Without rhyme or reason

          One of my monthly tasks for my current job is to decide on weekly themes for our classrooms and suggest activity ideas for the teachers to do with the children. Part of me hates doing this — at least the part about deciding on themes. I hate to be fenced in like that and don’t like to impose themes on others. However, I really like researching ideas and then seeing what types of artwork and activities the classes actually do.

Sometimes selecting the themes is easy and sometimes it’s hard. Holidays make it easy. Long summers when we’ve hit just about every hot weather topic make it hard. And it’s been a very long summer.

So for August one of the themes I’ve chosen is nursery rhymes.

Children don’t seem to know rhymes nowadays. Ok, some do, but not all. This idea is so foreign to me, the idea of children not knowing rhymes. I grew up hearing rhymes, reading rhymes, reciting rhymes.

Mother Goose. Seriously, Mother Goose was like an extra grandma. Gammy had several books of nursery rhymes — not that I didn’t have some at home and at Granny’s as well — and Friday nights were spent in reading them (when we weren’t visiting, playing pinochle, or singing along with Mitch). Of course, the prime book, the one that I probably had copies of at all three places, was the Little Golden Book.

These were cheap books, at least cheap as books went at that time. And short. Just the right length for a beginning reader to peruse on her own. Or for grandparents, parents, or aunts who were busy with other things to satisfy a request to read and not spend too much time at it.

I had other Little Golden Books as well:

And when my kids were born we continued the tradition:

That was one of their favorites, though there were books of rhymes as well.

I had other books with those nursery rhymes in them, most notably from the sets of books that came with our encyclopedia set. My parents decided that one of the best things they could do to further our education was to supply us with reference books. Yes, we had other books around (more on that some other time) and we went to the library (more on that as well), but we needed something to help us with our schoolwork. And so, we became the proud owners of a set of Collier’s Encyclopedia.

And it came with two bonus collections: a set of Best in Children’s Books

And The Junior Classics.

Both of these contributed to my knowledge of rhymes and fairy tales. And I guess in more ways than I had guessed. When I was researching for this entry (meaning shamelessly borrowing photos from internet sites), I found a story about one of the Best in Children’s Books, a volume of fairy tales that included The Little Red Hen.

Notice who illustrated it? Andy Warhol. Wow. What impact did that have on my childhood?

Then again, better Andy Warhol than some of the Little Golden Book illustrators.

Can we say creepy?

But the topic of this entry is rhyme.

It wasn’t just nursery rhymes, not by a long shot. No, we knew poetry. Or as I thought it was for my earliest years, “pomes.” After all, that’s how we said it. Each marking period (6 weeks worth of school) brought us a new poem, written on the blackboard in white chalk, in the careful hand of our teachers, which we then copied into our composition books (supplied by the school, by the way, not purchased by our parents), took home with us, and memorized. Each marking period we had to stand in front of the class, standing up straight, not slouching, hands clasped in front of us, as we recited the selected poem, recited it in a sing-song voice.

The Swing

By Robert Louis Stevenson

How do you like to go up in a swing,

Up in the air so blue?

Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing

Ever a child could do!

Up in the air and over the wall,

Till I can see so wide,

Rivers and trees and cattle and all

Over the countryside —

Till I look down on the garden green,

Down on the roof so brown,

Up in the air I go flying again,

Up in the air and down.

I think that was the first poem I had to memorize, at least it’s the first one that I remember (and I only partially remember it: I had to look it up to find out the exact words). There were others but this was early on and it was relevant, because it really described what I loved to do.

Not that I saw any cattle or rivers from the swing in my grandparents’ yard. But the up and down part — that I got.

At any rate, the rhymes were a part of my childhood, a very important part. And while I searched and printed, I thought back over the rhymes, thought of Mary and Bo Peep with their sheep, of Little Miss Muffet running from a spider, of silly Jack jumping over a candle stick or putting his thumb in a pie. I hear many of them daily, the ones that are set to music, because they are played in the classrooms over and over (much better than kidz bop versions of current songs that are far too mature for the kids).

I hope that a weekly theme of nursery rhymes, even if it is only a week, coupled with all of that background music, will make some impression on the kids. I really want them to grow up with rhyme, with rhyme that may not make perfect sense, that may be nonsensical, but that will be remembered later, when those kids are grown.

Interlude

          During the past two years I’ve been added to a couple of mailing lists for those who graduated with me — or were a part of our classes through the years but didn’t graduate with us. One is for “the girls of ‘71,” those who get together for breakfast periodically. The other is a general list of classmates.

Since I don’t really feel like writing tonight, instead I’ll pass along some information sent by one of the ladies on the “girls” list, Diane. These are life tips that have been proved to be true. Really.

Amazingly Simple Home Remedies

• Avoid cutting yourself when slicing vegetables by getting someone else to hold the vegetables while you chop.
• Avoid arguments with the females about lifting the toilet seat by using the sink.
• For high blood pressure sufferers — simply cut yourself and bleed for a few minutes, thus reducing the pressure on your veins. Remember to use a timer.
• A mouse trap placed on top of your alarm clock will prevent you from rolling over and going back to sleep after you hit the snooze button.
• If you have a bad cough, take a large dose of laxatives. Then you’ll be afraid to cough.
• You only need two tools in life: WD-40 and duct tape. If it doesn’t move and should, use the WD-40. If it shouldn’t move and does, use the duct tape.
• If you can’t fix it with a hammer, you’ve got an electrical problem.
  

That’s it. Of course, the email ended with a daily thought — which I managed to find in different format.

No more for tonight: feeling too lazy.

You CAN go home again

Just a short entry tonight — I’ve had a difficult time getting started, it’s late, I’m tired. Good reason to be tired: long day, to PA and back, lots going on. Good day.

