Signs of Oklahoma

September 19, 2015 //

Today’s a great day to see what you can find in signs. I’ve started taking pictures of signs when I travel near and far to remind me where I was when I’m going through pics. Some of these have been part of other stories, some stir memories, and some need no explanation as to why they caught my eye.

There are 38 Indian tribes in Oklahoma (which means “red people”), so I’m used to seeing lots of interesting signs around the state.Say Indiahoma, Oklahoma a few times quickly. Then there are the signs that designate some of our most interesting places. I’ll let you discover where they are.

And signs that are local landmarks. And there are signs that bring back personal memories. And lots of signs just because I can’t resist them. Every state has its own flavor and you can find yours! As far as we’re concerned, if you are kind enough to ask, we’re doing fine. Oklahoma OK!

Tags Cains' Ballroom, Okemah, Oklahoma, Ouachita National Forest, Rock Cafe, Tallgrass Prairie, Totem Pole Park, Wichita Mountains Wildlife Refuge, Will Rogers Theatre, Woody Guthrie

Categories Uncategorized

Fly on the Wall

September 14, 2015 //

I’m a very lucky girl…well, a very lucky old girl. My children and grandchildren live close by, all 15 of them, so I can see them as often as we can fit into our busy schedules. I try to see them one on one and as a family whenever we can. I’m so happy to be here to see them grow up – and that includes my own children.

With eight grandchildren, six boys and two girls, one in college, four in high school, two in middle school, and one in Kindergarten, there are lots of ball games, assemblies, grandparents’ days, graduations and, of course, birthdays and holidays. I’ve realized that there is one unique event that has become very special to me – high school football games.

I’ve got grandkids playing varsity football, baseball and soccer and the younger ones playing volleyball, baseball and basketball, so there are plenty of games to see. The difference in the football games is that everyone tends to go to those. I’m not making a judgment because I sometimes have this happen at baseball or soccer games, but football is the one right now. We’ll hope for more crowds at the other sports.

At family gatherings of any kind, I love to sit back and watch the kids, and I include my kids and grandkids in the word kids, interact with each other. Sometimes, I’m probably too quiet, hiding behind my camera, watching them.

At the football games, I have the ultimate fly on the wall experience with my family. This season, I have a grandson, a senior, playing center on the team. His father is the president of the football parents and he sometimes announces games. Since he is a comedian by nature and sometimes avocation, as well as a former football player who knows the game, he is well appreciated by the crowd. His wife, my youngest daughter, is in the crowd cheering for her guys. Did I mention that most of us graduated from the same high school the kids go to? That adds to the fun with our third generation of Eagles.

My middle daughter is one of the leaders of the soccer parents group (don’t know her exact title, but she works hard) and they are running the concession stand this year to raise money for the soccer team. I can find her there and can watch her leadership skills in action. Her husband is in the crowd – another alum.

My oldest daughter and her husband come to see the games and cheer for their nephew and watch the kids. They are active in the baseball parents group. And my daughter-in-law, another alum, brings the Kindergartener to the games when she can.

I can sit with my big kids in the stands, or I don’t even mind sitting alone, watching everyone go by. Besides the fun of the band and pom and cheer squads, I’m cheering for my grandson and taking pictures – because that’s what I do. Last week, my grandson was one of the team captains, a proud moment for all. Besides the game, I’m watching the students interact, seeing how my grandkids act with their friends. Even though they wave at me or sometimes come sit for a minute and say hi, they are mostly oblivious to my being there. I get to be that fly on the wall, watching them in their own world. Here’s my tall grandson, the senior soccer player, leading the student section, cheering for the team and his cousin and friends. I love the diversity of this school, which was once as white as white could be. My grandsons, who are sophomores, are beginning to participate more. They’re the best of buddies since birth and tend to hang out together as they make their way through the awkward social strata of high school. One drives and one has his learner’s permit, so they’re entering that scary world. Well, scary for parents and grandparents.The two eighth graders, a boy and a girl, are not into hanging together as much as they did when they were very little, and they roam the stands with their own posses, although I see them acknowledge each other here and there. They are usually looking for their parents in the stands to ask for money for snacks.I also see the cousins interact, which makes me happy. You can’t beat that feeling. During some games, my oldest grandson shows up, home from college to pick up his girlfriend, a senior. He’s the alum now, welcomed by his friends who are still in high school or catching up with friends also at the game. He was the senior spirit leader last year but stays away from the student section now. He’s past that – or knows that the seniors need to have their own year.There is so much to take in, watching my kids go by. I can see my own children interacting with their friends, greeting other parents they know through their kids. Again, it’s nice to see the parents greeting, hugging and cheering with other parents, forgetting racial and other differences. It gives you hope.

