Archives for category: Memories

There are so many ways to mark the history of a family.  Birthdays, holidays, seasons, vacations, school events and every day activities are signs of passing years.  Before photography…well, I can’t even imagine what they did. There weren’t that many paintings or drawings per family that I’ve ever seen.

I don’t know when the first pictures with Santa started, but they were probably with department store Santas as a way to get customers in the door.  I know there were visits with Santa before that, but the photos were a commercial addition to our holidays.  When I was little, we didn’t seem to do it every year.  In fact, I only have one.  Here is me with my brother and another one of my husband, both photos taken in 1950 when my husband and I were both 5.  SANTAAlan with Santa - around 1950By the time my children were born, it became an annual event, part of the traditions of the holidays.  I took them to shopping centers and later to Santa House, a non-profit fundraiser which I worked on for years.  Here is one taken in 1975 with me as the elf, weeks after giving birth to my son.  The matching dresses were made by my mother-in-law.  Don’t ask my youngest daughter about having to wear those hand-me-downs for years.  I was President of the group that year…with four children.  To be that young and energetic again…Santa House 1975Here they are a few years later, towards the end of our Santa picture years.  How in the world did I ever get the four of them that scrubbed up for a picture?  xSo the years went by and those children grew up and started families of their own.  Our first three grandsons were born the same year, all within 8 months.  This was in 1997…  1997And those little families grew and had Santa pictures of their own…1452295_10202508196683924_1336243979_nIMG_7009148290_1699078767564_1555751205_31657769_3390214_nAnd these children grew older and then their cousin came along…eAnd she is the last of this generation to visit Santa.

We measure our lives in so many ways, counting the years through as many memories as we can.  Photos like this are a mirror of the years, the generations, and the commitment to making more memories for those we love.  No matter what your beliefs, I’m sure there are special events to record.  It’s nice to be able to look back and take it all in, put it in the perspective of Santa visits for this particular memory thread in the ever-weaving pattern of my life.

Cheers to more generations to come, adding their own memories and love.

I had some time to kill at Oklahoma State University yesterday and there was a subject I wanted to research, one that OSU has in their archives. I’d walked past the library earlier in the day, always a beautiful sight, admiring the Christmas wreath and garlands. IMG_5764I’d been actually dreading going into this beautiful building because I have such warm memories of spending hours with the card catalogue, digging through shelves of periodicals for an article I needed for a research paper, copying notes onto index cards.  There were no copy machines or computers in those days.  You either checked out the book or did the research on site.  There was comfort in the shelves of books and periodicals, the dark wood tables and chairs.  I grew to love the search and the activity it took to find the information I needed to support my thoughts.

I knew it would be different – I’ve been in local libraries after all.  I understand the computers and having everything online and that the experience has changed.  I’m not against it, but I wasn’t quite ready to really see it in person in this building.

Approaching the building, the incredible chimes were playing the OSU alma mater, which was comforting.  I walked in the front doors…  IMG_5769…loving the brass doors.  I went through the security scanners and up the stairs with the beautiful brass handrails.  Reaching the next floor was like coming into a new century, to say the least.  There were tables and chairs and couches and lots of students with laptops.  I didn’t see any books at all.  There were some offices and a wonderful room decorated old style where students lounged and studied for finals.

I wandered around, wondering how you find anything and went back down the stairs to the lower level where there was an information desk and lots of tables with computers.  There was a space in the back of one corner where there were shelves of periodicals. Yay! Something familiar.   I realized I was supposed to find a computer, but wasn’t really sure about how this worked, so I approached the desk.

Me:  “Hi.  I haven’t been here since 1969.”

Student:  “Well, welcome back!”

She was great, turning her computer to show me the website.  I told her I had a log-in and could take it from there, so I found an empty computer and logged in.  I maneuvered around and found the information I was looking for, which I also accessed from home.  I was looking for more, but there it was.

I finished up and left.  What can you say?  I hadn’t wandered down a row of shelves or handled a book.  That was weird, at least for me.  It’s the library and I’m happy that students are in there, soaking up the information.  As I walked away, the chimes were playing “Frosty the Snowman,” which rang across campus and I passed three girls smiling with their arms around each other, singing to the music.  Their finals were over and they were probably heading home for the holidays.

It’s all good.  We’re moving ahead in our technical world.  But my memories of those long ago days in the quiet rooms of dark wood and shelves of books is still sweet.  Sigh.

