Archives for category: Family

Here’s to the Old People!

September 14, 2013 //

Just two days ago, a new coworker at my very part-time job said she couldn’t believe my age when I told her I’m 67. She said you don’t look anywhere near that! Very flattering and a tribute to my good genes. And, that came from someone who is probably in her 40s.

Last night, I went to meet some friends for a surprise birthday dinner. Granted, it was early, but we wanted to get a seat in the popular outdoor riverfront restaurant on a beautiful evening. I also had to leave early for my grandson’s football game later on. I told the hostess, who must have been whatever the legal age is to do that job, that I was meeting friends and didn’t know if they were there yet. Her reply was, “You must mean the old couple out there.” Sure enough… She obviously thought I belonged with them.

We laughed about it the whole evening. One friend’s first response was “There goes the tip.” There were also comments like “Old people forget to tip.” It’s all about perspective, I guess. In truth, a lot of us tip better than we did when we were younger because we’ve either had those jobs or our kids or grandkids have and we understand why tips are needed. We had some younger people in our group, too, including two in their 50s and one in her 20s. We are very inclusive.

I guess we are considered old, but aren’t we all unless you’re a newborn? We are all aging every day of our lives. That’s a fact. The difference in “Old People” is that we have a better perspective on it. We realize that we are all interesting, we have more to talk about, we are generally more accepting than when we weren’t so old.

The other thing is that most of us are grateful for all those years and appreciate the time we’ve had and the time we have left. We’ve all lost friends or family members on this trip through life and we know we’re the lucky ones who are still here and still kicking! We might have done some things differently, but our life is what it is. Time is definitely flying by on the downhill slide of life, but we’re enjoying it for what it is.

So, yes, we’re the Old People. It’s shocking to us because we’re not that old inside. Just full of experience, funny stories, wise observations. My hope for you Young People is that I hope you live long enough and well enough to be one of us.

Tags aging, Old People, Young People

Categories Family, Friends, Reflections

Travel Souvenirs from the South

September 3, 2013 //

OK – I can’t be the only person who brings home a carload of souvenirs from a road trip…can I? It’s not like I can’t remember the place or person, but I do tend to forget after a time and the things I pick up along the trails of my life make me smile as I walk by them or dust them and shake up a memory from a wonderful experience. My home is packed with such memories and I’m old enough to know I’ll never be a minimalist in any way. So, here’s what I brought home from my travels through the South this past two weeks…think what you will.

First are the general, sometimes tacky, souvenirs: hats, t-shirts, magnets, lapel/hat pins and a few books, including a Cajun Little Red Riding Hood, “Petite Rouge,” because I have other Cajun children’s stories and love to read them out loud. You can’t help but sound a little Cajun…

I’ve collected the pins since I was in Vienna way back in the 1970s and saw a man with pins on his hat in European fashion. I used to be somewhat casual about it, but ended up with quite a few and now always look for them. I have them on a little bulletin board in my laundry room that I pass by every day.

The refrigerator magnets are a new deal and I have to promise to stop…

I just bought a hat and t-shirt in the town where my father was born because that’s all they had. I bought a ball cap in Savannah to wear out on the water and a cute painted t-shirt in Charleston because I liked the artist.

Then there’s the food category, which really can get out of hand in the South…

After all, I can’t get boiled peanuts and okra chips at home and who could pass up the Peach or Cherry cider and the Sweet Potato anything? And I wanted to see what was in red rice, so I bought a package, and then we went to Avery Island where they make Tabasco sauce and had to buy some of the new flavors. This is nothing compared to the souvenirs that didn’t make it home because they were eaten along the way…another blog. I did buy a cookbook from one restaurant to get the recipe for the best sweet potato soufflé I’ve ever eaten.

And we had to have things from the nature part of the trip, so I have seashells from the Katrina-wrecked beaches of the Gulf and puppets of animals from the National Parks we visited, Mammoth Cave and the Great Smokey Mountains.