Through my fly on the wall position, I can hear the music, see the trends, and keep up with a little of what’s going on in the world of teenagers. I can check the expressions and body language of my most precious loved ones. I can see how they are doing in a world that I am really removed from in their daily lives, but get a taste of at the football games. I hope this is what heaven lets me do – watch them from above, sending love and support their way.

Mostly, I rejoice in the fact that I am there and can watch them grow up. I take pride in the fact that they are all adjusting well to their world, making friends, participating in activities, learning about life. I can see their smiles and watch them laugh with their friends. You know what? It makes my heart sing.

Tags fly on the wall, high school football game

Categories Family, Reflections, Sports

Movin’ & Groovin’ with the Oldies

August 31, 2015 //

This all started when I saw a news story on a senior center where the residents were playing Pickleball and I thought it looked like fun. Where have I been? There are Pickleball courts all over town that I knew nothing about. One of the most popular is less than a mile away, so I went down to watch. Wow! It’s in a senior center that uses a church area and gym and offers a wealth of programming for old folks (defined as 50 & over).

OK. I know I’m a senior, hopefully, a young seeming senior. This place was inspiring, positively inspiring. First, I joined at the crazy low price of $25 a year. A year! I started walking because they have an indoor track that circles over the gym floor, allowing me to watch all the various activities. And, then I took Pickleball lessons from the dynamite 81 year old instructor, who was obviously a gym teacher in her previous life. I also learned she had been a nun, so double whammy of discipline there.

In this place, I’m kind of in the middle of the age groups, so I fit right in. Nobody hesitates to welcome you or visit with you, so I jumped into Pickleball, where I’m also in the middle of the skill ranges at this point. Pickleball is a cross between tennis, badminton and ping pong, played with a paddle and a whiffle ball on a short court. I always feel like I’m on a giant ping pong table due to the sound of hitting the ball.

Don’t let the fact that I’ve been playing with 70 and 80 year olds make you think that these people can’t play. Good grief! One of the first people I talked to was a woman who retired last year after working 54 years for the same company. 54 Years! Unheard of for today’s workers. She retired because she had a stroke, but she’s recovered except for a little memory loss. I’d say she has also had knee problems from the way she moves. Anyway, she told me she also plays on the women’s basketball team in the 75-80 bracket and then she spotted a woman she said is on her bowling team. I will say she doesn’t always move fast on the Pickleball court, but she can sure hit the ball hard.

I played with a gentleman who I estimate to be 83 (my firm wild guess). He slowly walks onto the court and then, WHAM! I couldn’t believe this guy. He doesn’t move fast to the ball, but he hits hard with strategic shots. Several of the other women, good players I have played, with have asked him to go soft for us. Very deceptive, these old people. The line to play is always long, so they play fair with everyone changing partners every game and nobody is too obnoxiously competitive so far. Of course, I don’t play on the Advanced play days, so they may change in those games. This lady told me she’s been playing a year and she’s good. I think she’s finally accepted me as a player and won’t wince when we end up together. She also told me she sometimes lets shots go by because she doesn’t feel like running for them. My kind of player.

At the end of a game, the players meet at the net to touch paddles and tell each other what a good game it was. Very fun. You’ll note the knee brace on one player. I watched a game stop for a minute last week when a lady’s pacemaker came undone. She hooked it up and kept playing. She’s another very good player.From my walking vantage point, I watch some of the other activities, such as Tai Chi, a great activity for balance and strength. There is also Zumba Gold, a low impact dance exercise class. Watching these ladies, listening to the variety of music to which they were moving, I realized that these ladies were always dancers. They did ballroom, swing, cha cha and rhumba, Western line dances, and rock & roll. These ladies did the Twist when they were young and now they’re moving to those same tunes. They cooled down to Frank Sinatra after some faster numbers and I thought of how many dances they had been to in their lifetimes and how many of them were probably dancing without their life long partners these days since the women do tend to outlive the men, no matter what we’d like to think. The memories moving to this music must bring to mind…Another day, I walked my two miles very quickly, watching a Functional Movement class that made me tired to think about. These ladies were bending and pulling in ways that I’m not sure I could do or even want to try, although I should. In this one, they walked with a partner who pulled on the giant rubber band to give them resistance. That’s not so bad, but the floor exercises…Today, I walked while the basketball teams warmed up, watching gray and white haired ladies make basket after basket as they practiced their drills. I don’t know if they played a game or not, but the drills were fun to watch. They all arrived with their own basketballs, which is so amazing to me, although I have my own Pickleball paddle now.These aren’t the only ones moving or active around the place. There is a small gym with exercise equipment, Yoga, and seated exercise and seated Yoga classes which are always full, plus activities for the mind. There is Bridge, Mah Jongg, Skip-Bo, Canasta, a knitting group and a painting group. One of my friends goes to a group called Stories, where people meet to share memories and stories. Some of them bring things to read, others tell stories, some share things they have written. One lady in her 90s reads poetry she writes. There are several 90+ year olds in this group with a great collection of memories to share. And, of course, there are Pot Luck lunch on Fridays.