 

 

There is no formula to my family Thanksgivings except for family, food and love.  The traditions have evolved through the years and change all the time as we lose and gain family members.  You learn to keep it loose and fun, being thankful for the chance to even plan whatever you’re doing.

When I was little, we drove to my grandparents home in Oklahoma City to have dinner with my aunts and uncles and cousins.  My father and grandfather would go quail hunting in the early morning while dinner was being prepared.  The hunting goes back to Kentucky where both of them were born.  My grandfather and his brothers always had dogs and hunted, bringing home all kinds of game for the family to enjoy.  Those Kentucky burgoos were born of those Kentuckians hunting long ago.

As my generation of the family grew up, one of my cousins married a man who lived in Chandler, hunted and had property for the hunting.  My husband learned to hunt from my father, growing to share his love of working the dogs and walking the fields in the early mornings and later in the afternoons of fall, bringing home the birds for delicious dinners later.  Alan with Guy (1)

For several years, the Tulsa relatives met the Oklahoma City relatives in Chandler, repeating the routine of hunting in the morning and then dinner.  Football in the afternoon was added about that time and our family continued to grow and add to the memories.

I forgot to mention the awkward years when we were first married and tried to go to both family Thanksgiving dinners, coming home exhausted and way too full.  We all make that mistake when living in the same city.  You can’t please everyone.  You just can’t.

At some point, there were moves and changes and the families stayed in their own cities, each gathering their own on the holiday.  At our house, the routine was pretty much the same with us going to my parents.  My in-laws had moved out of town, so we spent some holidays with them.  When home, the hunting, food, football tradition continued.  We had added the tradition of walking to nearby Utica Square for the Lights On celebration in the evening, a good way to work off the big meal.

Through the years, we’ve lost all our hunters, adjusted to some family members going different ways, sometimes go to a movie on Thanksgiving night, added recipes, kept the ones we like, still set the table with our best crystal and china and silver, even though we come dressed casually.  The grandkids play football or hang out, the adults sit back, and we all get lazy.

For the past decades, Thanksgiving was one of my favorite holidays.  Even when I was working, I loved cooking all the dishes I only made once or twice a year.  I had my routine compressed so it wasn’t too exhausting and I loved the early morning, alone in the kitchen getting everything ready for the kids to come over.  It was a comforting time of year where I could count my blessings quietly.

Today, I’m thankful for my healthy, happy family.  We’re about to change as the grandkids start leaving for college and there will be new members added and our family will begin to grow again in the not too distant future.  I’m so grateful to be here to see it all.

In our family, the traditions are family, food and love.  What else do you need for a great holiday?

 

There are people I run across while reading or traveling or meet in person who fascinate me to the point that I start learning all about them to see if they are truly as wonderful as I’ve been led to believe.  Blame it on my degree in English and all those research papers, but I really get obsessed with digging through books and the internet to see what I can find.

My latest obsession is close to home.  I graduated from Oklahoma State University and, of course, knew the mascot, Pistol Pete.  I’m not sure I was aware that he is the ONLY college mascot based on a real person, although I knew there was an actual Pistol Pete.  Back in the days before the abundance of branding, we didn’t see Pistol Pete, the mascot, except at sporting events.  How I wish I’d been there just a few years earlier.

The real Pistol Pete was Frank Eaton and he lived about ten miles from OSU.  He became the mascot in 1923 when he was still alive and liked to roam the campus, wearing his guns on his belt.  He walked the sidelines at football games and spoke to classes, demonstrating his quick draw until he shot a bullet into a wall in the Student Union basement during a class.  The hole is still there, evidently.

Frank Eaton wrote an autobiography, “Pistol Pete: Veteran of the Old West,” that is astounding for many reasons and almost too rich in details of life in Indian Territory in the late 1800s to believe.  I’ve tried to find someone to debunk it, but all I’ve found are facts to make it more believable, even though he may have fudged or not known his actual birthdate, which allowed him to be a lawman in his teens.  He wrote the book, or dictated it to his co-writer, when he was in his 90s, which could make it doubtful.  When she was in her 80s, I asked my mother a question about her childhood and she replied with incredible detail, drawing a picture of her grandmother’s house with all the plants outside, the furniture inside, etc.  Memories are an amazing thing and I’m sure Frank Eaton had told his stories too many times to forget.

