department store. The hardware store was where you bought lumber, nails, bolts, screws, saws and hammers. Pharmaceutical items were purchased at the corner drug store. There were variety stores for everything else.
If my mother, sisters and I went shopping, it was usually on Saturday afternoon after ALL the morning chores were done and lunch was over. It was also a time when we changed from our play clothes and put on dresses or skirts. We never went to a department store in play clothes. My mother was raised in an era when the women put on dresses, dress shoes and wore dress gloves to go shopping. It was an event. We never had to wear dress gloves. But it was a very long time before my mother decided that it might be acceptable to go shopping on Saturday in pants or slacks. However, those pants/slacks had to be clean and neat. We had to wash our hands and faces and comb our hair. Mother always put on her makeup before we left.
Back in my day, there were several department stores. The moderately priced ones were Hetchs and Kahns. If you didn't mind spending a little bit more money, you went to Woodward and Lothrop. The people with a ton of money shopped at Garfinckles. My mother usually frequented Hetchs and Kahns. I don't think that I ever set foot inside Garfinckles. These department stores were free standing with perhaps some smaller local stores in the same area.
I loved to go to Kahns. In the kid's shoe department at Kahns, there was a large glass enclosed cage set in a wall and in that cage were... small monkeys. Probably just about every kid who knew that their Mom was going to Kahns wanted to go along just to see the monkeys. It didn't even matter if you were getting shoes or anything. While mothers shopped, the kids hung out in the shoe department watching the monkeys.
Our local hardware store was Snyders in the neighborhood commercial district called East Falls Church. I went to Snyders quite a bit with my father on Saturdays. Due to the basement remodeling, he was always in need of nails. lumber or other building materials. Snyders was a wonderful place that always smelled of fresh cut lumber. At kid's eye level, there were many bins filled with various size nails, screws, nuts and bolts. Those bins were fascinating. I'd walk alongside my father as he filled small bags with what he needed. At the cash register, the bags were weighed. The total weight determined how much he paid. There were also large open bins of various seed that was sold in bulk. Whenever I went to Snyders with my father, he always bought a bag of sunflower seeds as a treat that he shared with me.
Across the street from Snyders was the corner drug store that had a soda fountain. I remember that special treats would be a sundae or milkshake at the soda fountain counter. The dentist that we went to had his office above the drug store.
A few doors down from the drug store was Robertson's Five and Dime. That was a wondrous place for a child. A Five and Dime store was a variety store where you could get small household items, pencils, notebooks, small toys, trinkets, and candy. Most things were very cheap and a lot of things were a dime, nickle or less. If you could get your mother to give you a bit of her change from a purchase, you could always find something special at Robertson's. The best thing was the open bins of wrapped, hard candy. You've heard the term "Like a kid in a candy store"? Oh, the wonder of all that candy. It was so hard to choose.
One day on a visit to Robertson's with my mother, I decided that I wanted a Three Musketeers bar. My mother must have said "No" because when she wasn't looking I took one and hid it from her. When we got home, she saw me eating the candy bar and asked where I got it. I told her I took it from Robertson's. She immediately took the candy bar from me and drove me back to Robertson's. There I had to confess to Mr. Robertson that I had stolen the candy bar and paid him for it with money that my mother gave me. I never did that again.
While I was in junior high, Seven Corners Shopping center opened. It was the brand new concept of a center where department stores anchored each end of the center and smaller, speciality stores lined enclosed walkways between the department stores. Seven Corners had a Woodward and Lothrop at one end and probably a JC Pennys at the other end.
These kinds of shopping centers are all over the place today. I find it interesting that new centers being built today are trying to capture the feeling of the old neighborhood shopping areas of the 50s and 60s. But try as they may, the feeling of neighborhood and familiarity can't really be duplicated.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
WASH, DRY, FOLD, IRON....REPEAT
Back in my childhood, there weren't electric washers and dryers like we have today. Getting the clothes washed and dried was a bit of a process. You didn't just load them in a machine, add soap and water and push the start button to wash them. To get them dry, you didn't transfer them to another machine, add a dryer sheet, select the drying cycle and then push the start button.
