Archives for category: Uncategorized

Magic Moments – Gardner Mansion

July 29, 2013 //

A friend once told me to watch for the “Magic Moments” when I traveled, meaning the treasures you stumble onto while you’re winding along your planned route. Here’s a little one I had near Broken Bow, OK.

Having worked in a big museum for over seven years, until I retired last fall, I’m well aware of what goes on behind the scenes of exhibitions and collections. I also have a great appreciation for the little museums that are sometimes passed by without a second thought, the ones that you never think you “have to see” while you’re in the area. Outside of Broken Bow, in southeastern Oklahoma near the Mountain Fork River, is the Gardner Mansion Museum. I saw the signs, read about it in the tourist websites, but almost missed it and that would have been a shame. What drew me in was the sign about the 2,000 year old Cypress tree on the grounds. I’ve seen lots of old houses and mansions, so I might have skipped it but for the tree.

I called first and got no answer, but saw the gate open while passing by. You can’t see the house from the highway so you go through the farm gates and up the road. When you reach the house, you see a sign to honk for help. I’m sure we had been seen because there was a truck headed our way as we parked the car.

An elderly man and a younger man, probably his grandson, got out of the truck and we paid our admission fee. This was definitely a smaller staff than the museum where I had worked.

We walked to the house…

and he unlocked the door, walking to a chair where he sat down on the glassed in porch. There was a display of dinosaur bones and beautiful huge hunks of quartz. The information by each one said it was found in the area. When we started asking questions, our guide opened up and told us his history as well as shared his knowledge of the treasures we were seeing.

The Gardner Mansion was the home of Jefferson Gardner, a much beloved chief of the Choctaw Nation. He had built his home on this site in 1881, completing it in 1884, on this site that was part of the Trail of Tears for his nation. In 1922, the Stiles family had purchased the property and have maintained and preserved it for three generations. We were visiting with Mr. Stiles himself, the current curator of this museum. He told us stories of the Choctaw and of the dinosaur bones he had found as a child on the property. One had been found just recently. He explained to me how you get the quartz out of the ground, showing off a piece about a foot or more across that a long time friend had found and given him right before he died.

After a bit, I guess we passed muster, so we were taken into the main house. I’m not sure if you get past the porch if he doesn’t trust you. He unlocked the door and we entered the main areas where there were more artifacts to see. In the kitchen, I found lots of old utensils and dishes of the era. In the living room, he showed us a model of the house and photos of Chief Gardner and others, telling stories of the indians as we looked around. Here’s Mr. Stiles showing us some items, including the hand-carved staircase and other Choctaw craftsmanship used in the home…

Once again, I guess we asked the right questions, because we were taken upstairs. There was a treasure trove of indian artifacts including ancient tools, arrowheads, and natural items from the land. I stupidly didn’t see the signs in front of me saying no pictures, so I took a few. Later, I apologized to him, but he said it was ok. He didn’t want too many getting out because the items are quite valuable. Not like he has a security force there, so I understood and won’t pass those along. Here’s some of the hornet nests he’s collected during his life (he’s been on the property since he was 5)…

He showed us some ancient tools he’d recently found. The cows kick up the ground and these kinds of antiquities rise to the surface. Really a remarkable collection.

After we left the house, we drove to see the 2,000 year old Cypress. He showed us a picture of it with a man dwarfed by the trunk, much like the Sequoias in California. Unfortunately, the tree had fallen last year. Trees die, as Mr. Stiles said. We went to see it anyway, although it turned out there wasn’t much left. Nature was reclaiming its own.

The area had other large Cypress and you could picture the Choctaw trudging through the land, searching for the place where they could stop and live their lives in peace. Very ethereal back in the woods, along the water.

On the way back to the house, we stopped to snap a picture of the cemetery. Mr. Stiles and his grandson had chores to do, so we didn’t want to keep them. Wouldn’t you love to know the stories of those buried here?

If you’re ever in this remote area, stop and visit the Stiles family. Or find another magic moment along the way, wherever you’re traveling. It makes your trip so much richer…

Tags Broken Bow, Choctaw, Gardner Mansion, history, Mountain Fork River, museum, Oklahoma, travel

Categories Art, History, Nature, Places, Travel, Uncategorized

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

Two Little Clouds

July 19, 2013 //

My fascination with clouds goes all the way back to my childhood when my grandmother and my mother sang this song to me…

Two little clouds one summer’s day
Went flying through the sky.
They went so fast they bumped their heads, And both began to cry.
Old Father Sun looked out and said, “Oh, never mind my dears,
I’ll send my little fairy folk
To dry your falling tears.”
One fairy came in violet,
And one in indigo,
In blue, green, yellow, orange, red,– They made a pretty row.
They wiped the cloud tears all away, And then, from out the sky,
Upon a line the sunbeams made They hung their gowns to dry.