I find this group so inspiring to watch and be a minor part of, especially since these are my peeps after all. It’s also a nice contrast to the days when I work on the university campus and feel every bit my age watching the students pass me by. I have a lot of things going on in my life, so I’m just walking and playing Pickleball, unlike some of them who are there every day for many things. Mostly, I love seeing that they laugh and share and think and remember and play and, most of all, move! We all need to move, no matter what our age. And, I like movin’ with these nice people. I’ll let you know if I get good enough for the Advanced group in Pickleball. I’m not sure I’m old enough!

Tags Pickleball, seniors

Categories Entertainment, Places, Reflections

In Praise of the Homemakers

August 17, 2015 //

As I sit here procrastinating, waiting for my vacuum cleaner to be fixed, I’m thinking about the log cabin I visited last week. It was set up with some of the furnishings of the time, a real reality check for me in this high tech 21st century. First, there was the home itself, actually larger than some of the Tiny Homes that are all the rage these days. Unfortunately, I can’t see myself in a tiny home for more than a few days before I would miss everything or anything. Anyway, the log cabin had three rooms, making it a pretty good sized place.

My first impression was this window with its little bit of curtain, a sign that a woman (I’m speculating on that, but pretty sure, so I’m not being sexist) had been there trying to make the place a little bit more homey. It touched me and I pictured her sitting at the table with her washbasin looking outside, probably at all the work there was to be done out there. Stepping through the front door, I was confronted with dirt floors and all that implies. I know they got packed down, but there was still dirt. Did they track dirt into their beds at night? For the women who moved from nicer places back east, this must have been an OCD challenge of the highest order, trying to keep the dirt out of everything. In the corner, was this tool that I think was to push the dirt or pack the dirt. With the crack under the wall, I guess you just pushed it outside. Please get my vacuum cleaner fixed soon! Next to is it an ice box for which you’d have to have ice stored from the winter. Maybe they stored other things in there, too. The fireplace is in the center of the room, a big fireplace that probably acted as the heater for the house. Pots and pans were stored inside it with other utensils on the mantel. The dining table was in front of it. Cleaning those pots must have been fun! On one side of the fireplace was the bathtub, which was another challenge. First, you have to get water and heat it and take turns unless you want the whole family there with you. We think we’ve got it bad when kids are knocking on our bathroom door, interrupting our private moments! How do you dump the water at the end? The tub full of water looks like it would be heavy to me.

On the other side of the fireplace was a display of laundry equipment (well, I use equipment loosely). The tub and washboard are well known, but think about using them. My grandmother had one of those along with a wringer washer. We’re not that far removed from all this when you think about it. Praise to my washer and dryer! Note the short clothesline by the fireplace. They didn’t have many clothes. The rug beater on the wall is a prop since there are no rugs in this dirt floor house, but I remember those. Put the rug on a line and beat the dirt out of it. It worked, but you had dirt flying. I wish they’d call for me to pick up my vacuum cleaner! Don’t know about the ironing board here, especially since there was no iron displayed, but it’s another thing to think about. Having one of those heavy irons sitting on the stove to pick up with a cloth and iron the clothes doesn’t seem like fun. At least steam irons are easier if you like to do ironing, which I do if I’m in the mood and don’t have a stack of it like the old days. These days, I tend towards knits.

The Master Bedroom (fancy term) was large for the times. There was one large bed with a chamber pot, which reminded me of the times I stayed with my grandmother who still used one of those. It horrified me as a child, but she didn’t like to walk down the hall at night to the bathroom because she rented out rooms in her house to pensioners (retired men), but that’s another story. There was no outhouse in this little display, but I’m sure they either had one or walked to the woods somewhere. Thanks for indoor plumbing all around! You would think the people had bad backs from the kind of work they did, but those mattresses weren’t made for helping with that. They were grateful to be off the floor, while I’m grateful for soft sheets. Can you imagine what they’d think of Sleep Number beds? And, again, I have to think about tracking that dirt into the bed. I didn’t think I was such a clean freak.At the front of this bedroom was the dressing table beside the curtained window. This still touches me…as do the hooks with the clothes. As I walk (I said walk) into my nice closet filled with choices, I need to remind myself what it would be like to have one or two dresses to wear until they wore out. Most of the lady’s belongings were probably stored in the chest at the foot of the bed. I have my grandmother’s cedar chest, which was probably filled with everything she had at one time. I also have a little trunk that was my great-grandmother’s and probably held her belongings at the time it was new. And I’m sitting here in shorts and a t-shirt and running (well, walking) shoes. Could these people even imagine?The other bedroom had two beds and little else. As I said, this was actually a pretty good sized house with its three rooms. I’m still getting past the dirt floors and the reality of what that meant. When it rained, there had to be mud added to this picture. My my.