The first washing machine that I remember was a wringer washer similar to the one pictured below. The clothes were agitated in the tub and then cranked through the wringer to get out as much water as possible. The wet clothes were put in a laundry basket and hung on a line to dry. That laundry basket was very heavy, too.
The first washing machine that I remember was a wringer washer similar to the one pictured below. The clothes were agitated in the tub and then cranked through the wringer to get out as much water as possible. The wet clothes were put in a laundry basket and hung on a line to dry. That laundry basket was very heavy, too.
In the basement of the red brick house, my father strung several lengths of clothes line in storage/furnace room. We also had a square clothes line outside. When my mother was doing the wash using the wringer washer, she'd put the clothes in a laundry basket and then hang them up on the clothes line, either inside or out. Outside was always preferable since the clothes dried quicker in the sunlight. In the dark, musty basement, it took the clothes longer.
I often had to help hang up the wet clothes. Like just about every other job at home, there was a proper way to hang the clothes. Clothes, towels, sheets, pillowcases were all secured with clothes pins. I had to be sure that the towels, sheets and other like items were hung out their full length and not folded over the line.
I also had the job to take dry clothes off the line. It wasn't acceptable to just pull the clothes down and put them in the laundry basket. Everything had to be folded before going in the basket. Since most everything was made out of cotton, folding things as they came off the line helped to avoid some wrinkles. As it was, just about everything had to be ironed.
I learned to iron by doing the pillowcases and my father's hankies. My mother's instruction about ironing was very specific. I first had to dampen the pillowcase or hanky with water from a bottle that had a top similar to a sprinkling can. Then with the hot iron, I had to keep ironing until all the wrinkles were gone. Once over lightly didn't do the job. After ironing on one side, I had to turn the item over and do the other side. After the ironing, the pillowcase or hanky had to be folded. My mother also taught me the proper way to iron a shirt...collar first (both sides), then the back yolk, sleeves and cuffs (both sides)next, a front side, the back and then the remaining front.
There were occasions when there wasn't time to get all the ironing done. So my mother or, one of us girls, would dampen all the clothes, put them in a bag and then put the bag in the upright freezer in the basement. When she had time, she'd take the clothes out of the freezer, let them thaw when they would have the perfect dampness for ironing. The freezer trick was used to avoid the clothes getting mildew. Plus by having the clean clothes stashed away in the freezer, they weren't sitting around in laundry baskets looking messy.
In addition to the routine wash/dry cycle for the majority of the family clothes, my mother had to starch my father's white dress shirts. He wore a suit and dress shirt to work every day, plus on Sunday. I don't exactly remember the process for starching my Dad's shirt. I do know that Mother was really glad when canned spray starch hit the market.
At some point before we moved from the red brick house, my mother got a more modern washing machine and a dryer. Those two inventions changed our life. With eight people in the family, there was a lot of time spent doing the washing. But with the new washer and dryer there was no more dashing to bring the wash in if a sudden rain storm hit or having damp clothes hanging up in the basement.
But I still love the smell of laundry fresh off the outside clothes line.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
WHAT'S FOR LUNCH
All through elementary, junior high and high school, I took my lunch to school. I was kind of a picky eater and school lunch wasn't very appealing...especially the canned green peas that would often end up on the menu. I disliked peas in any form, with canned peas being the worse. There was one occasion that I had to buy school lunch in elementary school. When the lunch lady started to put those dreaded canned peas on my tray, I told her that I couldn't have them. I was allergic.
Every day my mother made my lunch. In elementary school, I carried my lunch in a dark, blue metal lunch box. The lunch box had a thermos that was held in place with metal spring type clips. I may have had a character lunch box at some point. But the dark blue one is the only one I remember. By junior high, I graduated to taking my lunch in a brown, paper lunch bag. What I had for lunch each day was pretty much the same. A sandwich, potato chips, maybe half an orange, carrot sticks or apple slices, and perhaps some raisins and a cookie.