There was something so sweet about it or maybe it was the way they sang it. I can still hear them.

We didn’t have a lot to do in the summer in those days. We went to the swimming pool and I played golf from a young age, but there was a lot of time on our hands. We didn’t have air conditioning until I was in grade school…horrors! Actually, I wouldn’t trade air conditioning for much, so I’m not yearning for those good old days. We didn’t have television for a long time and, when we finally got it, it didn’t come on until late afternoon for the first few years. How old am I anyway?

We spent time in the yard and the neighborhood. We played workup with however many kids we could find and a softball and bat. We got stung by wasps and looked for earthworms, picked the flowers from the trumpet vine, sucked on honeysuckle and got into poison ivy. We looked for fossils in the gravel on the driveway since ours wasn’t paved yet. We looked for four leaf clovers and laid on blankets under the trees to stay cool. And we stared up at the sky, thinking and dreaming. What a luxury that time was and we didn’t even know it.

The clouds changed shapes as we watched them move across the sky. There were bears and dogs and monsters and angels. A canvas for our imaginations.

I took that fascination into my teens. Once, when I was about 16, I had a date with a guy who was a class leader…quite a deal to snag a date with him. I asked him about the clouds and he looked at me blankly. That was the end of whatever chance of infatuation there was with him. I couldn’t imagine being with someone who didn’t see anything in the clouds.

The first time I flew I was kind of disappointed with the inside of the clouds when I discovered they really are just fluffs of air. But then that became another fascination. How do they look so thick when there is so little to them.

Yesterday was a glorious summer cloud day, which we get when the heat comes in. They don’t show on radar, just popping up out of nowhere. Still fascinating.

You start with a cloudless day, a bright clear blue sky…

Suddenly you notice clouds exploding all around you…

They develop little wispy areas to soften the thickness…

And there is always the effect of the sunshine from beside them, around them, through them as the day goes on…

Obviously, I haven’t forgotten how to entertain myself outside. No matter where I see them, whether it’s in the city, out on the plains, up in the mountains, near lakes and oceans, or from the air, I always stop to watch. Clouds still make me smile, stir my imagination, and are just as mysterious and magical as I’ve known them to be since I was little. Heads up…don’t miss the great shows Nature sends us.

Tags clouds, imagination, sky, summer

Categories Memories, Nature, Reflections, Uncategorized

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

Speaking as a Daddy’s Girl…

June 16, 2013 //

It’s stupid to make generalizations about Daddys or Mommys because there are so many kinds. Since it’s Father’s Day, I’m thinking of the fathers I’ve known and lost…grandfather, father, father-in-law, husband, son…and celebrating the sons-in-law I have as fathers to my grandchildren. The best I can do is talk about the things that I’ve loved the most about all of these important guys in my life.

I’ve seen them cry. Maybe not my grandfather, but all the rest of them have at least had a tear in their eye from laughter, pride, love, grief more than once. Real men DO cry for the right reasons.

They’re responsible. They do their very best to take care of their family financially. They teach their children right from wrong. They have great work ethics. They take the time to share themselves with the next generation.

They pitch in when needed. They help around the house, help with the kids, help with dinner. My own father may have been the worst…he didn’t know we had a hammer, but he did mow the lawn. He only cooked outside. But he was there, trying. My husband, son, and sons-in-law are all over helping everyone. They diapered, fed, cooked, helped anyone in the family move anything.

They love their wives. Maybe the most important thing because it teaches their children so much.

They have great senses of humor. Maybe the second most important thing, really. They all had more than a sense of humor…they were genuinely funny. And silly. My father used to sit at the table and start stories like “when I discovered America…” I know he did it just to see us roll our eyes. But it made us laugh too. He was an elegant man, but he could be silly. My husband was just funny, silly, goofy. And we could always laugh together. Sometimes we were having an argument and then we’d look at each other, realize the absurdity of it all, and just burst out laughing. My husband and son used to sit with each other making up puns from the time my son was very small. We laugh a lot in our family. I think my daughters must have known they’d never be happy without that quality.