Outside, there was a crudely made rocker, the only relaxing place I saw to sit, with a churn beside it. At the side of the house was a large outdoor oven with a big pot. Did they use that for big meals, laundry, or everything I can think of? The dinner bell was the only form of communicating with each other as they worked and played.These were strong people, working from dawn to dusk, taking care of the house, the garden, the livestock and each other. I hope I carry these images with me through my day to remind me of where my people came from to bring me to my life today. This wasn’t my family’s cabin, but I know I have ancestors who lived like this or with even less. Somehow, they raised children who went on to better and better lives until we reached the present generations. This log cabin life is still possible if you want to go back to simpler times, as some people do. I like the simplicity of it, except for the dirt floors and that bathtub and… Actually, I’m awestruck with how far technology has advanced us in such a short time and I appreciate it. Even more, I appreciate the past and what it can teach us today. I appreciate that woman putting up her curtain and sitting at her dressing table, dreaming dreams. Here’s a tip of the broom to her and people like her in all our generations past!

Tags Log cabin

Categories Family, History, Places, Reflections

A Grandmother’s Emotions

August 16, 2015 //

My oldest grandchild left for college yesterday. Another milestone for the family, for this cute guy. It’s not like he’s going that far away and I’ll even see him next week since I work on campus part-time, but it’s still a milestone. For me, the grandmother, the emotions run across many decades.

Watching him packing, I saw his mother and father helping him with everything from checking the car to doing his laundry. It’s amazing how much he’s taken for granted and I know this because I was the same way when I left. I’d never really been away from home other than to stay with relatives, so college was a cultural and environmental shock. I graduated with 650 students and my new roommate was from a class of 6. Wow!

My grandson went to visit the campus a couple of weeks ago just to walk around and see where his classes were so he didn’t have to stumble around the first week. I bet he still does some of that because Freshmen tend to stand out, no matter how sophisticated they think they are. Everything is new and your parents aren’t there to ask for help. Of course, now the kids all have cell phones where we had to get change and wait for the pay phone and make a long distance call, which was through the operator in those long gone days. It doesn’t really matter what the differences are in technology because the emotions are all the same.

This grandson is the oldest of the three boys who were born before my husband died, all born in an 8 month period before and during the time he was battling cancer. This oldest one had his first birthday exactly one week before his grandfather died. And here we are at our next chapter. My mind spins with memories of my own college days, his mother’s, and now the new images of him leaving. And then my mind takes many turns as it goes through memories of his mother as a child and this one’s birth and all the years in-between. Is it a wonder we get emotional with all of those images flying around?

My eyes get teary from happiness for him mixed with the ever-present concern based on the years of knowledge of all the things that can go wrong. I expect his parents will experience what we did, going from waiting up for him to come home to wondering where he is and what he’s doing in a new, wilder environment where we aren’t minutes away. What I can tell them is that parenting never stops, never ever. I still worry about them and feel a rush of relief when they are all home, safe and sound. It’s an uncontrollable component of parenting for me. I know there are people who let go and that’s fine, but I don’t seem to be able to do it. My kids are grown, accomplished, wonderful adults and I love and trust them, but they’re always going to be my kids. I’m a sentimental idiot about them. Nothing they do is too mundane for me to enjoy hearing about, good or bad. But, my mind wonders again.

That’s the problem with this college thing. It’s releasing all the old emotions and memories again, giving them new places to roam. Next year, my next two grandsons leave for college, so this is just the beginning of letting these kids go ahead and live their grown up lives. I have two grandsons in tenth grade this year and a grandson and granddaughter in 8th grade. I’ll be going to graduations and seeing them off to college a lot in the next few years. And then, there’s the one who’s heading into kindergarten. Will I be here to see her off to college and launching her new life?

The average person now starts having kids in their late twenties or thirties. I’ve commented many times about the danger of edging out grandparents along the way. My own grandparents were such an important part of my life that it makes me sad to think of generations of kids without grandparent. I hope I’ve been an important part of my grandchildren’s experiences and memories and I hope their parents can do the same for them. It’s one of the greatest gifts you get in life.

I’m imagining my grandson waking up in his room in the fraternity house with a new roommate from Texas, probably getting up late after staying up all night talking and getting to know each other and the other guys or finding his high school friends on other parts of the campus. It’s a heady time in life with all your dreams ahead of you and all the realities right in front of you. It’s a giant step. Working with college kids, I envy them the experience but not all the challenges that lie ahead as they study for exams, look for jobs, build relationships.

This will be an interesting week and I can’t wait to hear from my grandson. I’m proud of him and all my family and I’m so very grateful to be here to watch all of them in these next steps, step by step really, through life.