Finally, there were the antiques and art I had to have. I’ve always liked to support local artists, especially when they have pieces that represent what I’ve come to love in their home. So that is why I came home with a ceramic mug and platter from potters in Fairhope, Alabama, a painting from the streets of the French Quarter in New Orleans, and antique tobacco basket from Thomasville, Georgia (what am I going to do with this huge piece even though I love it and got quite a deal on it) and an antique framed book plate by a well known artist of the Charleston Renaissance period (I learned about that). Each piece of art came with a story to make it even more special.

Maybe because I’ve owned a gift shop and know what it’s like to have people wander in and not buy anything, maybe because I’ve worked with artists for years and want them to be appreciated, maybe it’s the things my mother taught me, but I never, NEVER come home empty handed. The end result is that my home is a warehouse for some pretty exciting travels that I love to remember. I can only hope my children will smile and laugh a bit when they have to clean this stuff out when I’m gone! I can feel their eyes rolling…

Tags Cajun, food, memories, South, Southern food, souvenirs, travel

Categories Art, Books, Family, History, Memories, Nature, Places, Reflections, Travel, Uncategorized

My River Kinfolk

August 20, 2013 //

Knowing where your relatives came from is intriguing, at the very least. Maybe it will explain something, anything about us. All those questions…

The family member I know the most about is my father. I have pictures of him from baby to the end of his life. He was born in 1912, so way back there. I have a book someone did of Hamilton genealogy that goes back to Thomas Hamilton leaving Scotland for Maryland and then joining a group that moved to Kentucky.

The greatest source I have is a book, “The Sun Shines Bright,” written by my great-aunt, Sue Hamilton Jewell, a book of stories about the family in Uniontown, Kentucky in the late 19th century into the early 20th, including a few about my Daddy as a child.

My great-grandfather, grandfather, and father were all born in Uniontown. Here’s a photo I found that must be the Main Street that she wrote about, where even a 3-year old could be sent on errands.

Last week, I journeyed to Uniontown on the Ohio River, near Illinois and Indiana. I had no idea what I would find. Getting closer made me very emotional as I drove past fields of corn in rich agricultural west Kentucky, called the Upper South.

My great-grandfather was a grain dealer with an office in the warehouse on the river. My great-grandmother was from a plantation near New Orleans…another story to find. How did they meet? They had a great love story. Nine of their 12 children survived to adulthood, living a Tom Sawyer childhood along the river, “Our River,” as they called it.

…and later…

They had a staff of servants to help with the large home they finally moved into. Their land covered about half a block, with a diversity of neighbors on each side. There were 14 rooms with a 40 foot hallway the younger kids raced up and down on velocipedes pulling wagons. My great-grandfather was never bothered and must have been the kindest of gentlemen.

So, I drove to Uniontown with this info, along with the knowledge that the town had suffered greatly from the Ohio River floods of 1884, which brought Clara Barton to town for the first Red Cross relief effort as the river raged for weeks through the Ohio River Valley and all the river towns in its path. The 1937 flood left my widowed great-grandmother to be rescued from the second floor balcony by rowboat. The damage to the house and the remnants of the flood led to her death by pneumonia. This must be just a regular flood in this faint photo…

I knew the latest population was 1,000 and I found it on the map, but it was missing from my iPad map. How do you lose a town in an aerial shot? Scary. What would I find?

There was a town still. A levee keeps the flooding away, but the river has changed. I first looked across, imaging a shore where kids could swim across, barges and riverboats coming ’round the bend with my relatives waiting.

There was more than I expected actually. No old buildings, but a post office, VFW, cafe, two grocery markets and a marine store for the boaters who launched their boats on the river. I drove around enough to get a feel for where the house might have stood, picturing what I could from stories…the family eating fried chicken, Kentucky ham, homemade peach ice cream, and asparagus they grew in the yard. They gathered with their friends for burgoo, a community stew of whatever was brought. Such an isolated little town, a river town.

A young girl with a Kentucky drawl at Floyd’s Food Market gave me directions to the cemetery and I hurried before dark to a small cemetery surrounded by cornfields ready for harvest. Where to look? It was all very clean and well kept, divided into about four areas. In frustration, I parked and walked up the little hill. I remember Aunt Sue writing about the babies buried on the hill.

Suddenly, there it was…

…my great-grandparents. And the babies were beside them, touching little headstones for Annie, Nell G. and Merritt.