They play. There’s a lot of the little boy in them that comes out to join their kids.

They’re not perfect. Thank goodness. I’ve known people who had to be right, had to meet expectations of perfection, and it was tough. I could go through flaws, but they are part of what makes them each unique. They’re perfect enough…

Thanks to all my guys, those gone and those still here. I can’t love any of you enough.

Tags Father's Day, fathers, grandfather, son, sons-in-law

Categories Family, Holidays, Memories, Reflections, Uncategorized

Reunions, Spouses, Reality

June 5, 2013 //

It’s all about the reunion this week. I wrote about the fun and history of my reunions, but I feel obligated to add a short piece dedicated to another group – the spouses. I was lucky that my husband and I graduated the same year in the same city from different high schools with mutual friends at each school. We went to two reunions and had fun at each. Some of my classmates are married to other classmates or their spouses are from here, maybe a few years older or younger, but knowing the places and the faces.

Imagine what it’s like to have to go to a reunion with your spouse or a date when you know nobody and aren’t likely to see them for another ten years? At first, it’s fun to see and meet the people you’ve heard about and sometimes you make friends with other spouses, but, mostly, you must feel like a tag-a-long. Unless you’re the trophy wife or husband or date brought to impress your classmates. Wonder what that’s like?

Many people will never attend a reunion of their own, much less their spouse’s. My father never went to his reunions and my mother only went to one – her 40th! She said it was one of the best things she ever did. She had no idea how much she had been loved and missed and kept up with some of those friends the rest of her life.
Some people hated high school.

Some people had terrible home lives in high school. In my day, we talked about nothing. Everything was kept private between the adults, so we didn’t know if our friends were beaten, their parents were cheating or were alcoholics or had financial problems. We might have suspected, but it just wasn’t talked about. Very few got divorced. We know now that all those things were happening. We shake our heads and wish we had known so we could have helped our friends. Nobody knows what really goes on in most homes, good or bad. Just thoughts running through my head…

The spouses. I had a friend who had been a couple with her husband since 6th grade, childhood sweethearts. She helped him through dental school, they raised two children, all was good. Their 30th reunion came along and he started emailing the girl who had been his girlfriend in 5th grade. Really. She told him she had been married a couple of times, but always wanted him. Both couples divorced and they married. They’re getting divorced now, about 15 years later, and he has a younger girlfriend…big surprise. Some spouses come to the reunion just to protect their marriage, afraid of such a scenario in their own lives. Who knows? People will do crazy things. It’s hard to fight the draw of common memories, long lost loves. I’m trying to remember anyone in our class “hooking up,” as they say today. Maybe. I think we would have heard rumors over the years, but none comes to mind. In a large class, it’s hard to believe.

There’s the other group who come without spouses because they have lost theirs. As one of this group, I can truthfully say that it’s a tough thing to go back alone. There are some who attend hoping to meet someone, but most are taking a brave, lonely step into this weekend. I know several in this group…I’m watching out for them. It’s hard if you loved to dance and lost your partner. It’s hard if you were the quiet one. The weekend is a reminder of sweeter times. Reunions might be too much or they might be very healing. Everything is personal in life.

Reunions are a weekend of going back in time and relating it to our present. Maybe the reality of the reunion doesn’t match what you thought it would be. Maybe you told your spouse one thing about your high school years and he or she thinks it seems a lot different than you described. Some people come to one reunion, some to all. Some say they don’t need a reunion…they keep in contact with the people they want to already. Some are disappointed, most are surprised at how much fun they have.

I’ve noticed that more classmates are coming to our 50th reunion alone. Their spouses have done their part, don’t want to sit through another weekend of watching their husband or wife reminiscing about things they weren’t a part of, would like the time alone. It’s not a bad thing. It’s an honest choice. It will be fun for them to listen to the stories after the fact…maybe, hopefully.

I salute all the spouses who didn’t grow up with their husband or wife or partner, but are sharing them with the class. We love it when they come and hope they have a fabulous time, but we understand when they don’t. Life is too short to spend time doing something you don’t want to do. Life is too short to deny your spouse the chance to do something he or she would love. If you come, enjoy watching your loved one going back in time. If you don’t come, we’ll send them back to you worn out, with a smile, lots of hugs and memories. You have a great weekend on your own. Enjoy your personal time. Cheers!