The sandwich could have been a peanut butter and jelly. With a PB&J by lunch time, the grape jelly on my sandwich had oozed through the bread. Another sandwich that could show up in my lunch box was tuna fish. The tuna fish would have been mixed with mayonnaise. When I got to school, my lunch box stayed in my cubby or locker until lunch without the benefit of refrigeration. So by lunchtime...well, you can imagine what the sandwich was like. Sometimes, my mother would make a tomato sandwich or a cucumber sandwich. Again, mayonnaise that went unrefrigerated until lunch was included. Tomato sandwiches would leave the bread pretty soggy as well. Once in awhile, I had leftover meatloaf or roast beef sandwiches. A special treat was a Vienna sausage sandwich. Taking into account all the sandwiches that I ate in 12 years of public school that should have been refrigerated, it's amazing I never got food poisoning.
Back then, there was no such thing as resealable sandwich bags. Everything that went into my lunch was put in a wax paper sandwich bag. The result was that things weren't too fresh by the time lunch came around. Carrots stick would usually be a little shriveled up. Apple slices would turn brown.
My mother had a few little lunch time specialties that she often included in my lunch...raisins mixed up with flaked coconut and nuts, or graham crackers cookies. Graham crackers cookies were the absolute best. Mother would spread homemade confectioner sugar frosting on a graham cracker and place another cracker on top. By lunch time, the grahams had softened and the icing had hardened. It was a great combination. Today, my kids call those cookies "Grammy" cookies.
Occasionally, I'd get Campbell's Chicken Noodle or Tomato soup in my thermos. I bought milk at school for just a few pennies a day. The milk came in a small square, heavily waxed cardboard carton. To drink it, you had to pull the top of the carton open and then insert a straw.
Regardless of all the pitfalls with my school lunches from home, I usually ate everything. In my opinion, it was much better than eating what was served up in the school cafeteria.
Every day my mother made my lunch. In elementary school, I carried my lunch in a dark, blue metal lunch box. The lunch box had a thermos that was held in place with metal spring type clips. I may have had a character lunch box at some point. But the dark blue one is the only one I remember. By junior high, I graduated to taking my lunch in a brown, paper lunch bag. What I had for lunch each day was pretty much the same. A sandwich, potato chips, maybe half an orange, carrot sticks or apple slices, and perhaps some raisins and a cookie.
The sandwich could have been a peanut butter and jelly. With a PB&J by lunch time, the grape jelly on my sandwich had oozed through the bread. Another sandwich that could show up in my lunch box was tuna fish. The tuna fish would have been mixed with mayonnaise. When I got to school, my lunch box stayed in my cubby or locker until lunch without the benefit of refrigeration. So by lunchtime...well, you can imagine what the sandwich was like. Sometimes, my mother would make a tomato sandwich or a cucumber sandwich. Again, mayonnaise that went unrefrigerated until lunch was included. Tomato sandwiches would leave the bread pretty soggy as well. Once in awhile, I had leftover meatloaf or roast beef sandwiches. A special treat was a Vienna sausage sandwich. Taking into account all the sandwiches that I ate in 12 years of public school that should have been refrigerated, it's amazing I never got food poisoning.
Back then, there was no such thing as resealable sandwich bags. Everything that went into my lunch was put in a wax paper sandwich bag. The result was that things weren't too fresh by the time lunch came around. Carrots stick would usually be a little shriveled up. Apple slices would turn brown.
My mother had a few little lunch time specialties that she often included in my lunch...raisins mixed up with flaked coconut and nuts, or graham crackers cookies. Graham crackers cookies were the absolute best. Mother would spread homemade confectioner sugar frosting on a graham cracker and place another cracker on top. By lunch time, the grahams had softened and the icing had hardened. It was a great combination. Today, my kids call those cookies "Grammy" cookies.