Behind them were my great-great grandmother and their oldest son, who I actually remember. Then I found two of their daughters. One died after the birth of her second child and her sister married her widower. All three of them, Verg and the two sisters he loved, all buried together. There were some others near, too. I looked and looked for any of my grandmother’s people because she grew up here, too. I didn’t find anyone…another story.

In the end, I stood by the gravestone and put my hand on it and my eyes were overflowing with tears. I thanked them for all the love they passed down. I thought of all the generations that have followed them…

One last look at the wide Ohio River, which is now kind of My River, too.

Then back to Floyd’s for a souvenir…

What did I find out? Lots more than I ever dreamed, but I’ll leave it with this…some of the best things about my family were born in a little town on the Ohio River. No flood will ever take that away. And now that river runs through me…

Tags family, Kentucky, Ohio River, Ohio River floods, Uniontown Kentucky

Categories Family, History, Memories, Places, Reflections, Travel, Uncategorized

The Perils of Childhood

August 9, 2013 //

It’s been a long time since Aunt Polly said to Tom Sawyer, “Well, go ‘long and play; but mind you get back some time in a week, or I’ll tan you.” I was thinking of the changes in the freedom children used to have and how cautious parents must be today. What I realized is that there always have been perils for children and there always will be.

A friend of mine says his grandfather remembered running away from an orphanage in Texas with his older brother at the fence telling him to keep running. He was 6 years old and was on his own from then on. That was in the late 19th century and there were many dangers for a young child, from natural dangers to human ones, but he survived to a ripe old age.

My grandparents were raised in small towns or on farms where they had the run of the place. My grandfather wondered around town because everyone knew who he was and watched out for him. I know parents have always worried about what would happen to their children, but they used to be able to let them stretch their wings and explore.

My father spent many years in the same small town his parents grew up in and played with his brother and sister and cousins. The Ohio River ran right by the town, but none of them ever drowned in it. There were few cars, but I guess you had to watch out for buggies and horses, too. They probably knew who the creepy people in town were and stayed away from them. There have been sick minds since man was created, so we didn’t invent perverted behavior in this century. I can picture these kids running around that small town with all the freedom in the world, as long as they didn’t get into trouble, which meant damaging property or bothering someone.

In 1909, Bud and Temple Abernathy, the Abernathy Boys, rode horses alone from Frederick, Oklahoma (barely a state then) to Santa Fe, New Mexico. They were nine and five years old. Alone! Of course, their father was “Catch-’em-alive Jack” Abernathy, a US Marshall whose reputation as a marshall, a hunter and a cowboy helped save them from Indians and crooks they met along the way. Still, they had to cross a lot of land with the dangers of wild animals and the terrain. After that trip, they rode from Frederick to New York City and drove a car back (when there was only 150 miles of highway in the entire country). They did it alone and they were only ten and six! Even then, that was quite a big deal and they became national celebrities. Can you imagine any kids that age being able to do something like that today? Kids should read “Bud & Me” to at least be able to know that those kind of experiences once existed.

I grew up in the city, in the suburbs. We walked everywhere and I don’t remember too many restrictions. We had to watch for cars, but we were allowed to explore and walk to our friends’ houses blocks away. The biggest dangers were falling off your bike (we had no helmets) or jumping out of a tree. I’m sure there were cautions from our mothers, but we just went out and did what we did. If there was an accident, we went home and our mothers put a bandaid or iodine on it. Most, maybe all, of my friends’ mothers were at home and the neighbors all knew who we were, so there was a safety in that. As we got older, we moved where there was a creek behind the neighbors’ houses and we played in that, especially when the water was rising. We played on construction sites, we played with matches, we played after dark and we snuck out to play in the moonlight. We got scratched and banged up from time to time, but that was just part of it.

When I was a teenager, we drove everywhere. There were no cell phones or GPS, so our parents just had to trust us to get home safely. We explored all parts of the city and did crazy stupid things. We weren’t always smart, but we learned how to use our freedom the best we could. I’m sure my parents worried some, but they let us experience what was out there and find our own limits. We were lucky in that drugs weren’t common until I was in college and the worst that happened was that kids got into their parents liquor or drank too many beers.