Tags 50th reunion, high school, memories, reunion, spouse

Categories Family, Friends, Memories, Reflections, Uncategorized

My high school reunion history…

June 4, 2013 //

I graduated from high school 50 years ago. 50 YEARS AGO!!! That’s hard to say, hard to imagine. Really? Where did all that time go? How did it pass so quickly? I was in a great class, a class of about 650 that produced 26 National Merit semi-finalists, had excellent teachers and a whole lot of fun. This week is our reunion, which makes me think about all of our reunions…I’ve been on every committee.

The 10th reunion was in 1973. The committee had to have calling sessions to find everyone, using our high school directory to call parents’ homes, phone directories, information. We sent out newsletters, printed with a fun logo drawn by one of our artist classmates, using the name of the student paper when we were in school. We worked hard to find everyone we could. The excuses for not coming that year were mostly due to lack of funds or having babies, we were in our childbearing years. Actaully, I had just had my third child a few months before – there were many of us with new babies on the committee. We ended up with about 200 attending, including spouses. We had lost some classmates and found out that some of the people we knew really hated high school and never wanted to remember anything. Many came home to see family while they were at the reunion.

Friday night was the night where you broke the ice, greeted everyone, met their spouses, and caught up on what was going on in their lives. We rocked out to records at the studio where we first took dance lessons. We still knew all the moves.

We had an Assembly at the school on Saturday. Some of our former teachers attended and we pretty much did a traditional assembly, as I feebly recall.

Saturday night, we dressed to impress and went to the fanciest country club in town. Hairstyles ranged from shags to intricate, high updos. The men had longer hair than when we graduated and mustaches were in. The clothes were loud, the times were fast. We gave awards for who had been married the longest, which went to a classmate who married while we were still in school, most children, most unusual profession (jockey), who traveled the farthest to get there, and best preserved male and female bodies (last time we ever gave that award). We were pretty groovy, dancing to a popular local band, dressed in the latest styles.

We published a directory after the reunion with all the updated addresses and phone numbers we had found so people could stay in touch.

By our twentieth reunion, we were kind of in a groove. We went through the same steps to find everyone, using printed labels for our mailings. The committee worked long hours, finding we had lost more classmates and couldn’t find others who had moved in the past decade. We were still using our old class directory and the phone to locate everyone. We’d lost more people along the way. The excuses for not coming were jobs, money, small children. We still got about 200 to show up.

The schedule for the 20th was about the same. We were noticing that the girls were becoming women and the guys looked like they were starting to lose their looks, or so we whispered. There were a few new spouses, divorce already beginning to take its toll. The list of deceased was growing. We had an elaborate slide show at our assembly, set to the song “Memories.” Teachers still came to the events and we realized they weren’t as old as they had seemed in high school. We were getting older, heading for middle age. There were those who timidly showed up on Friday, wondering how they’d be received, wondering if they’d know anyone, and left on Saturday feeling part of the group. We started to care less about what had happened in high school, the cliques were beginning to loosen.

We had a directory and a t-shirt to remember. This time the directory was copies of forms people had sent in with bios and pictures. We were a little more sophisticated these days. Our design was created by one of our classmates who was always an artist, now a professional one.

By 1993, we were ready for our 30th reunion. We had lost the heart of the reunions, our inspiring leader, and others stepped up to fill his place. The committee meetings were still the most fun, catching up with each other, helping to make the calls to locate classmates. We could still find some through the old class directory, some through calling their friends. We’d lost more in the decade, our list was growing smaller. The excuses for not coming as we approached our 40s were money, children now graduating from school or in school activities, jobs. There were still about 200 there, not even the same 200. We went through the casual evening, the class assembly, the dressy dinner dance. Now people showed up on Friday hoping they’d recognize our rapidly changing faces. We had picture nametags that year. You could see how we looked in high school and look up to see how we looked right then. The women still seemed to be getting better. The men were balding, going gray, more mature, still cute!

It was fun to see if those class prophecies had come true in any way. Our beauty queens were still beautiful, our jocks were still looking pretty fit, the smartest ones were still smart. But, not everything stays the same, thank goodness. Some of those who had lived too hard were beginning to show it. The guy who got the award at our 10th reunion for cutting the most days of classes our senior year was now president of a bank. One of the smart ones who went to Rice and got an engineering degree had married, divorced, quit big business and gone to Colorado. He was Mayor of Winter Park & loving the mountain life. Never would have dreamed it, but he was happier than ever. And we’d lost more of our favorite classmates along the way. Two of our classmates met for the first time at the reunion and married a year later.