Occasionally, I'd get Campbell's Chicken Noodle or Tomato soup in my thermos. I bought milk at school for just a few pennies a day. The milk came in a small square, heavily waxed cardboard carton. To drink it, you had to pull the top of the carton open and then insert a straw.
Regardless of all the pitfalls with my school lunches from home, I usually ate everything. In my opinion, it was much better than eating what was served up in the school cafeteria.
Monday, March 28, 2011
*HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAD
If my father were still alive, today would be his 107th birthday. It seems fitting that the post today be about my father. He had lived a long life when he died at age 90 on November 28, 1994. Even though he was nine years older than my mother, he outlived her by eleven years.
My father was a do your duty, all business, hardly any play, type of man. When his father died in his fifties, it fell to my father to pick up the slack in helping to support his mother and younger sisters still at home. He was in his early twenties during the Great Depression which made it even more important for him to take care of his mother and sisters. From my perspective, doing your duty and being responsible pretty much defined how he lived his life. He took little time to relax and have fun - either for himself or with his family. I think that in his mind being a good husband and father meant providing well for the family. We lived in comfortable homes, in good neighborhoods, had plenty to eat, and clothes to wear. But what we didn't have was a father who played with us or showed us much affection with hugs and kisses.
Growing up in my family was similar to growing up in a business. Dad was Chairman of the Board, CEO and CFO. My mother was Operations Manager who carried out Dad's wishes and made sure that everything on the home front was running according to the determined business plan. My brothers, sisters and I knew what our jobs were as well. We were to stay out of trouble, not make messes in the house, do our chores around the house, and get good grades. The boys were expected to go on missions, go to college and then get married in the temple. The girls were only expected to get married in the temple. If we wanted to go to college that was fine, but post high school education wasn't high on the list of things expected of us. My sister, Linda, and I both went to BYU. I'm pretty sure that the primary reason we went there was so we could find a good Mormon boy to marry.
As CFO, he handled all the family finances. My mother had a checkbook for household purchases. Dad would enter an amount each month in the check register that was Mother's budget for the month. At the end of the month, he balanced the checkbook. I know that I never got an allowance. As a teenager, if I needed money I either had to go to Mother for it, who usually had to go to Dad. I wasn't usually denied, but then I didn't have a great need for pocket money.
Dad was a stickler for being places on time. I don't remember ever being late for anything. We were usually the first ones to show up for Church. The habit of being on time, or even early, was so ingrained in me that I have a difficult time if it looks like I might be late somewhere. It drives my husband nuts because he doesn't really care and hates to be early only to wait around for things to get started. As a teenager, I was mortified when my father, who was conducting a church meeting, said over the pulpit to people coming in after the opening prayer: "For those of you who are just coming in, you didn't start early enough to do your hurrying.". I wanted to crawl under the pew.
Because Dad was never involved in sports of any kind, he couldn't see the point getting his children involved in sports. The only acceptable extra-curricular activity was anything involving music, with Choir being the most acceptable. Most of the kids sang with school choruses, A-Capella, and Madrigals. It was a good thing that we were all blessed with fairly decent voices or we wouldn't have even had that activity. Even though, I was a member of two audition only vocal groups in junior high and high school, my father never came to any of my performances. He was too busy doing his duty elsewhere.
Family vacations were few and far between. Once in awhile, we would drive to Rehobath Beach on the Chesapeake Bay for a day's outing. We'd get up at the crack of dawn, take a packed lunch, spend the day at the beach and turn around and come home. I know that Dad was with us at the beach because he drove the car. But I can't remember him getting in the water and playing with us kids.