By the time my children were growing up, it was a little scarier. There were so many more cars and we had television to tell us of kidnappings and other evil things. Some mothers were working and there wasn’t always the safety of knowing that there were other moms to let you know what was going on. We had creeks by both of the houses my kids grew up in and they played around them. I didn’t know until they were much older that they used to follow the creek all the way to the busy street and under the street to the other side. There were snakes and critters and all kinds of exciting things in the creek, but it didn’t bother me. That was part of childhood. I did caution them when we had a big rain and the creek rose and could have carried them away, but I’m sure they watched that rushing water with the same fascination I did. They also were free to walk around the neighborhood as long as I knew where they were headed. There were a lot of other kids around.

When my children were teens, insurance rates were rising for their age group for drivers, drugs were more common and alcohol was a bigger factor. City-wide curfews were coming into being and kids had to move from place to place to gather when they were out. The fun was getting harder to find.

Now, I’ve watched my grandkids grow up playing mostly inside with television and video games. They ride their bikes, but not with the same freedoms we enjoyed when we could ride for miles alone. There is the fear of having the bikes stolen, the heavier traffic, the crazies we all know are out there. It’s just not as safe as it used to be. They don’t ride to the park for a quick game of ball or to climb rocks or explore creeks or make new friends in random places. They have helmets and padding and cell phones to check in and every protection there can be. It’s dangerous out there.

Today, it’s all organized for kids with parents swarming over everything they do. I’m not saying they’re over-protected, because I’m well aware of the dangers. I just don’t know how far we have come. We’ve conquered many of the childhood diseases that killed so many in the past, but we’ve taken away the ability to explore and learn what you can do by yourself. There’s a certain pride in knowing that you’re able to walk to the store by yourself or ride your bike to a far away place and return without anyone helping you. You gain confidence in your own abilities and skills.

This weekend, I watched a news story on the new plague of heroin users among our teens across the country. Heroin in the suburbs. What can you say?

Sigh…I guess we can’t go backwards. I wish I had answers other than turning back the clock. How can we find ways to let our kids be kids and explore this world safely? Something to think about…

Tags Ben & Me, children's freedom, growing up, kids, riding bikes, the Abernathy Boys, Tom Sawyer

Categories Family, Memories, Reflections, Uncategorized

Five Questions I Wish I’d Asked My Parents and Grandparents

August 6, 2013 //

Some friends and I were talking today about how we’ve reached the age when we’re really interested in our ancestry. Not that we weren’t before, but we probably just didn’t have the time to do the research and find the stories. And one of the things we all agreed was that we wish we’d asked our parents and grandparents more questions, learned more about them in the days before they knew us.

There was a day when I asked my mother about her grandmother and she started telling me the most interesting stories. I went home & came back with a recorder a few days later and had her repeat them, not knowing about the recorder. She sat at her desk illustrating her memories for me to explain things I wasn’t familiar with. That recording is a treasure, my mother talking and me asking the questions. Why didn’t I do more of that? How did I miss asking my grandparents and my father and my in-laws things that I wonder about now.

In this age of technological advances that change so quickly we can’t keep up, it’s amazing how little we had when I was growing up and how much I’ve seen in my lifetime. They were watching the changes, too. What did they think?

Here are five questions I wish I’d asked. I know there are more, but here are my first five good ones!

1. What did you do during the war? My father was a Lt Colonel in the Army Air Force in World War II and received the Distinguished Flying Cross. Why didn’t I ask him more about what his time overseas was like? My grandmother worked in a parachute factory. What was that like? My grandparents sent three sons and a son-in-law to serve and their youngest son didn’t come back. Why didn’t I ask more questions?

Here’s my father during the war…

He told me some stories, but not all.

2. What did you do for fun when you were young? Who were your friends? What did you play with? Where did you go when you were young adults? They didn’t have electronic games or television…what did they do?

Who is my grandmother’s friend in this photo?

What kind of lodge was my grandfather in?