I won’t go through the details because I’d love for you to discover his life yourself, even if you just go to Wikipedia.  This guy was the real deal.  His father was shot to death by six men in the doorway of their home with eight year old Frank watching.  A family friend told him he was no kind of a man if he didn’t avenge his father and get the killers, so he learned to shoot at eight, perfecting his accuracy and quick draw until he was the best in the territory.  He was appointed to be a marshall in his teens, killed five of the cattle rustling thieves who killed his father, worked chasing bad guys for the Cattlemen’s Association and the marshals, was a bronc buster, rode in cattle drives, worked on cattle ranches, worked in Pawnee Bill’s Wild West Show, was in the land rush, farmed, was a blacksmith and a water-witcher who not only could find water, but climbed down in the holes to place the dynamite.  He was absolutely fearless, didn’t drink, played cards, smoked, cussed like a sailor except in front of women, and even learned to play the fiddle.  No matter what you think, you can’t dispute his prowess as a quick draw master.  There are films on YouTube of him demonstrating when he was in his 90s.  Amazingly fun to see.  Here’s one of my favorite pictures of him.  He never lost this persona.  pistol10

What I love most about Frank from the various accounts I’ve read is the kind of man he was.  After all his adventures, he married a woman he loved.  They were homesteaders and struggled and had two daughters.  His wife died, leaving him with the two girls and he kept them near him.  He remarried another woman and had eight more children.  He worked as a blacksmith in Perkins, OK and never tired of showing off his shooting skills or telling his stories.  One man who lived there said he loved to show off by hitting two matchsticks from twenty yards, never missing.  Gunshots could be heard in Perkins, followed by his loud laugh, “Ho Ho Ho!” He even wrote a column for the Perkins paper when he was in his 90s.  Even though he never spoke of attending school, his daughter said he wrote one of his books by hand in his Spencerian style.  He had a wonderful sense of humor, which shows in the stories he told, some of them tall tales that match those of Mark Twain and Bret Harte.  He may not have made them up, but he knew how to tell them.

He was a legend in his own time, which delighted him no end.  He rode in the parades, which is where OSU students saw him and asked him to be their mascot.  He spoke to school children.  Listening to tapes of him speaking, you get a feel for his story telling ability, which must have been a delight for those who stopped by to visit him in his Perkins home.

I visited his home recently in the park where the citizens of Perkins have moved it and dedicated a huge statue to him.  IMG_5333DSC_0011You can find photos of him sitting on the porch of this house, entertaining guests.  Everything looks the same.

This larger than life man was actually small, standing at 5’5″ in his later years.  He had a lazy eye, which makes his incredible shooting skills even more intriguing.  He wore his hair in long braids, always had a gun on his belt, would give the shirt off his back to anyone in need, loved his kids and grandkids, and never asked for anything that I can tell.  He was definitely a character, decidedly a hero, and, at the very least, someone you wish you had met.

When I see his image on everything imaginable at OSU, I smile, knowing that he would have absolutely loved it.  My big regret is that I reached campus a mere five years after he died.  Isn’t that unbelievable?  There are people alive today who walked to class beside a real life cowboy from frontier days, wearing his guns and telling his stories.  How much fun would that have been?  I’ll have to settle for reading his stories, seeing his home and other memorials to him in small museums around the state, and knowing that such a person really did proudly live in the state I call home.  And seeing his image around campus, including the current mascot.  I hope we all do him proud.

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My husband was a man, a big kid actually, who loved Halloween and everything about it.  Every fall, we drove out into the country, when it didn’t take so long to find the bare countryside, to look for the perfect pumpkins.  Everybody had to have their own, with his being the biggest one.  This was one of those holidays when I was along for the ride because I wasn’t good at making costumes and he was in charge of the carving and I just made popcorn balls and caramel apples and handed out the treats on the big night while he walked the streets with the kids and other fathers in the neighborhood.