The vacation of choice for Dad was going to the Hill Cumorah pageant. Again, we would get up very early, drive all day to upstate New York usually arriving just in time for the pageant. By necessity, we had to stay over night somewhere. The next morning, we'd make the return trip home only stopping for gas and rest breaks. There was usually no stopping to see anything of interest along the way. I think that we all knew the route from home to Palmyra and back by heart because it was rarely deviated. I remember once we stopped at the Corning Glass Works for a tour. On another trip, we convinced Dad to go home by way of the Hudson River valley and go through New York City. He obliged. But my memory of being in New York City is pretty much driving through the city and looking up at the buildings. I don't think we even got out of the car. I seem to remember him saying "Well, you've seen New York now.".
There was also a brief overnight trip to Bedford, Pennsylvania. We stayed in a motel and had plans to do some fun things in the area. However, it rained the entire time so outdoor activities got nixed. Instead, we went to a movie. My father's comment about deviating from the usual family trip to Palmyra was "That was a long way to go for a movie.".
Overall, my father was a good man who was doing the best that he could for his family in the only way he knew how. My father was kind, and rarely raised his voice around the house. He provided for his family, was faithful in his church callings and was charitable towards others. He was my father and I loved him.
Happy Birthday!
 |
| September 1937, Age 33 |
My father was a do your duty, all business, hardly any play, type of man. When his father died in his fifties, it fell to my father to pick up the slack in helping to support his mother and younger sisters still at home. He was in his early twenties during the Great Depression which made it even more important for him to take care of his mother and sisters. From my perspective, doing your duty and being responsible pretty much defined how he lived his life. He took little time to relax and have fun - either for himself or with his family. I think that in his mind being a good husband and father meant providing well for the family. We lived in comfortable homes, in good neighborhoods, had plenty to eat, and clothes to wear. But what we didn't have was a father who played with us or showed us much affection with hugs and kisses.
Growing up in my family was similar to growing up in a business. Dad was Chairman of the Board, CEO and CFO. My mother was Operations Manager who carried out Dad's wishes and made sure that everything on the home front was running according to the determined business plan. My brothers, sisters and I knew what our jobs were as well. We were to stay out of trouble, not make messes in the house, do our chores around the house, and get good grades. The boys were expected to go on missions, go to college and then get married in the temple. The girls were only expected to get married in the temple. If we wanted to go to college that was fine, but post high school education wasn't high on the list of things expected of us. My sister, Linda, and I both went to BYU. I'm pretty sure that the primary reason we went there was so we could find a good Mormon boy to marry.
As CFO, he handled all the family finances. My mother had a checkbook for household purchases. Dad would enter an amount each month in the check register that was Mother's budget for the month. At the end of the month, he balanced the checkbook. I know that I never got an allowance. As a teenager, if I needed money I either had to go to Mother for it, who usually had to go to Dad. I wasn't usually denied, but then I didn't have a great need for pocket money.
Dad was a stickler for being places on time. I don't remember ever being late for anything. We were usually the first ones to show up for Church. The habit of being on time, or even early, was so ingrained in me that I have a difficult time if it looks like I might be late somewhere. It drives my husband nuts because he doesn't really care and hates to be early only to wait around for things to get started. As a teenager, I was mortified when my father, who was conducting a church meeting, said over the pulpit to people coming in after the opening prayer: "For those of you who are just coming in, you didn't start early enough to do your hurrying.". I wanted to crawl under the pew.
Because Dad was never involved in sports of any kind, he couldn't see the point getting his children involved in sports. The only acceptable extra-curricular activity was anything involving music, with Choir being the most acceptable. Most of the kids sang with school choruses, A-Capella, and Madrigals. It was a good thing that we were all blessed with fairly decent voices or we wouldn't have even had that activity. Even though, I was a member of two audition only vocal groups in junior high and high school, my father never came to any of my performances. He was too busy doing his duty elsewhere.
Family vacations were few and far between. Once in awhile, we would drive to Rehobath Beach on the Chesapeake Bay for a day's outing. We'd get up at the crack of dawn, take a packed lunch, spend the day at the beach and turn around and come home. I know that Dad was with us at the beach because he drove the car. But I can't remember him getting in the water and playing with us kids.