Tags college, Freshman, grandmother

Categories Family, Memories, Places, Reflections

My Five Fears

August 11, 2015 //

As I very rapidly approach 70 in the next few months, I can’t help but be aware that this age seems really really old to most of the world. What kicks me about it is the fact that you can’t ignore you have more years behind you than ahead of you. But that’s been true for a long time, so this is awareness that I have even less time today than I did yesterday. There are things that scare me to varying degrees as I approach yet another milestone, so I’ve narrowed it down to five. These are kind of in order and I know they’re pretty universal from conversations I have with friends.

5. Fear of the earth not lasting. This is a new one but I sometimes wonder if any of us will survive as our planet goes through its own aging process, exacerbated by our own mishandling of our natural resources. Will the west coast fall off into the sea, will a giant split drop middle America into the earth, will global warming burn us all up, will the toxic pit in Butte, Montana, pollute the waters of the west? This one goes on and on and there’s not much I can do. My fear here is more for future generations because I’ve been able to enjoy earth’s beauty in my lifetime. I guess dying in some kind of global shift won’t be any worse at my age than dying in a hospital bed. I’d probably be smarter to be afraid of being shot since that seems to be just as likely in our country these days.

4. Fear of outliving my money. I’m ok, thanks to Social Security, investments and a part time job. I own my home and am relatively healthy, so how long will what I have last and will I still have some to leave to my kids? I have Medicare and supplemental insurance to help with health costs. But still, how much is enough? You can read all the charts and listen to the experts and you’re still not sure.

3. Fear of either my mind going before my body or my body going before my mind. Nobody wants either of these and it’s not a random thing to wonder about. Even if you exercise your body and your mind, you’re still wearing out. Which part will go first – or next? I find myself walking much more carefully to avoid injuries to bones and parts that many of my friends are having replaced. We’re a generation of bionic elderlies, thanks to modern medicine. Our minds are full, overflowing, with information, so full it takes longer to access those mental files. The wear and tear on our bodies is inevitable. We work with what we’ve got.

2. Fear of not getting everything done. Sigh. There are so so very many things I want to do. Places to go, people to see, books to read, things to organize for my children. Some days I seem to be on frenzy trying to finish all that I’ve planned. As long as I can still go and do and move, I can work on this, but the list is endless. So many beautiful places to visit, so many people I want to see. The Bucket List only seems to get longer. And my checklists are never-ending. Moving along…

1. Fear of losing those I love. I’ve lost my parents, my husband and my son. I’ve lost other family and friends. I can’t control this, but I don’t want to lose any more. I’m pretty stoic about it most of the time, but there are times this becomes the most palpable fear I have. I don’t want to lose any more family or close friends. That’s it. Damn it! And I know this is unrealistic, but it’s there for me to worry about.

Whew! OK, I got those out there in public for all to see. That always makes it easier, especially since I know that others share these same concerns and we can even laugh about it when we’re together. When we’re alone, these thoughts creep in. My cure for the worries to remember how much time I’ve had, how many wonderful memories of places I’ve been and people I’ve known and loved. Most of these worries are because my life is good and I want it to continue. I’m grateful that I have a past worth remembering. I’m grateful for every day I have with my family and friends on this beautiful planet. That’s not a worry. That’s something to smile about.

Tags aging, fears, worry

Categories Family, Friends, Memories, Nature, Reflections

Walking in their shoes…

August 5, 2015 //

When you have good health, you take so many things for granted. Last week I aggravated the arthritis that I have been told is showing up in my thumb, affecting my ability to grip or squeeze. I can feel it sometimes, but never like this when I spent a morning assembling a park bench and used my twisting and squeezing actions a little too much. I was fine until bedtime when pain started shooting through my thumb down to my wrist. In the morning, I was told to use a prescription gel and get a thumb splint and it should get better. With the help of those things and Advil for the inflammation, it has improved. Thankfully.

The impact of this inconvenience was the recognition of how much I use my left hand (I’m right handed) for everything, including getting dressed, picking up things, everything. I’m a two-handed person. While I struggled through the constant shooting pain the first day, all I could think of was the people I know who live with this all the time. A dear friend had a stroke years ago which left her with one weak side. I’ve helped her with the minor things we take for granted, such as pulling up your pants or putting on a shirt, especially one with buttons, putting in earrings, doing your hair. Even fastening the seatbelt in the car was difficult for me. My two days of inconvenience was nothing really.

My mind wondered on to a young woman I know who has only had one arm since birth and how she can diaper a baby or put her hair in a ponytail without thinking. She’s adapted. The only other injury I’ve ever had was breaking a chip off my elbow and having my arm in a sling. They probably treat that differently now, because I still notice that my arm won’t straighten all the way from keeping it immobile for so long. Nothing like having your arm blown off in battle or losing it in a car wreck. Nothing.