We didn’t take as many photos in those days of film and flashbulbs, but I treasure the ones I have, especially now that my husband and son are both gone.  I’m pretty sure they have pumpkins in heaven however.  No doubt in my mind that they are getting ready for the big night in whatever afterlife they inhabit.  Scan 19Scan 16By the time our grandchildren were born, the pumpkin patch had expanded with animals and rides and photo ops galore.  Taking the grandkids to the patch was a way to keep my own kids’ memories alive and well.  So there are lots of pictures of these kids, now in high school, getting their pumpkins, just as their parents did.   Scan 19 86777-PH-5Oct2001-012 86777-PH-5Oct2001-017 Zac

86777-PH-9Oct2002-002And their parents take pictures that are part of the family tradition, the things that remind us of the best of times and hold us together in all times.   All my grandchildren are in middle school or high school now, except for the youngest, my son’s daughter.  He went to the patch with his nephews and niece when he was in college…Scan 19And took his own daughter for her first visit, his last before he died.  IMG_1476She gets to go back now, following family traditions, making her own.  DSC_0051They say that all we can really give our children are memories, and these are some of the best.  These days I look at my family and go back to look at the years that have done by way too quickly and I’m strengthened by the continuity of the traditions and the love I see in the photos.  The Pumpkin Patch is important in our family, but so are other traditions.  We can all make our own…and should.  IMG_5221

It was hard to leave the central coast of Oregon but time to come back.  I never tire of watching the waves crash around me, so we went up the coast to get back to Portland this time.  One more look at crashing waves, please.DSC_0441 DSC_0418We drove up the coast, leaving Highway 101 to hit the coast drive to Cape Kiwanda…DSC_1330 and Cape Lookout, both with their views and beach warning signs.  Believe me, I wasn’t planning on going off any cliffs.DSC_1337The final Cape was Cape Meares, which was the most delightful of all.   Besides the views…DSC_1344there was the Octopus Tree, a 300 year old Sitka Spruce tree that fits into my memorable trees collection.DSC_1350And the shortest lighthouse, at 38 feet, on the coast.DSC_1363My tour was interesting, giving me insight into the life and work of the lighthouse men of our past.  Not an easy job.  This one had the original glass for the clear sections, beautiful in the sunshine.DSC_1374 DSC_1375We headed back to Highway 101, stopping in Tillamook, where barn quilts decorate buildings all over town.  I wasn’t familiar with this until this summer, so now I’m looking for them when I travel.  Here are a few I saw.DSC_1381 DSC_1382 DSC_1385I can’t go to Oregon without getting Tillamook Ice Cream, the creamiest ever.  Besides they have wonderful flavors like Marionberry Pie and Huckleberry.  Tillamook Cheese is a destination, a farmers’ co-op where you can watch the cheese being made, shop and eat, tasting all the flavors of ice cream, milk and cheese.  I can get the cheese at home, but not the ice cream!  I always have to stop, joining the crowds who share my passion.DSC_1389Our next stop was at one of the amazing beaches in the world, Cannon Beach, home of Haystack Rock.  On this particular day, it was sunny and warm.  People were sunbathing in Oregon in October.  I had to stop at both ends of the beach for the beautiful views of the rock.  Here’s looking from the south to north.  DSC_1390And north to south with the rock shining in the late afternoon sun.  You can’t imagine how big this thing is.  And how big the beach is.  Incredibly beautiful.  And fun.DSC_1399I got a clear shot of Tillamook Lighthouse, perched on its lonely, dangerous rock, from the beach, looking north.DSC_1402Although I could have dawdled all day on the beach, we were trying to reach Astoria by dark, so we headed north.  It was late in the day, but we were able to go to the top of the hill where the Astoria Column, concrete carved with the history of the region, sits.  I was too tired to climb the 168 steps to the top, but the views from below were incredible and the column is an incredible piece of art.DSC_1416Looking towards Astoria, you see the bridge that takes you from Oregon to Washington, and you feel chills thinking of the Lewis & Clark expedition charting these waters.  Looking to the view, where the mighty Columbia River meets the Pacific Ocean is breathtaking in its importance.  DSC_1410On the other side of the hill, the Youngs River and the Lewis & Clark River enter Youngs Bay before joining the Columbia.  DSC_1428The charming city of Astoria is the oldest settlement in America west of the Rockies.  I’ll return for more.  I did love the trash cans in Astoria, symbolic of one of the major industries of the area.DSC_1435We headed east to Portland, leaving the coast behind us.  The next day, we went into Portland for the underground tour, which was very little underground, but a lot of colorful history of the wild and wooly days of early Portland.  Very fun.DSC_1440I’ve been to Portland various times in the past five years, enjoying the diversity and casualness of this beautiful city.  We had a wonderful tea and late lunch in one of the few Chinese restaurants left in Chinatown.  DSC_1441DSC_1448I really wanted the Hung Farlow to still be open, but they are saving the sign.  DSC_1443Portland has the signs saying “Keep Portland Weird,” just as Austin has signs that beg us to “Keep Austin Weird.”  I’m thinking “weird” is just a word for being open to everything.  There were more homeless than I remembered from my last visit, but just as many colorful people, trying to be as weird as possible or to fit in however they can.  It’s part of the charm really.   We finished our tour and joined local friends for a fun Thai dinner, watching the sport of Sepak Takraw, a combination of hackey sack and volleyball, on the television.  DSC_1462We’d passed the famous Voodoo doughnut place on our tour, but stopped at the second location on the other side of the river to stock up on the notorious doughnuts.  We HAD to have this Portland experience and included one Voodoo man doughnut in our box for fun.DSC_1458 DSC_1480The next day, our final day in Oregon, we traveled to Timberline Lodge on Mt Hood.  It was a beautiful day, warm even at 6,000 feet, and the views were spectacular.DSC_1485DSC_1492Timberline is an old WPA lodge and everything inside is hand made from local materials, including the furniture, drapes, hand wrought iron, carvings.  The building, used in the opening shots of “The Shining,” is a tribute to the craftsmen and women who worked in the program, not only grateful for jobs during the depression but showing deep pride in their creations.  It was a total delight.  The six-sided fireplace, made of local rocks, runs up through the three stories of the main lobby, with three fireplaces on two levels.DSC_1514I loved the scenes carved in linoleum on the walls of a meeting room.DSC_1504The views of Mt Jefferson and Mt St Helens in the distance were lovely.DSC_1527And the mists over the hills gave us the layers of blue against the clear sky.  DSC_1532The top of Mt Hood was rocky, but they continue to manicure the dusty snow for the skiers we passed coming and going up the mountain.DSC_1519Our Oregon trip ended with meals with friends before we headed back to Oklahoma the next day.  This Okie left with more lovely Oregon memories to fill my senses.  Okie in Oregon.  That’s me.