The vacation of choice for Dad was going to the Hill Cumorah pageant. Again, we would get up very early, drive all day to upstate New York usually arriving just in time for the pageant. By necessity, we had to stay over night somewhere. The next morning, we'd make the return trip home only stopping for gas and rest breaks. There was usually no stopping to see anything of interest along the way. I think that we all knew the route from home to Palmyra and back by heart because it was rarely deviated. I remember once we stopped at the Corning Glass Works for a tour. On another trip, we convinced Dad to go home by way of the Hudson River valley and go through New York City. He obliged. But my memory of being in New York City is pretty much driving through the city and looking up at the buildings. I don't think we even got out of the car. I seem to remember him saying "Well, you've seen New York now.".
There was also a brief overnight trip to Bedford, Pennsylvania. We stayed in a motel and had plans to do some fun things in the area. However, it rained the entire time so outdoor activities got nixed. Instead, we went to a movie. My father's comment about deviating from the usual family trip to Palmyra was "That was a long way to go for a movie.".
Overall, my father was a good man who was doing the best that he could for his family in the only way he knew how. My father was kind, and rarely raised his voice around the house. He provided for his family, was faithful in his church callings and was charitable towards others. He was my father and I loved him.
Happy Birthday!
Sunday, March 27, 2011
IN THE GOOD OL' SUMMER TIME
Back in my olden days of summer, after my household chores and piano practicing were done, I had entire days of unstructured time. Our county had a summer playground program at local elementary schools every day. That was usually the first place where I'd go. My mother wouldn't drive me there. I had to walk or ride my bike. But I'd spend a delightful few hours with my friends under the direction of camp leaders doing crafts, playing organized games, performing skits and just hanging out. It was at summer playground that I learned to work with plaster of Paris, play "Duck, Duck, Goose", sing traditional summer camp songs, make bracelets and lanyards out of gimp (a thin, flat plastic like material on spools that came in various colors). I probably took a lunch with me too.
If I didn't go to summer playground, I'd find someone in the neighborhood to play with. Depending on what age we were, we'd play with our dolls, explore the woods behind Gail's house, play board games, ride bicycles in the neighborhood, roller skate or organize a group of kids to play "Simon Says". The hula hoops or pogo sticks would often come out and we'd have contests to see who could keep their hula hoop going or stay up on the pogo stick the longest. If I was lucky, one of my friend's whose family had a membership at the local pool, would invite me to go swimming with them.
My girlfriends and I would sometimes make cookies and bake cakes (from scratch, not from a box). And yes, we were unsupervised while using a gas oven that had to have the pilot light lit with a match every time you baked. Sometimes, I'd go home for lunch. But more often than not, I had lunch at whatever house I was playing. Just about every mother was home during the day back then and was willing to feed any extra kids that were around at lunch time.
Some days, my friend Terry and I would climb to the top of the huge cherry tree that was in the side yard of Terry's house. It gave us a great vantage point to what was going on around us. We stayed up there talking and try to solve the problems of our small world.
About all my mother knew regarding my whereabouts was that I was in the neighborhood somewhere. If she needed me, she'd often holler out the back door. If I heard her, I'd come home. If I didn't hear her, but a neighbor mom did, I'd be informed that my mother was calling for me. But my mother always knew that I'd be home by dinner time and never seemed to be concerned about where or what I was doing all day.
If for some reason there was no one around to play with, I was on my own to figure out what to do. Those were the days when I'd get on our backyard swing and see if I could get high enough to see over the bushes between our yard and Jeff's. Or I'd lie on my back on the grass and look at the clouds floating by trying to see if they looked like something familiar. Often, I'd get a book and retreat to the cool of our basement and read. We had the complete set of the Bobbsey Twin books which I read over and over. If our raspberries were ripe, I'd pick them and eat them right on the spot.