We did another t-shirt and directory, much like the last one. We were beginning to celebrate each other as much as the memories. We were an interesting bunch.

By the time the 40th reunion rolled around, we were different, the world was much different in 2003 than in 1963, 1973, 1983, 1993. We’d been through Viet Nam, The Beatles, the 70s, the 80s, the 90s, the changing of the century, and 9/11. We’d battled divorce, moves, heart attacks, cancer, raising children and becoming grandparents. Some of us were caring for our parents. In fact, the excuses for not coming this time were the most varied yet. There were those with young children because they’d started late or were on a second or more marriage. There were college graduations, jobs, kids, illnesses and parents. We had classmates with AIDS. We were in the Sandwich era of our lives, between our children and our parents. Would there ever be a time that was just about us? We still managed to get about 200 to attend.

Technology was changing faster than we could have imagined and we had the internet. We purchased a website and got it up and running. This would be our last time to do the hours of phone calling. Once we got the information on the site, classmates could keep updating it as we went along, adding bios and pictures, doing the work for us. We didn’t have to do a directory and we didn’t do t-shirts. We were moving with the times.

We hadn’t cut away from the tradition of the casual night, the assembly and the dressy night yet. People still came Friday night, worrying if they would recognize or remember anyone. The pictures were on the name tags again. The Assembly was replaced by a tour of the old school, walks down the halls where some of our classmates could still find their pictures celebrating their athletic achievements. People toured the city to see the changes. We had golf for those who wanted it.

On Saturday night, we were still rocking to the band. The songs were the same, oldies now. Classic oldies…just like us. We made new friends with old classmates we hadn’t known then. Two more classmates married after the reunion. We were valuing these people who had shared our youth with us, who they had been and who they had become.

This time, we produced a DVD that incorporated all the slides and photos from the past with current interviews. We were changing with the times and shaking our heads at the things that had gone by the wayside.

We had so much fun at the 40th and realized how many people we were losing at a faster rate that we decided to have a mini-reunion – a 45th. We did one casual night, thinking it would be mostly for classmates who lived close by. The band was guys our age, playing our music. Amazingly, 75-80 came from all over the country. It was easy and fun. We were still rocking, still here and breathing! Some could still jump, we looked older and wiser.

The 50th! Good grief! We have lost so many people over the years, close to 100 that we know about, probably more. The 50th is here. We used the website, mail and email to contact people. We’ve added a Facebook page. This reunion is about celebrating us, celebrating that we are still here. We’ll have 175-200 for this one, some who have never been before. We’ll have larger type on the name tags, but no pictures. Everyone wonders if they’ll recognize anyone or remember anyone. We have two teachers who can come…one is 92 and will speak to our group. The other is not that much older than we are – we were her first pupils out of school.

The excuses this time are children and grandchildren, surgeries, illnesses, money, busy retirement schedules, work schedules and even Japanese Parliament not getting out in time. A former Ambassador to Saudi Arabia is coming in from Dubai. The President of our Student Council and our class Vice-President both have Alzheimer’s. One classmate just had back surgery, several with knee and hip surgeries. Some are hobbling to the reunion however they can. Our will is strong, our bodies starting to need replacement parts. We are distinguished, fun-loving, casual, full of life and representing everything that happens to us in a lifetime.

This time there is nothing to impress anyone. We’re going to be in the heart of all the happening things in Tulsa right now, right in the middle of the Arts District. We’ll meet early at a bar with a patio and then everyone can do the Art Walk, watch fireworks from the baseball stadium, get a fancy meal, enjoy their special group of friends, or tuck in early. Anyway you want it. Saturday night we meet at historic Cain’s Ballroom for barbecue, wearing comfortable shoes and casual clothes. We have t-shirts again and the band is back from the 45th, classmates of ours, to bring back the oldies. Everyone is excited to see whoever comes. We laugh that we’ll have a whole new group of friends by the end of the weekend. Our Facebook page has 70 members now and is lighting up with excitement and memories. We’ll be there with our cell phones and iPads, today’s brag books of pictures of our beloved children and grandchildren. We’ll share experiences, travel stories, memories. We’ll have our cameras! Our aging Eagles are flying in to celebrate!

I’ll let you know how it goes. In the meantime, Rock On Class of 1963!