Traveling coastal Oregon along Highway 101, there are signs that we just don’t see in Oklahoma.  We have tornadoes, earthquakes, and thunderstorms, but we don’t have tsunamis.  Everywhere you go, there are warnings and I find myself trying to figure out how I’m going to get high enough to escape the giant waves.  In Oregon, the forests reach the coast, often on high cliffs.  You’d have to scramble to get up, up, up!

DSC_0471 DSC_1340 DSC_1317 DSC_0942 DSC_0539DSC_0780The “run like hell” sign is a joke, but that’s basically what you do.  Not to be messed with.  But most of the highway is delightful and scenic with beaches and trails around every turn, different each time you visit.

DSC_0461 DSC_1404I love the beauty of Florida beaches with their smooth white sands, unique shells, gorgeous sunsets, and warm sun, but there is a dangerous element with the Oregon beaches that brings ever-changing surprises.  You never know what the beach will hold.  This year, we had the mildest, most perfect weather imaginable with only a few hours of drizzle preceded and followed by warm sun and calm seas.  You still enter every beach by passing by the instructions and warnings for visiting.  DSC_0829 DSC_0384DSC_0940And then, you’re at the ocean on small beaches, long beaches, wide beaches.  Surfers, beachcombers, sunbathers, picnickers, dogs and children.  Perfect beaches.DSC_0908 DSC_1262 DSC_1266 DSC_1286 DSC_0837 DSC_0852 DSC_0483Coming from Oklahoma, I eat all the fresh seafood I can get.  I haven’t had a bad meal on the coast yet.  Here are some of my favorite places that we add to our list every time.  There’s Mo’s with locations up and down the coast, but we like the one at Otter Creek.  Mo’s is famous for their clam chowder, but a friend had a wonderful Oregon shrimp sandwich.DSC_0467Gracie’s Sea Hag in Depoe Bay is right on Highway 101 and our favorite place on a Saturday night, eating in the bar, when there is entertainment, dancing, and bartenders playing tunes on the liquor bottles.  It’s a perfect seaside vibe, right across the street from the sea wall.DSC_0523 DSC_0490We have several favorites in Newport, although I’m sure there are many more.  Lunch at Port Dock One is a must because your dining companions are sea lions, at least in the fall, when the males come up from California and you can be seated right beside them.  They are constantly entertaining, but then I don’t have to listen to them all day.  The food is good, too!IMG_5168DSC_1299I love Gino’s, with the owners from a fishing family.  The popcorn shrimp is delicious and the soups scrumptious.  It’s on the bay front without a water view, but they make up for it with their masses of colorful buoys.  DSC_0815It’s clean, fun, good.  Love Gino’s.DSC_0816 DSC_0824And you HAVE to stop on Highway 101, south of the Newport bridge for crab.  It’s a fish market, restaurant, convenience store combo.  Yum.DSC_1150 IMG_5213 IMG_5212For the nicest dinner possible, go to Depoe Bay and visit Tidal Raves, again on Highway 101.  You must have a reservation as there are few tables, but an outstanding view and incredible food.  I love the Seahawk bread, which could be a meal in itself, and the Rock Fish.  Oh my.   IMG_5210IMG_5188
If it’s raining or you’re just in Lincoln City, sit near the fireplace at Pier 101 for more seafood!  Can you ever get enough when you’re on the coast?  I had the Cedar Plank Salmon, which was crusted with a maple bourbon sauce.  Need I say more?DSC_1329
Enough with the food.  I’m ready to fly back now, although I have to admit that I went for a hamburger as soon as I got home to beef country.  Oregon is known for its greens, forests of pine trees carpeted with masses of ferns and decorated with moss and lichens.  The coast gives you the contrast of the blues of the ocean with the colorful nautical elements.  Besides the buoys, there are the crab  cages stacked by the fishing boats and the containers ready for the ships in port in Newport.DSC_1306
 