My biggest problem with my minor injury was the pain at first, which made me think of the people who live with severe pain all the time. I have friends with severe back pain, migraines, debilitating pain that stops them in their tracks. My son worked while suffering pain in his jaw from radiation treatment for cancer. I still don’t know how he managed.

I could go on, but my main takeaway was to remember that I need to put myself in others’ shoes every once in awhile, walk their path just a little bit so I don’t turn away from their genuine needs. Even though we adapt as best we can to the changes life throws us, it’s still nice to have someone offer a helping hand, let them lean on us for a bit. At the very least, we applaud them again and again for their perseverance and strength.

Caretakers should try not using a limb or not seeing so well or some exercise that puts them in the other’s shoes. We can’t imagine the pain, but we can be more compassionate. I’m looking on my weekend of inconvenience as a sampling of what others live with and a reminder to never take what I have for granted. I’m watching with kinder eyes this week. I hope I never forget.

Tags Health, injury

Categories Reflections

The Impact of Anne Frank

July 28, 2015 //

At an age when I met my first Jewish friends and was beginning to learn a little about their religion, I first read Anne Frank – The Diary of a Young Girl. I was Anne’s age, going through the same kind of emotions, and she educated me about a horrific world so far from my own experience but not so far back in time. Anne died in 1945, the year I was born, only about fourteen years ago in history as I was reading.

Then the movie, starring Millie Perkins as Anne, was released in 1959, bringing the story to life with its black and white seriousness. For girls my age, besides the historical aspects, it was the story of the changes in our relationships with parents and the world and romance as we dreamed it could be. It was the story of a girl our age who was dealing with an adult world with worries and fears we believed, with the innocence of youth, that we would never have to face.

I don’t know if I read the book again through the years, but I suspect I did. This was one of the books that touched something inside me and stuck with me through the years. By the time Melissa Gilbert appeared as Anne in the 1980 TV movie, my oldest daughter was about the age to understand the story. Another generation of girls to share the story, although I was now relating to the mother, all the parents in the story, as well as Anne. Her criticisms of her mother made me wince as I remembered that period in my life when I thought my own mother was hypercritical of everything I did.

In 1982, we were fortunate enough to travel to Amsterdam. I don’t know if my husband related to it as much, but we walked down the street to the building where the story took place and it all felt very familiar to me. Today, I see pictures of lines of people in front of the house and a glass fronted museum in the building next door. When I went, I only remember going into the building, seeing a few plaques and information pieces, although I guess there were some artifacts as I look back through materials I saved. What I do remember is seeing the stairs behind the bookcase and starting up, suddenly gripped by the enormity of the experience. Inside the famous Annex, my main memory is of the wall of Anne’s room with her photos of movie stars and royalty pasted on the walls, exactly as she left them. Today, they are behind plexiglass, but in 1982 we were confronted with the reality. I don’t remember furniture or anything else but those photos, such a link to that young girl. I treasure the visit, the walking up those stairs into the rooms that seemed so familiar. The solemnity of being there, the enormity of my feelings is with me today, thirty-three years later.

Recently, I recorded a documentary on the National Geographic Channel, Anne Frank’s Holocaust. Amazing how her name draws me in, makes me want to learn more. Taking Anne’s life, the filmmakers superimposed photos of Anne and her family and friends onto photos taken today and took the viewer through the events of the war in Holland. Using the Frank family as the center focus, they were able to show what happened, tracking the residents of the Annex to the end of their lives. I was especially taken with the two women who had been childhood friends of Anne’s describing her personality before the war reached them and telling the incredible story of how they were reunited in the camps shortly before Anne died. My heart broke as they told of the emaciated Anne, stripped of her vibrancy, looking for bread to take to her sister. What fortune to be able to see that these two women survived and were able to finish Anne’s story, no matter how sad the ending. The documentary brought new insight to the plight of the Jews and the horror of the camps, where the extermination of the prisoners continued at an accelerated rate even though the Germans knew the end of the war was in sight.

The impact of this documentary was to make me re-read the diary, to see if it had the same impact on me today. I remembered that a newer version had been released, so I downloaded a copy of this one with 30% more content. The editors of the first edition had asked Otto Frank to edit out some of the more personal details involving Anne’s sexual feelings. I think I read that he had also taken out more of the entries which criticized her mother. Interesting that I was now reading Anne’s diary as a woman quickly approaching 70 with a granddaughter the age of Anne. The third generation of my family to reach Anne’s age – I need to make sure she reads the book.

I also looked for the movie and found a new version originally shown on PBS’ Masterpiece and now on Netflix. I think it was based on the newer version of the diary. I thought it was very good. The story never fails to move me.