Tags 1963, 50th reunion, Edison, family, Friends, high school, reunion, Tulsa

Categories Events, Family, Friends, History, Memories, Places, Reflections, Uncategorized

The Me Doll

May 7, 2013 //

As a mother, I kept a lot of the kids’ things…pictures, notes, cards. Things that are precious to me. My mother kept a paper carnation I made in preschool or kindergarten, made out of kleenex or something that couldn’t possibly hold up, but she had that poor little limp treasure until she died. Most mothers I know understand the simple sentence in the Bible, speaking of Mary remembering events with her son, “But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart.”

My son was one of those kids that kept you hopping. You had to keep up with him both physically and mentally from day one. Maybe he was born knowing his time would be short, so he had to live fast. Or he was just a funny kid, testing your patience, making you laugh, making you worry, making you smile and love him.

I found his Me Doll the other day. It was a project at pre-school, making a doll that looked like you. Something only a mother would ooh and ahh over. This one had a lot of personality, says the mother. I had to run an errand after I picked him up from school the day he brought it home. We were walking up some stairs and he spotted a mailbox and dropped the doll in the slot. Come on, mothers, you know how you feel. I gritted my teeth and checked the pickup times, finished my errand and sat to wait for the mailman. Fortunately, it wasn’t too long. He retrieved it for us and that was that.

I always think of that story when I look at the funny Me Doll with his stick out hair, his crooked face, the three dots for the private parts. Oh my. These are the things that make you love being a mother – once you get the doll out of the mailbox. These are the things that a mother ponders in her heart. And smiles…

Tags doll, motherhood, parent, preschool

Categories Family, Memories, Reflections, Uncategorized

Sixteen years ago today…my new life..

March 10, 2013 //

Sixteen years ago today, I became a different person. I went from mother to grandmother in one second that exploded into years that fill my heart and life. Sixteen years ago today, my first grandchild was born, followed by another one eleven or so weeks later and another one eight months later and then they kept coming until I now have eight, six boys and two girls. The first seven are between eleven and sixteen as I write this. The youngest is three.

But, sixteen years ago, my husband and I entered this new phase with joy and humor and all the anxieties that come with watching your children enter new phases of their lives along with you. We took the Grandparenting Class at the hospital to refresh our memories and see what was new in the world of babies. We learned, with amused glances at each other, that we were expected to do things a little differently this time around. There were car seats to contend with from the moment the baby left the hospital and infant CPR to learn and other things that I’m sure I’ve already forgotten. We graduated with a certificate that declared us as ready as we could be.

Shopping with my first time mother-to-be was an experience. In the years since I’d had my children, the baby business had exploded. I went with her to register at Babies R Us (the name makes this old English major cringe) and was overwhelmed by the aisles of choices to get this little one started. How did I ever manage in my little duplex right off the college campus when I had my first one, the inexperienced, but very educated, young mother that I was? Where we had one brand and one size of disposable diapers and only used them when traveling, there was an aisle filled three shelves up on both sides with diapers. Just disposable diapers. There were new kinds of diaper pails, which we probably could have done without, but listed anyway, going with the hype.

I used a new kind of baby bottle with my babies, Playtex with disposable liners. They had those, but there were infinite other kinds. Where to begin? There were different styles of binkies, which we called pacifiers and my babies never used. And accessories for the binkies. And an aisle of cribs and an aisle of strollers and an aisle of high chairs to match every decor and an aisle of car seats and an aisle of cribs and then there were the crib accessories. It went on and on and on…I couldn’t even begin to give advice because I had never seen most of these things or never had so many choices. Besides, most of the things we had so carefully protected our babies with had now been deemed unsafe. I think a lot of the industry is built on guilt and fear because who doesn’t want their child or grandchild to be as safe as possible?

Then you got to the cute side and all the clothes and toys and you just oohed and ahhed your way through the store, ending up with a long list of what you thought you needed along with all the things that looked so cute you couldn’t resist. The registry led to baby showers with young mothers and other grandmothers-to-be. Of all the parties that women have devised, baby showers are about the most fun. Opening all those gifts with those cute little clothes…it’s our way of playing dolls again.

When the time came, my daughter had read her copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting through and through and was moving on to the next book in that series, leaving me to flip through my old copy of Better Homes & Gardens Baby Book and remembering having to prop it open to follow the pictures on how to bathe a baby when I was starting out. My mother had done the same with her copy and she stood by me as we both began that journey together all those years ago. My daughter was induced, which has become pretty common for who knows what reason. On the morning of the birth, the entire family gathered, except for our son who was away at college. This was a far cry from our days when nobody was allowed in with the mother and the father sat in the waiting room with the other fathers. When it was over, he could call the rest of the family from the phone at the hospital. No cell phones for instant pictures then!