The famous bridges designed by Conde B. McCullough are elegant in their Art Deco beauty.  I discovered the one in Florence on this trip, but they are everywhere in the state, including Newport.  Here’s the one in Florence.DSC_0966
North of Florence is Cape Perpetua with cliffs, forests and extraordinary views.  The park encompasses the mountain and the coast for a sample of the natural wonders of the state.  With the Heceta Head lighthouse at the south endDSC_0990DSC_0996The view from the point is endless, especially from the World War II lookout where you can stare out to the open seas.DSC_1020DSC_1016Back along Highway 101, you can see the raging wonders of The Devil’s Churn, where the waters froth like fresh cream…DSC_1048 DSC_1058…The Spouting Horn spurts up as the waves rush in…DSC_1108…and the pounding waves sink into Thor’s Well in an ever fascinating rush of water.DSC_1128

Our glorious days on the Oregon coast ended with a different sunset every evening…DSC_0532 DSC_1157

…and our final night in Depoe Bay found us watching half a dozen whales spouting and leaping in the orange waves.  The perfect ending to our days on the Oregon coast.

DSC_1323Watch my blog for our final days of this trip.

When I get to the sea, I’m constantly reminded of all the wonderful creatures, beautiful and unique, who glide through these waters. I know whales are out there, have seen a quick sighting in Alaska and a couple of closer encounters two years ago in Oregon. Ve stayed on the coast these past three years, in Depoe Bay, the Whale Watching Capital of the world along with boasting the smallest harbor in the world.

This time the weather was perfect, we are seeing whales spouting from our balcony all day long and we went back out to get up close. I can feebly try to put words with the experience, but my photos tell the story in a much more exciting way. We are all visual people, aren’t we?

We rode on Zodiac boats, like the coast guard uses, with a whale scientist as our leader. Here is her boat with her whale hunting dog on watch.IMG_6067On the way out, we stopped at the bay’s buoy, where sea lions rested in the sun.imageWe spotted our first whales and the sun made rainbows in their spouts.
IMG_6088The day was a delight for children, seasoned whale watchers, our guides, anyone alive! At one point, we had four whales all around us, with three of them playing between the two boats, chasing each other.imageimage
Having two grey whales come up beside you, within twenty-five feet is quite a thrill.
We learned so much, like watching for the Fluke Print, the flat water left when the whale submerges and displaces the water.
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By the end of our trip, we had seen at least ten whales, most of them regulars to this area, known by name. Only an insensitive soul wouldn’t be touched by the grandeur of these giants, gliding by, leaving us in wonder with a flip of their mighty tails.
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My Whales’ Tale is a joy to be shared!

As I wait for my newest phone to arrive, the images of all the phones I’ve used over the years came to mind.  It’s hard not to compare the progression of the phone in my own lifetime to the fast changing have-to-have phones of today.