Here’s my other grandfather’s fraternity picture…

3. What kind of work did you do or what did your parents and grandparents do? Or maybe, what was your first or favorite job? I know one great-grandfather ran a mill on the Ohio River and another one was a farmer and another one ran a wagon yard in Ardmore. One of my grandfathers worked for the telephone company on the wires when that was a new thing. What did the women do? One grandmother ran a neighborhood grocery store and rooming houses.

4. What was your house like growing up? How big, how many rooms, how were they furnished? That sounds so simple, but I know it was so different from the way we live our lives today. The way I grew up is different from my parents. I can remember our first dishwasher, clothes washer and dryer, television set, air conditioner. Our homes are so much more complicated today.

5. What were your dreams? I don’t know if they did as they were expected to and dropped their dreams behind them and found new ones or what they expected out of their lives.

It’s universal among my friends that we wish we’d asked more. We’re getting to the age where our children and grandchildren should start asking us. One of the problems is we think our life isn’t that interesting. We need to get over that and just remember and share. All of us have interesting stories…all of us.

Tags family, grandparents, memories, parents, questions, relatives, time

Categories Family, Friends, History, Memories, Reflections

Where the Wind Comes Sweepin’ O’er the Plains

July 26, 2013 //

Living in Oklahoma is not for sissies. True to the song, that wind does come sweepin’ and sometimes it’s a little strong. The beautiful plains probably handle it better than the cities. In Tulsa, we are in the corner of the state called “Green Country” by the tourist bureau. For those who think this state is flat and dry, you haven’t seen all of Oklahoma. We have gorgeous trees and hills in our lovely city.

This week, we had a blast of 70-80 mph winds that swept over our area, swirling and blowing until a large portion of the city was without power and nature had pruned our urban forest. It would break my heart to see the huge trees upended in yards all over the place, but I’ve been through it before and know that when all is cleaned up, we’ll look much the same around here with a few gaps in the sky. We have an abundance of trees. After our major ice storm a few years ago, the city looked like a war zone, but nature picks up and goes again. I’ve also learned from the National Parks, where they let nature take its course.

Getting around town has been slow as you dodge limbs in the streets and wait to go through intersections one at at time while the street lights are out. Poles are broken and leaning and crews are arriving from other states to help! I saw some poles propped up with a smaller pole bound to it.

If there is anything good about storms like this, it’s the human spirit that shines through. Days without power make us more grateful for what we do have. After writing about Keeping Cool earlier this week, many had to live it in the humid heat following the storm. At least there are places to go with air conditioning and ice. Neighbors and families with power provide meals and cool places to sleep. We know not to open our refrigerators to keep them cold or put perishables in coolers with ice until the stores run out. Most people should have lanterns and flashlights around. Some have generators left over from ice storms.

One of the newest problems is charging all our devices. One of my daughters without power took all of her family’s electronics to her sister who had power to recharge…iPhones, iPads, iPods. We’re kind of an Apple family and need our gadgets to stay in touch.

On the other side, my brother doesn’t have power after three days and needs to be connected for health reasons. I check on him and make sure his phone works so he can get help if needed. I’m sure there are many like him. I have to wind through the back streets to get to him because he’s on a main street blocked by electric company workers trying to get everything going.

Power outages bring out our pioneer spirit, 21st century style. We’re not exactly without resources these days. Neighbors help neighbors move limbs until the hoards of trucks and men with chain saws flood the city. There’s money to be made following a storm.

I’ve been grateful to have power, although I lost my internet and cable for a couple of long periods. Hard to complain. In fact, it makes me laugh to think how deprived we can feel without things that are really luxuries. Reading books is back in style, by lanterns or on tablets, in a storm.

Here’s a sample of some of Tulsa’s damage this week. Multiply this times a bunch and you’ll see what we’re seeing…

Here are two trees uprooted onto the owner’s house…

A tree broken across a fence…

A multi-trunked tree uprooted onto the house and new car…

and debris piled on the curbs for pick up…

One of the major problems is our glorious oaks that die from the inside and look fine on the outside but are vulnerable to the winds…

So, we’re picking up and going again. We survive wind, tornadoes (big wind), ice, heat and cold and floods here in Oklahoma. We’re OK.