We could all go into the labor/delivery room to visit until closer to the time and my husband and other daughters, both of whom were also pregnant by this time, and I waited with the other grandmother-to-be. What a difference a generation makes. My son-in-law was not only allowed in for the delivery, but carried the baby to the nursery. That was pretty scary since I’m not sure he had ever held a baby, but he did it like he had always known how. He got to stand there with pride while they weighed this not so little 9 pound 5 ounce boy and we all watched through the window. By that night, everyone had gathered and we filled the room, baby talk beginning to stream out of our mouths. How instinctive is that?

They throw the moms out of the hospital as soon as possible these days and they have the babies with them most of the time, so it’s a little bit hectic between the nurses, the visitors, and trying to figure out what is going on with your body. I was happy to remember my two-five days stays when I had my babies as times I could get some rest and gear up for the rest of my life. I was visiting the hour that the lactation nurse came to explain breast feeding and I’m sure my son-in-law would have killed to be back at his job at that moment. It was all my daughter and I could do to keep from giggling as she told her how to stop swelling by plastering her chest with cabbage leaves. I hadn’t nursed because it was kind of out of fashion at the time I had my first child, but was happy with my choice by the time this nurse got through with us. I’m all for it, but it was a bit of overkill from an overzealous advocate that day.

The parents were thrown out on their own with this new baby and I spent a lot of time remembering the ropes myself, hoping to be helpful as I remembered what an overwhelming responsibility it is to become a new parent. Fortunately, it is amazing how quickly you remember how to hold a slippery, wiggly baby. My mother and I laughed a lot remembering our own adventures and bonded with her new role as great-grandmother. It was a time of happiness and joy. What is better than having a little baby snuggled up against you?

By the end of that year, we had three new grandsons and I was well on my way to being known as Mimi as well as Karen (I’m not sure all of my grandkids know my real name even now).

We had had first trips to the car show, the zoo, the Drillers baseball games, the swimming pool and the pumpkin patch. Life was changing and repeating itself in the best ways. It was also teaching us about life and death as my husband was diagnosed with cancer in the middle of this season of births. He died a week after this oldest grandchild had his first birthday, changing all our lives and teaching us how love heals those losses and life is never-ending cycles.

Once I became a grandparent, grandkids started coming at a fast rate. Within the next couple of years, there were two more boys…

Then a girl and a boy.

Each time there was a birth, the ever increasing family filled more and more of the hospital waiting room, ready to greet the newest addition. We could all diaper a baby in seconds, had wiped more faces than we could count and the babies probably had to figure out sometimes whether the person holding them was a parent, grandparent, aunt or uncle. They were interchangeable at family gatherings. And they grew up way too fast.

Then we had another one. The only two births I missed being at the hospital for were my two granddaughters. The first one was born while I was in Seattle with my son as he battled cancer, so we met her together over the computer, laughing at her first hospital picture, and then meeting her in a few days at the airport. The second one was my son’s daughter, also born in Seattle. I’d have been there, but we didn’t know when she was coming, so I heard from a text in the middle of the night and saw her first pictures on Facebook the next morning. Such was the new technology in those fast moving years since the first baby came.

So, now I have eight wonderful grandkids and each is unique and a delight, just as their parents were. They teach me so much and keep me up with what is going on in the world and make me feel old and young at the same time. Following their busy lives, watching them grow into young adults, sharing their mistakes and triumphs, is a blessing beyond words. I am lucky to have all eight of them here with me. I make some of their ball games…soccer, football, basketball, baseball…and their assemblies and their confirmations and graduations. The biggest problem is that they grow at a faster speed than my kids did. Maybe I’m just on that downhill slide that comes when you go over the hill. We won’t talk about that.

Sixteen years ago, I started on a new journey with my children, watching them become parents, watching them grow as people, watching them nurture their children through life. Now we’ve got babies who are taller than their parents but not as smart…yet. Sometimes I think that watching my own children with their children may be the very best part of it all. May I live long enough to see my grandchildren with their children and my children become grandparents! How much love can one family have? There’s always room for more.