My parents moved us to Tulsa when I was about 2 1/2 years old and the first phone that I can remember was located in a little phone room, no bigger than a closet, and looked like this, I think.  I’m pretty sure we had dials by then. Unknown

There was only one phone in the house, the one in the closet.  One of the wicked things I did when I got old enough was to sneak in there and call the operator to make a call to my grandmother.  My grandmother’s phone was even more interesting.  She lived in Ardmore and was on a party line.  You picked up the receiver to talk to the operator, who knew everyone, and had her call whoever you needed.  My grandmother had a special ring to let her know a call was for her.  The neatest thing was to pick it up very quietly and listen to the other people’s conversations, which wasn’t very nice, but oh so interesting to a curious little girl.

Our phone number at home was 75973 for many years.  When they added prefixes, it became RIverside 75973.  My father’s office number started with the prefix GIbson and I spent a week one summer when I was about 9 or 10 at his office handwriting the GIbson in front of the number on some postcards that had been printed earlier.

Through the years, not much changed with our black dial phones.  Then plastics came into wide use and we suddenly had colors and plastic dials.  When we built our new house when I was in 5th grade, we had beige phones and there were three, count ’em, three in the house.  There was a black wall phone in the kitchen, a beige desk phone in my parents’ bedroom and another beige phone in the hallway in a little cut-out holder in the wall.  That was for my brother, sister, and me to use.

The Princess model was a big hit when I was in junior high school, especially the pink one.  Girls with a pink princess phone were pretty cool.  We didn’t get the pink model, however.  Eventually, we got something just as good – a long cord from the wall so we could carry the phone into a closet or another room to talk privately.  With the hours we spent on the phone as teenagers, talking to friends we had just left about who we’d seen, who was going steady with who, who had looked twice at us, who we had a crush on, what we were going to do the next day or the next weekend, what to wear, how tiring our parents were, and other important topics, you just needed some privacy.  Really.   And the time we spent waiting by the phone for someone to call…sigh.

When I went to college, there was a phone on the wall in each hallway of the dorm, but you couldn’t make long distance calls from it.  For that, we went downstairs to a bank of pay phones with a pile of change.  To make a long distance call, back in 1963, you had to call the operator and have her (always female operators) dial it for you.  I was also able to charge calls to my parents’ phone through the operator.  I spent many an hour in that phone booth with piles of change talking to my boyfriend, later fiancé.  He would call me from phone booths in California after he was in the Navy, adding the quarters as the operator told us our time was up.

Sometime along the way, direct dial was invented, a miraculous thing.  And the prefixes we’d had in Tulsa changed to just the numbers.  Riverside 75973 changed to 747-5973, which was the same thing.  Novelty phones were the rage with Mickey Mouse, hamburger, clear phones and other fun things to brighten our lives.  As a mom, my favorite phone of the day was my red wall phone in my kitchen/breakfast room with an extra long cord that let me talk while I cooked or set the table or cleaned or whatever.  I was the ultimate multi-tasker as I worked on my volunteers committees, planned PTA events, changed carpools, scheduled appointments, all while I was doing my mom thing at home.

Oh yes, I still had a dial tone and used my dial for numbers, right up until I moved into my present home in 2002.  There was touch tone technology, but you had to pay extra and I didn’t think I would ever be so lazy that I couldn’t turn that dial wheel.  Eventually, I had touch tone because you couldn’t make long distance calls without it, but I still used that rotary dial until I moved.

So now I’ve covered over 50 years of my phone life and we haven’t even gotten to cell phones yet.  Technology was a whole lot slower coming and who knew?

The first mobile phone we had was a bag phone, a bag with a battery and a phone inside, that we kept in the car.  This was in the mid 1990s – way back then.  My husband got it because he was visiting customers all over the state and it was great for calling ahead, for emergency calls, and to let me know he was on his way home.  I don’t know how long we had that.  And I can’t even remember much about my first cell phone or mobile phone after that, probably because they’ve changed so quickly.   I had a pager when I worked for the American Red Cross and had to listen for it 24 hours a day in case of emergencies.  That was in 2001, so we hadn’t started using our cell phones so much yet.

The joke with our first cell phones was how small they were.  I remember someone on Johnny Carson trying to punch the tiny little buttons and holding up this little gadget to his ear.  But, they caught on quickly, very quickly.  Why wouldn’t they?

The day I got my first iPhone, I remember staring at it, absolutely mesmerized by all the information in my hand.  Wow!  I hadn’t even had a computer that many years and now all of that information was in my phone, too!  Look at where we are now with changes coming every year.  Amazing and wonderful technology.