I'm pretty sure that if I ever complained to my mother about being bored, I was given something to do...hang the wet wash on the line outside, fold and bring the dry wash inside, iron pillow cases, weed her flower beds, watch my younger brother, dust the hated shadow boxes or worst of all, practice the piano.
Those were good times - without a care in the world. I often wish that the children of today had that kind of freedom to just be a child.
If I didn't go to summer playground, I'd find someone in the neighborhood to play with. Depending on what age we were, we'd play with our dolls, explore the woods behind Gail's house, play board games, ride bicycles in the neighborhood, roller skate or organize a group of kids to play "Simon Says". The hula hoops or pogo sticks would often come out and we'd have contests to see who could keep their hula hoop going or stay up on the pogo stick the longest. If I was lucky, one of my friend's whose family had a membership at the local pool, would invite me to go swimming with them.
My girlfriends and I would sometimes make cookies and bake cakes (from scratch, not from a box). And yes, we were unsupervised while using a gas oven that had to have the pilot light lit with a match every time you baked. Sometimes, I'd go home for lunch. But more often than not, I had lunch at whatever house I was playing. Just about every mother was home during the day back then and was willing to feed any extra kids that were around at lunch time.
Some days, my friend Terry and I would climb to the top of the huge cherry tree that was in the side yard of Terry's house. It gave us a great vantage point to what was going on around us. We stayed up there talking and try to solve the problems of our small world.
About all my mother knew regarding my whereabouts was that I was in the neighborhood somewhere. If she needed me, she'd often holler out the back door. If I heard her, I'd come home. If I didn't hear her, but a neighbor mom did, I'd be informed that my mother was calling for me. But my mother always knew that I'd be home by dinner time and never seemed to be concerned about where or what I was doing all day.
If for some reason there was no one around to play with, I was on my own to figure out what to do. Those were the days when I'd get on our backyard swing and see if I could get high enough to see over the bushes between our yard and Jeff's. Or I'd lie on my back on the grass and look at the clouds floating by trying to see if they looked like something familiar. Often, I'd get a book and retreat to the cool of our basement and read. We had the complete set of the Bobbsey Twin books which I read over and over. If our raspberries were ripe, I'd pick them and eat them right on the spot.
I'm pretty sure that if I ever complained to my mother about being bored, I was given something to do...hang the wet wash on the line outside, fold and bring the dry wash inside, iron pillow cases, weed her flower beds, watch my younger brother, dust the hated shadow boxes or worst of all, practice the piano.
Those were good times - without a care in the world. I often wish that the children of today had that kind of freedom to just be a child.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
TOTALLY UNPREPARED
A child growing up in the LDS (Mormon) faith is usually baptized at the age of eight. Baptism in the LDS faith is done by total immersion...having your entire body taken under the water. Prior to being baptized, LDS children are usually given a little preparation through Primary lessons and from their parents. They may even attend the baptisms of family members and friends prior to their own baptism. But not me. Baptism was something that was expected and there wasn't a lot of discussion about it. I turned eight. I was going to be baptized. There was a brief interview with the Bishop of the Ward in advance of my baptism. But no real preparation to speak of.
What I remember about my baptism is being absolutely terrified about having to be put completely under water. I had little experience with swimming and was sure that I would drown. I clearly remember waiting for my turn in a dark hallway or small room by the font and screaming and crying hysterically as my father held me. I absolutely did not want to be baptized if it meant going under the water. Some how, despite my protests that bordered on hysteria, my father accomplished the task. But it was not a great experience for me. How unfortunate that my parents didn't prepare me better or put off the baptism for a month or two because I was so upset.
I was a lot calmer the next day when I was confirmed a member of the church in Fast and Testimony meeting. The trauma of my baptism was behind me. I was just thrilled to be wearing the red felt poodle skirt with the reindeer on it and the matching red vest for the first time.