Tags family, grandchildren, grandmother

Categories Family, Memories, Reflections, Uncategorized

Estate Sales and Auctions

March 1, 2013 //

One of my mother’s great passions was collecting antiques. Growing up poor in the Great Depression fueled her enjoyment and appreciation of the things the rich people had, which is not to say she was a snob. She never forgot what her life was like and helped so many people over the years, but she learned to appreciate the beauty, craftsmanship and history of beautiful pieces. She taught me a lot when I was first married…mainly the fun of getting a bargain. Or something that “gladdens your heart,” as she said. Especially if that thing was a bargain to boot. She loved estate sales, auctions, and antique stores and became friends with many of the owners. For one thing, she loved the stories about the items, the history of the pieces. She became quite a sophisticated buyer, bargainer and bidder through the years, ending up with some pretty gorgeous pieces. I tended more towards English pieces and she liked the more formal French, but we were both pretty eclectic. For her, getting the piece was part of the game. Years later, when I had a retail store, she had a keen eye for what would sell and what was a keeper from the new items on the market.

I got my dining table, 6 chairs, and a matching buffet at an auction with her when I was about 22 years old. I paid a whopping $150, which I had to borrow from her and pay back. I was newly-wed and still in college and she had to store it at her house, using it for awhile, until I had a house for it. Over the years, she often commented on how the set got prettier to her every year. It was that bargain, I’m sure. I’m not sure I would have even picked these items out, but they have served our family well over the past 40+ years as they served the families before us. That was another thing she taught me – that antiques appreciate rather than depreciate. Usually, that is. It’s also recycling, although she didn’t mention that.

For the past two days, I worked at an estate sale. I spend more than I make, so it’s not a real job, but, it’s fun to see the things in the sale and all the people who come through. Many observations came to mind. First is that the majority of the people who come are about my age or older. I’m guessing that it’s a combination of all the things that made my mother go to them. It’s getting out of the house, running into friends, looking for bargains, seeing what you already have is worth, adding to a collection and finding a treasure you can’t live without. There’s such a variety in an estate sale – everything in a house and based on the owner’s taste and what the family hasn’t taken out. Dealers rush in first to scout for the really unique and see what they can come back to get at bargain prices on the last day…one dealer called himself the Buzzard because he swoops in at the end for the real bargains.

Such a shopping spree…where else are you going to find silver services and fine crystal,

replacement parts for your kitchen items, along with cookbooks that are out of print that you want to give someone,

pressed glass for your friend who collects it,

a miniature scuttle, which we decided was used for cigars, although we didn’t really know and loved it anyway,

lovely oil paintings at bargain prices,

unusual wicker pieces,

an old stamp collection, along with books,

old family photographs (this horrifies me),

and, my favorite, an antique iron.

The iron was a source of constant conversation as we saw how it heated up with flame and then had to be picked up with a cloth or potholder wrapped around the hot, hot handle. On top of that, I could barely lift it. Imagine trying to plop that down on a piece of clothing and move it over the area without scorching. Wow! We all had a greater appreciation of our light electric steam and spray irons and for the women who had to wrestle these monsters!

The comments I heard over and over were “omigod, my house looks like this. I need to clean things out,” followed by “I have to have that,” and “my kids don’t want any of my things.” Having cleaned out my mother’s home, after she had cleaned out a lot of it herself, I learned what she had already taught me when she cleaned out homes for relatives and friends. You can’t imagine how much is in there until you have to touch every item in every drawer, shelf and closet. On the other hand, cleaning out her things taught me a lot about her and brought back many memories. It can be a healing thing.

On the comments about our kids not wanting our things, I have a few suggestions. My mother left us with a list of the things in her house and where and she got them, who the artist was, and what she paid for them – the provenance, so to speak. It was invaluable. It didn’t mean we had to love it like she did, but it kept us from selling it as a piece of junk in a garage sale. I was working on a list like that for my kids, but it’s tedious. My grandson is going to help me videotape everything, with me telling the story of the item so my family will know why it meant anything to me or if it’s valuable or not. After that, I assume they will also treasure it or send it along to a proper new home, recycling it once again.

I don’t know what the newest generations will like or want, but I love the history of my old and new things. I’m hoping that I live long enough to pass some down to my grandkids as they launch into their adult lives, as my mother did for my children. The history of some of these items has passed through other families and is now part of my family’s history. Except for those many things that will end up in my estate/garage sale one of these days. Hope someone enjoys plowing through my treasures looking for a treasure of their own. One of these days. I’m not ready to part with my stuff yet…

Tags art, auction, bargains, estate sales, furniture, history, sales

Categories Art, Uncategorized

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