So, I’ve got my new phone coming and am wondering if the larger size will fit in my small purse I carry.  The tiny phones that were the rage are now growing larger with expanded capabilities.  I would say that I use it as much for other things as I do for calls.

The irony of all this came back to me the other day when the land line, that I keep for emergencies and because I’ve had that same number for 47 years, quit working.  In order to test it, AT&T advised me to take my corded phone (meaning a phone with a cord other than the cordless ones that are all over the house) outside to the phone box and plug it in to see if it works.  I had to borrow a corded phone when I couldn’t find my emergency one, which is a little old beige princess model.  Makes me smile.

The other change is that I feel at a loss if I forget to take my phone with me.  What will happen if my car breaks down since there are few pay phones around?  What if I’m running late or my grandkids need to be picked up or where will my grocery list be without my phone? How will I find my way there without my maps?  What if I miss a text?  It’s a very vulnerable feeling, a sign of the times.

Oh well, I’ll have my new phone soon and we can test it Old School.  Call me!

 

 

 

 

Four is an amazing age, taking a little one from toddler to school kid in way too short a time.  I’m watching yet another one of my offspring finish up the year, turning five in a few weeks.  A wonder to behold.

Four is the champion year for make-believe, dress up, pretend, toys.  A four year old is forever dressing in costume, being a super hero or a princess or whatever strikes his/her fancy at the moment.  They name their toys and surround themselves with stuffed animals or cars or action heroes in a fantasy world of their own.  They project the world they’ve heard about onto their play, creating situations based on their understanding of what they hear and see.  It’s funny to listen to one talk to a stuffed baby unicorn about what they are going to do today.  Or watch them place their dolls or action heroes into lego houses to mimic the adults who talk to them in tones that translate into something different when you hear it through a four year old’s voice.

Four is an age of individuality.  Let a four year old pick out his or her own outfit and you’ll know a lot about what’s to come.  And you’ll definitely smile!

Four is the age when you start to really relate to your friends.  It’s having another four year old come up to you and say, “You can be my friend.”  And thinking that’s great.  Until something happens and you get your feelings hurt and don’t understand.  It’s a time when girls hug when they see each other and boys just talk to other boys like they’ve known them all their lives because they are both standing in front of a display of action heroes in a store.  “I’ve got that one.  Which one do you have?”  I’ve watched big boys, known as adult men, do the same thing.

Four is the age of thinking you can do anything, of thinking you know more than you do.  Your speech is clearer, you know more words, you’re more coordinated than you were at three.  Four year olds think they’re there!  But, of course, they aren’t.  I have the most independent granddaughter of any child I’ve ever met.  She keeps telling me “I can take care of myself.”  She honestly thinks she can, but I have to remind her that she is four and that she needs to listen to what we tell her.  I think of her father…oh my!

Four year olds are learning skills, some in their own mind.  You have to watch them because they think they know how to cook, work the computer, turn on machines, pour milk…the list is endless.  They know a little bit too much, but not enough, sometimes.

Four is the age when the magic of associating letters and numbers with reading and writing and adding is starting to form.  I read a lot about how kids are being forced to read too early and kindergartens are taking away their childhoods.  I can agree with that – a lot.  I also was watching this little one read and spell her first words with that light of understanding in her eyes.  Nobody forced her.  Reading is one of the more unpredictable miracles of all times and we don’t know when a little brain will click with the recognition.  This child is bright, I’ll give her that with a grandmother’s pride, but she isn’t the only bright child out there.  She’s been playing with an iPad since she was a few months old, she’s had interactive television shows, and there is that branding of companies that seems to be our first reading lesson for children.  How old do they have to be before they recognize the sign at McDonalds or the ice cream store?  It would almost be stranger if she wasn’t starting to put it all together.

Mostly, and it does also have its challenges for parents and teachers, four is a precious age.  Four year olds still cuddle, still look adorable when they are frustrated trying to tackle a new task, and still have a joy of childhood in their eyes.  There’s no going back.  Five is coming, still a wonderful age.  Five year olds have more of the world in them, more to taint their innocence and more to take them a step further away from your protection.  I’m going to treasure this last couple of weeks with a four year old, watching this magical transformation that has taken place from four to five.  I can’t wait to see what’s next for this one?DSC_0011