Tags electric, family, Friends, high winds, nature, Oklahoma, power, storm, trees, Tulsa

Categories Family, Friends, Nature, Reflections, Uncategorized

Keeping Cool

July 23, 2013 //

As I sit in glorious air conditioning, I had an image of the summers when I was a little girl. I looked it up and they weren’t nearly as hot as today, but hot enough. Glad they invented air conditioning before global warming!

Our first air conditioners were window units and we only had one to begin with. It was in our den, so we spent a lot of time there playing board games and card games in the summer. But sleeping was another matter. Houses were built for circulation and we had fans and attic fans, so we opened the windows at night and laid on top of the covers spread eagle, waiting for a breeze. Sometimes there was no breeze at all and it could get miserable. Or the fans made it too cold and you had to cover up eventually. I don’t remember anybody I know having allergies so we just breathed in whatever the air brought and were grateful for anything that cooled us off.

In the house where I grew up, at least until I was about 10, we had a screened-in porch right off of my bedroom. Sometimes we made our beds out there in the summer or we slept under the stars. Anything to keep cool.

We wore shortie pajamas in the summer and I can picture us sneaking outside to run in the dark yard at night, feeling the dewy grass between our toes, or playing cards on the bed.

I loved that house with its big side yard for playing softball or running through the sprinklers. I don’t see as many kids playing in sprinklers today, but there are great splash pads in the parks.

We also waited for Jack the Milkman to come by because he would chip ice for us to suck and sometimes let us ride in his truck for a block or so. The ice cream truck would come by with popcicles and ice cream bars for about a dime. We’d run to get our change when we heard the bell announcing his presence in the area.

We also traveled to Oklahoma City just about every weekend to see my grandparents and aunts, uncles, cousins there. We didn’t have air conditioning in our car or even the turnpike, so we drove old Route 66 with the windows down, arriving sticky at the least.

When I went to my grandmother’s house in southern Oklahoma, Ardmore to be exact, we couldn’t wait to get there in the summer. She would make “squares” for us, which were Kool-Aid (just the powder mixed with lots of sugar & water) poured into ice trays and frozen. I’m not going to explain ice trays. We would get a bowl of squares and sit on her front porch, swinging on her porch swing, sucking on our cherry or grape squares (my favorites). Here’s a picture of my mother as a teenager in front of the house with the porch swing.

It was hotter down south so we would walk to the ice plant and get chips of ice from them. Then we would try to catch the horned toads (or horny toads, as we called them) in the dusty yard.

Sometimes I feel like I grew up centuries ago with all the technology that has developed over my 67+ years. Hard to imagine how much has been invented in my lifetime and how much more comfortable our lives are.

But, sometimes, I’d like to swing on the porch swing with my bowl of squares and just enjoy the summer breeze, swinging as high as I could go.

Tags air conditioning, heat, ice truck, shortie pajamas, sprinklers, summer

Categories Family, Memories, Nature, Places, Reflections, Seasons

A Walk

July 18, 2013 //

Just got back from a morning walk and remembered this piece I wrote for no particular reason 10 years ago. So much has happened since then, but a lot hasn’t changed. You can read this while I cool off…