Once again, I’m impacted by the importance of this young girl’s writing, her story. One of the things I take with me is the extensive education she received and the quality of her writing. Her understanding of languages, the use of words, and the events of history were beyond her age. Those things are impressive. I related to her love of mythology as it recalled my own obsessions with the stories of the ancient gods and goddesses. The depth of her story lies in her studies of herself and the people she lived with in such close quarters. Always an observer and critic, as shown in the entries before they went into hiding, she grew in maturity over the two years of the diary as she wrote of the changes in her own body and emotions. Her criticisms of her parents, especially of her mother, are familiar themes to teen age girls. I can relate through my own youthful years of eye rolling, followed by the impatience of my own daughters with me, and the current status of my granddaughter and her mother, eye rolling evidently being passed down. I can read the diary entries from Anne’s viewpoint and imagine the mother’s side of the same event without taking sides.

Even though the diaries have been authenticated through the years, there are those who wish to censor Anne’s thoughts, deeming them too sexually explicit. I am horrified to learn that this important book has been removed from libraries today under pressure from parents who must have forgotten what it was like to be young or remember and think they can stop the thoughts and emotions of their own developing children. I am grateful I was able to dwell in Anne’s world in my youth. But, Anne was lucky too, as her parents encouraged her to read even when their annex-mates criticized the mature works she chose. I guess there will always be those who wish to impose their own views on us but it doesn’t make it right.

Anne Frank was all of us, all the young teens wishing for acceptance and love, yearning to be independent, yet clinging to our parents in times of stress. She was all of us, struggling through the stages of adolescence with its emotional ups and downs, its frustrations and joys. She was all of us, adoring celebrities and comparing our daily lives with the glamor of theirs, emulating the styles of the day, trying to come to terms with the body, personality and life we have been given.

Anne Frank will always be important for putting a human face on the atrocious war experiences that we would like to forget. The details of life in hiding and life in Holland in general are dramatic in the people’s acceptance of what day to day reality was and bring the difficulty of their lives into experiences we can visualize. Because she is so human and so relatable, she makes it impossible for us to turn our heads and think that such things never happened or will never happen again. Anne Frank is my constant reminder that people are capable of doing terrible things to one another. Anne Frank also is a reminder that even in the worst of times, there is hope.

Less than a month before their capture, Anne wrote,”in spite of everything, I still believe that people are really good at heart.” She inspires us to examine ourselves and be as good as she believed we are.

Tags Amsterdam, Anne Frank's Holocaust, Holocaust, Otto Frank, The Diary of Anne Frank

Categories Books, History, Memories, Places, Reflections

Water Water Everywhere…

July 17, 2015 //

We are so spoiled.

That’s what I thought as I drove to pick up a case of bottled water because my grandsons were coming to help me in the yard on these upper 90 degree days. The water was less than $4 for a case of 40 bottles and I’ll recycle the bottles, but I almost stopped. Acknowledging to myself how lucky we are to have water, clean water, in a world where some peoples have little or no water and our own western states are suffering from a drought, I drifted off in thoughts.

My mind flashed back, way back, to my own youth. What did we do back then in the heat of the summer without bottled water? We’d never heard of hydration. We knew we needed water, but there was no big push for us to drink it. If you were thirsty, you stuck your head under the faucet or drank out of the hose.

I kept thinking about the drinking issue. What did we drink in the summer? I remember Grapette, the best grape soda ever, which is still sold at Walmart even though it’s too full of sugar for me to drink more than a couple of times a year. We had lemonade, which was also full of sugar because we used those little cans of frozen concentrate. And the ever present Kool-Aid, again with the sugar. Ice cubes were made in trays, so you didn’t have very many. I mean, how many trays could you fit in those small refrigerator freezers? Sometimes, we got a Pepsi or Coke. Sometimes.

I played golf as a kid and carried my own clubs around the course in the heat. There were drinking fountains, but that was it. There were no carts to bring us drinks because there were no carts. Not even Fred Flintstone carts – because this is beginning to sound like the dark ages rather than the 1950s and 60s.

We had those metal cups in kind of metallic colors that are retro cool now. Those were for outside on our new patio. They made the drinks cold, but they sweated too much for inside tables. I had a flash of the little terry cloth covers that someone came up with to solve the sweating problem. There are too many things like that hidden in the files of my mind.

Jack the Milk Man gave us ice chips from his truck and nobody worried if the ice was dirty or not. If it was, we brushed it off before we put it in our mouths. Not that our hands were clean from playing outside.