My baptism took place in the Washington Ward chapel in Washington D.C. The chapel had an Angel Moroni on its steeple. There came a point in time, when the church sold the Washington Ward chapel. The Angel Moroni was removed from the steeple at the time of the sale. It is now stands on the second floor of Church Museum of History and Art on Temple Square.
What I remember about my baptism is being absolutely terrified about having to be put completely under water. I had little experience with swimming and was sure that I would drown. I clearly remember waiting for my turn in a dark hallway or small room by the font and screaming and crying hysterically as my father held me. I absolutely did not want to be baptized if it meant going under the water. Some how, despite my protests that bordered on hysteria, my father accomplished the task. But it was not a great experience for me. How unfortunate that my parents didn't prepare me better or put off the baptism for a month or two because I was so upset.
I was a lot calmer the next day when I was confirmed a member of the church in Fast and Testimony meeting. The trauma of my baptism was behind me. I was just thrilled to be wearing the red felt poodle skirt with the reindeer on it and the matching red vest for the first time.
My baptism took place in the Washington Ward chapel in Washington D.C. The chapel had an Angel Moroni on its steeple. There came a point in time, when the church sold the Washington Ward chapel. The Angel Moroni was removed from the steeple at the time of the sale. It is now stands on the second floor of Church Museum of History and Art on Temple Square.
Friday, March 25, 2011
UNDERSCHEDULED
Today's kids often get over scheduled with soccer, T-ball, piano lessons, or dance lessons. Back in my olden days, I had to beg my mother to take any kind of lessons other than piano.
One year, I was successful in getting her to sign me up for tap lessons being offered after school. I loved it. But one session was all I got. I can still remember the basic steps and the tune to the song for our little recital. A mother in our neighborhood gave hula lessons. I took hula lessons on a pretty regular basis. Do any of you want to see me perform to "I'm going to a hukilau?"
I started piano lessons in the third grade. My teacher was an older girl in our ward named Birdie Gene. Her method of teaching was to have the student memorize the treble clef and the bass clef separately, note by note. Then put the two clefs together. I didn't learn to read music. I just knew if the note went up the scale or down the scale. I took from Birdie Gene for a couple of years.
My reprieve from piano lessons didn't last long. In the sixth grade, I began taking lessons from a woman in our ward, Bernice Manwaring. I had my lesson before school which meant that my Mother had to take me. Sister Manwaring didn't live very far away, so I think that Mother would drive me there, drop me off and then come back to get me. It was on my piano lessons days that I got a ride to school. From Sister Manwaring, I finally learned to read music. I took lessons from her for at least a school year, maybe longer. I'm glad I learned to read music...another skill that has made a big difference in my life.
A few dances lessons and piano lessons were the extent of my afternoon schedule. That left plenty of time to be a kid. Thank goodness.
One year, I was successful in getting her to sign me up for tap lessons being offered after school. I loved it. But one session was all I got. I can still remember the basic steps and the tune to the song for our little recital. A mother in our neighborhood gave hula lessons. I took hula lessons on a pretty regular basis. Do any of you want to see me perform to "I'm going to a hukilau?"
I started piano lessons in the third grade. My teacher was an older girl in our ward named Birdie Gene. Her method of teaching was to have the student memorize the treble clef and the bass clef separately, note by note. Then put the two clefs together. I didn't learn to read music. I just knew if the note went up the scale or down the scale. I took from Birdie Gene for a couple of years.
My reprieve from piano lessons didn't last long. In the sixth grade, I began taking lessons from a woman in our ward, Bernice Manwaring. I had my lesson before school which meant that my Mother had to take me. Sister Manwaring didn't live very far away, so I think that Mother would drive me there, drop me off and then come back to get me. It was on my piano lessons days that I got a ride to school. From Sister Manwaring, I finally learned to read music. I took lessons from her for at least a school year, maybe longer. I'm glad I learned to read music...another skill that has made a big difference in my life.
A few dances lessons and piano lessons were the extent of my afternoon schedule. That left plenty of time to be a kid. Thank goodness.
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