I took a walk tonight – a small journey. I have lived in this house, this neighborhood, for less than a year. I moved from my big family house of 27 years to my small house for me. It is a nice neighborhood with homes from the 1940’s, a neighborhood of four blocks with distinct boundaries. There are older people and young couples with small children – a good mix. Some of the homes look small from the street, but they have been remodeled and rooms have been added and they can be deceptive.
I have always liked to walk – it makes me stand up straighter, get my arms and legs in synch, and let my thoughts flow free. I wasn’t walking too fast – but fast enough. Other walkers said Hi – we do that here. I waved to a young couple & their children who are friends of my kids. I got into my rhythm and let my mind flow to other summers, other walks. This summer has been mild so far – the hot Oklahoma sun has not begun to beat down, withering everything in its path. The night was pleasant, everything is green and smells fresh. I loved the air against my face.
I used to walk through the old neighborhood with my husband. At one time, I was trying to get in shape and we walked every day for months – maybe close to a year. He was obsessive – like a personal trainer. We would walk four miles every morning and three miles every evening. Just leave the kids and walk. And talk. I have no idea what we talked about – but we talked and talked – trying to keep breathing while we moved. Neighbors said they could hear our voices traveling up to their second story bedrooms in the early morning and they would know it was just us. People who saw us walking laughed. He was 6’4” and I am about 5’5”. About every block, I would do a little quick run walk to catch up to his stride. He just walked and I jump stepped to keep up. At least he didn’t have me jogging beside him. I don’t know if a run of bad weather or kids’ activities or what made us stop. Some excuse.
Tonight I walked just before sunset. It was light enough to see but the lightning bugs were starting to blink, bringing back memories of childhood summers chasing each other around in the dark, filling jars with holes punched in the lids full of the wonderful bugs, hoping to catch their magic. The bugs were talking – I remember June bugs from summer. We would catch them and let them walk across our hands – tickling us with their feet.
I walked through another neighborhood, past homes that used to occupy my childhood friends. A feeling of stability and continuance – I have been here and am still here. I walked on a street where I used to walk with a friend in high school as he threw his paper route.
I walked to move my body, feel my heart pump, my lungs breathe and my thoughts flow. I walked to get away and to come home.

Tags memories, neighborhood, summer, walk

Categories Family, Memories, Reflections

Whose Body is This?

July 17, 2013 //

At my latest class reunion, our 50th from high school, there were definite signs that it had indeed been 50 years. Gray or white or no hair, talk of knee and hip replacements, and wrinkles galore. Even the best preserved had some crinkles here and there.

It’s a shock to look in the mirror these days, if you really look. Who is that? I seem to be in a lot of discussions about our appearance these days. One of the main conclusions of those who look pretty good is that they owe it mainly to having good genes. Some of it has to do with exercise and eating right and generally taking care of yourself, but a whole lot of it has to do with what you were born with, your DNA.

I always thought I’d be white-headed by now, but all I have is silver streaks. My father and his parents had beautiful snow white hair and I thought that’s how I’d look by the time I was 50. I guess I got my mother’s side of the family in that gene selection.

The sun has taken its toll through the years. I look at the spots on my hands and arms with shock. When you use those blowing hand dryers, some of the more powerful ones these days will blow with such force that my skin is pulled away from the bones in a huge wrinkle that is appalling. I have more wrinkles than I would like on my face but it’s generally pretty smooth. My mother always stressed moisturizing and she died with hardly a line in her face, like her mother. Thanks for that.

All the parts are wearing out no matter what you do. Eyes, ears, joints and organs are not quite what they used to be. Dang! Well, that’s enough of that depressing talk. Time to eat healthy and exercise so I can try to keep up with my grandchildren. They’re still growing into their bodies. Wonder whose genes will show up at their 50th reunion?

Tags 50th reunion, aging, skin, wrinkles

Categories Family, Reflections

Dressing Up

July 15, 2013 //

Casual is my style and always has been. My mother took great pains when I was growing up to make me look like a sweet little girl and a lovely young lady, but I was always for kicking off those dresses and getting into something more comfortable. But I do appreciate her efforts and I can dress up if I want to.

I was thinking about this when I was going out to dinner with my three grandsons the other night. They are 15-16 and really nice kids, dress like their age. One of them had on a tank top and the rest of us had on t-shirts, all in shorts and sandals of some kind. I may have been wearing a pair of TOM’s shoes since I love those. From old habit, I looked us over to see where we could go eat and then decided it didn’t really matter. We could go just about everywhere looking like we did. We could probably even go to church, although the tank top might have to be changed. But the tank top came from church camp, so whatever…

We’re a far cry from the way I grew up. Lifestyles have changed over the past decades to the place where just about anything goes. You may see an occasional sign at a restaurant that say you must have shoes and a shirt, but that’s about it. Jeans are acceptable everywhere except some country clubs and even they make exceptions all the time. After all, how do you differentiate between jeans you work in the yard in and your $100+ designer jeans and who is going to tell someone their jeans aren’t nice enough? I’ve even seen jeans in church at funerals and weddings, not to mention regular worship services. Ministers got to the point that they just wanted people in the pews and they weren’t going to quibble about what they were wearing.