When I went through South Dakota several years ago, I visited the famed Wall Drug, an American story if there ever was one. When Ted and Dorothy Hustead purchased Wall Drug in 1931, they thought they had found a place to use his pharmacy degree and build their own business. They plugged along until 1936 when Dorothy had the great idea of putting out signs offering free ice water for the weary travelers on the nearby highway. Now it’s a legend with Wall Drug signs across the country. Such was the appeal of a glass of iced water. I keep this magnet on my refrigerator to remind me of how an idea can take off – and the value of a cold drink on a hot day. And so my mind wanders on a hot summer day, the perfect time to let your memories drift back to those simple times of sitting in the shade with a cold drink…or just picking up the hose. How refreshing are those pictures from the past…

Tags Wall Drug, Water

Categories History, Memories, Reflections

The Bay Area and Beyond

July 8, 2015 //

The San Francisco-Oakland Bay area is rich with adventures, so each day of my recent trip was spent exploring something new, including revisiting San Francisco to see the things missed on previous trips. We passed the incredibly ornate City Hall (those city fathers wanted to make a statement) and buildings with the old state seal.

There were the obvious places, such as Fisherman’s Wharf, which was so crowded with tourists (not that we weren’t) that we skipped stopping there.We did join the crowd at Lombard Street, only because I hadn’t seen it and felt I must. Driving the crazy curves in the line of cars and standing for the obvious pictures was actually pretty charming, only because it is what is is. We drove through the business district with the imposing iconic TransAmerica building…And this delightful lady reaching between tall buildings…Streetcars are as delightful as ever…And we visited the waterfront, enjoying the sailboats and fishermen…Leaving the city, we passed this delightful mural…before reaching the Golden Gate Bridge, which never fails to delight…On this day, we headed towards Sausalito, changed our minds and I suggested the beach, which looked pretty close on the map. Of course, I forgot that this is the coast and that short road was crooked and narrow and the trip to Stinson Beach took way too long for what we were planning. But we got there and dipped our feet in the ocean and enjoyed the views and people watching…

…before heading back along the same long, curvy road…On other days, we headed into Berkeley, driving through the campus of UC Berkeley, intrigued with its ties to the incredible Phoebe Hearst and her son, William Randolph Hearst, along with buildings of every architectural style. A hodgepodge of buildings strung through the hills.

with the classic Clock Tower at the center…Looking for a late lunch, we found the Gourmet Ghetto district…opting for Oscar’s, a classic burger place, over the fancier trendy restaurants nearby. The selling point was that Oscar’s had been there since 1950 and was destined to close in a few weeks to be replaced by yet another salad restaurant. We wanted to experience the history not the health. That day, we drive north to the towns of Benicia and Martinez, the location of the historic home of one of our national heroes, John Muir. Entering Martinez, we were struck with the irony of the oil refineries in the home of the man who protected our wilderness areas. We found his home on a major thoroughfare, back by an interstate highway. You have to wince, but the site at least has preserved enough to let you envision the way it used to be. Looking at old photos of the rich orchards that covered the hills, you look out at the modern mess of franchises, motels, and fast food that have replaced the fruit and trees. But, if you look the other way, it’s the way it was, somewhat. You get the idea. This is the home where Muir took over his father-in-law’s orchards very successfully and began his writings that so enlightened the world. I had read much about him, but had forgotten how painful it was for him to write since his words are so lovely.

I should have realized when I saw the mess of his office with papers strewn around the floor as he did. It was nice to pay tribute to this genius of a man.On another day, we drove to Palo Alto to see the Stanford campus, probably the most beautiful campus I’ve seen. In contrast to the variety of building styles at Berkeley, from classic to contemporary, Stanford has consistency (like my own Oklahoma State University), which gives it much beauty. This 8,000+ acre campus is casual and elegant and impressive as we entered through an avenue of magnolias and beautiful homes, followed by streets lined with oaks and shops and restaurants and then through the campus gate and an avenue of palms leading to the heart of the campus.

The Stanford Memorial Church has a simple name that belies its grandeur. Having toured many cathedrals and historic churches, I have to admit that this lovely sanctuary reached me with its beautiful warm details. The incredible mosaic murals on the outside stand over the central quad of the university.

and the interior somehow comforts the worshipper.Across the campus, there are architectural details and fountains that delight. Students walked through them casually in their shorts and tanks. A group played in the elegant fountains, a perfect example of the atmosphere. I reminded myself that these are the brightest of the bright, playing and not studying at the moment.

On our final morning in the Oakland area, we visited a beautiful botanic garden, the plants displayed by the region of California in which they grew.

Around another curvy road (that’s all they have – I’m sure of it), we delighted in an old fashioned carousel with its colorful, fanciful animals and lovely paintings of California history. Built in 1911, one of the last original merry go rounds in the country, it has been in this location since 1948, hidden away in the California hills.

And so ends my tour of the areas around Oakland, an area of history, natural beauty, and absolute delights wherever you go on your adventures. Put it on your bucket list again and again because there is always something new to see.

Tags Berkeley, John Muir home, San Francisco, Stanford University, Tilden Merry Go Round

Categories Entertainment, Memories, Nature, Photography, Places, Reflections, Travel

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