Hats are another thing. My grandfather wore a hat always, but he removed it in the house or at dinner or church. Everyone, men, women, kids, wears ballcaps now and few remove them very often. Hat Head is the excuse. They still remove them for the National Anthem and in church. That’s about it. Sometimes in restaurants, very fancy ones!

At times in my life, we didn’t go out without little white gloves. I can remember having white white white cotton gloves, probably bleached clean by my mother, to wear when I went shopping downtown or to luncheons with my friends when we had dressy parties. As I got older, I advanced to kid leather gloves, even my favorite red ones to go with the white. All our mothers were trying to teach us social graces. I don’t remember when it ended but here’s a picture of me getting ready to be interviewed for a beauty (Hah!) contest at OSU when I was a sophomore in 1964. Note the white gloves! Very proper!

When I was little, we dressed up for luncheons and shopping downtown or plays or concerts or dinner in a nice restaurant. When I was in college, we dressed up for football games. Really. We wore skirts and sweaters to the games, no matter how cold it was. We wore skirts to class, too! On snowy days, we would put some slack under our skirts so we wouldn’t freeze walking across campus. Quite the fashion statement. Oh! We also wore hose, held up by girdles or garter belts, although my mother didn’t think those were very proper. I wore a girdle when I weighed barely 100 pounds and had no stomach. No wonder I laugh at Spanx today! Been there, done that and not doing it again. Ever!

The 60s started the changes. I can remember teaching at OSU when the mini skirts came in and realizing you could stand at the front of the classroom and look right up every girl’s skirt. As the skirts got shorter, the rules relaxed and you could wear pants and then jeans. Fashions changed rapidly through the 60s and 70s and we were the generation that lived it, even as we married and raised families.

We still dressed up to ride planes (heels and all), go to church, go to concerts, out to dinner. The gloves were gone, but you dressed up. The guys put on shirts, jackets and ties and the women wore hose and heels and skirts and makeup and had their hair done. There were social rules you had to follow after all.

I remember a date specifically that I began to realize that the casualness I loved was permeating maybe too far. On our 25th wedding anniversary, my husband took me out to a very nice restaurant. We ordered champagne and a lovely expensive dinner. We were dressed up nicely for this special occasion in our lives. When I noticed that the guy next to us was wearing jeans, nice jeans, with his tie and jacket, I thought to myself that there really was nowhere you could dress up for a special night out. He didn’t spoil our evening, but it was jarring in a place where everyone else was pretty spiffy that evening. And, remember how casual I am, so it’s interesting that those social dos and don’ts were so ingrained in me that I even noticed it, much less remember it all these years later.

There are practical reasons for everything, of course. It was expensive to have entire dressy outfits for our four children and I am amazed at the price of my huge grandsons’ shoes alone. They can’t afford to have very many styles since their feet seem to be endlessly growing. At least one of them is past a 13 adult size now which equates to expensive.

Another time, almost twenty years ago, some friends of mine met for lunch at a retirement home where one of us was working as a development officer. It was a lovely place and we dressed appropriately, but we didn’t match the lovely women who lived there and came to lunch dressed like the ladies they were. They had their makeup on and wore suits (jacket, blouse and skirt) and dresses and hose and maybe even girdles and carried their handbags on their arms like Queen Elizabeth. At the time, I remarked that our generation would probably come to lunch in sweat suits. Lordy!

So, here I sit in yoga shorts and a t-shirt, which I may wear all day no matter where I go. Or I may dress up, which implies I put on leggings and a nice top and nicer sandals. That garb would work where I live even if I had to go to a concert or church. Adding earrings and a necklace or scarf would really make it pretty impressive. All about the accessories. A guy probably would put on a nicer shirt and pressed shorts…maybe.

I don’t know that I am complaining about the changes…just making a mental note. I don’t want to forget how to dress up because there are a few times left that I might need to. After all the Queen might summon me. And I still have a box of gloves to wear…

Tags casual, dressing up, gloves, hats, restaurants, style

Categories Family, Friends, Memories, Reflections, Restaurants, Style, Uncategorized

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