I met up with my friend Lynne today. I already wrote that we’ve recently re-connected after many years of no contact. In fact, I mentioned her in two separate posts. The one titled Reconnecting had a photo of an unknown occasion — something that involved a Christmas tree and tissue paper dresses. We led a wild life. Seriously. I still have no clue what was going on. I suppose we could ask the others in the photo, but I haven’t seen Steve since the 70’s and Bill died long ago. I suppose this will remain a mystery indefinitely.

I also mentioned Lynne in the post titled Swimmin’. I’ve “borrowed” the photo mentioned in that post, the one I said that I couldn’t copy. It turns out that I could copy it.

Those in the photo are Sharon Campbell, Pam Reider, Jenny Knauer, and Lynne. We really had fun in those days. We knew the town and each other and ourselves.

Lynne sent me another photo that she found, one taken at Band Camp. I suppose I’ll deal with the whole idea of camp some other time, but for now I’ll share the picture.

Shaving cream. Of course. That’s me on the left, followed by Holly Griesemer, Lynne, Sue Hoke, and Sherry Plott. I’m glad that Lynne remembered who was in the picture — with the shaving cream, I probably wouldn’t have guessed.

This weekend Lynne was in Middletown for a funeral and I planned to go there for a birthday party, so we met and went to the Brownstone for brunch. Our time was very short, but we enjoyed catching up. Then we drove around for a bit, looking at the town, remembering.

We were very disappointed that Feaser School no longer exists. I looked for photos of this place a few days ago and couldn’t find any. So I tried a Google satellite search of the area and . . . nothing. Fink Elementary School is still there.

And the stadium.

But no Feaser. We both found that to be extremely sad. Lynne attended from first grade. I went there for fourth and fifth grade, half of sixth, and all of seventh and eighth. That’s a lot of years, a lot of memories.

As we were driving, Lynne made the remark that she doesn’t like change — at least, not in Middletown.

She also said that she likes returning because in Middletown, she’s herself.

I think that’s an interesting and valid observation. When I’m in Middletown, even when things change, there are memories that surface, that remain the same. Middletown was a safe place to grow up, a secure place, a place where we knew what was happening and knew where and who we were. Even when buildings are torn down and new ones erected, there are still places that evoke that sense of safety and security.

We all need a place like that.

Obligatory Olympics Post

I remember watching the Olympics when I was young: ooo-ing and ahh-ing over the gymnastics and figure skating, tracking the medal counts. Aside from that? Eh. I got nothin’. Yes, for a week or so (remember, in childhood time is relative), twice in one year and then a four year gap, that was what we watched, what consumed our at-home time. But seriously? I’m not an athlete, not that into athletics, so it didn’t really leave that great an impression.

Yes, I also remember the 1972 Munich Olympics and the massacre, but truthfully? I had survived a summer where I lost my job (good old Hurricane Agnes — more on that some other time), found another (two, in fact), and then left them to return for my sophomore year in college (good old Grove City!). It was significant but I was trying to get past the bad and the bothersome. I had other things on my mind (and that doesn’t mean studying).

Yes, I also remember the 1996 Atlanta Olympics bombing. I’m not sure what was on my mind at that time, but I remember very little about that either. I vaguely remember watching it in the living room of our house on 2nd Street in Highspire — except that we moved from there in 1978. So much for that memory.

Over the years I drifted away, not watching the games or anything to do with them. The 2009 Beijing Olympics? I didn’t even watch the opening ceremonies, making myself one of the lame few that didn’t see them. Of course, that didn’t bother me enough to go online and view them. I guess my sole connection to that year’s games is that I have several magnets on my refrigerator commemorating the event: Anjee was in Beijing earlier that year and brought them as souvenirs.

Want a close-up?

And at this point I’ll admit that I had to take the photos, load them to my laptop, view them, go back, reposition the magnets, and try again. The first try pointed out to me that I really should be cleaning the kitchen instead of blogging. Oh well — that will wait.

Ahem.

As I said, not so strong on Olympics memories.

However, this year it was decided that we — Anjee and I — would watch the opening ceremonies.

Neither of us were really that much into it going in. We figured that we’d sit at our laptops with it on in the background for a while and then switch to reruns of Law & Order or NCIS (by the end of the summer we should have seen all of these). Committing to watch? That was more an excuse for snacks.

Anjee mentioned that she wanted some Sam Adams Cherry Wheat Beer before leaving the country since it’s not available in South Korea. While at the beer store — a place that we seldom, or never, go — we also saw the Blackberry Witbier and decided to grab a sixpack of that as well. The cookie butter? Courtney and Lindsay were taunting us with tales of this on Wednesday night via Facebook, so we decided to grab a jar of that and some pretzel slims to go with it and in return taunt them with our beer purchase. I will say that it truly is an amazing treat, with a sort of peanut butter made from gingerbread cookie dough. In fact, if I weren’t intent on finishing this entry, I’d head to the kitchen to eat a spoonful of it now. (I wonder if I can actually hold out?)

Ok, so we settled in with three laptops and our snacks (Anjee was doing the dueling laptops while that night I was only working on one. I still don’t know whether the fact that I sometimes have two going at once makes me a geek, dork, dweeb, or nerd).

Ahem.

(What were those results of the Adult ADHD quiz again?)

As I said. . . Ahem.

So there we were with our laptops and snacks. And beer.

Meredith Vieira? Seriously, wast that the best they could do? I won’t go into my reasons, but apparently I’m not the only one who felt that way. If you want to know more about it, you can check out this link that explains why this was an Epic Fail: http://www.idigitaltimes.com/articles/10493/20120728/reasons-vieira-lauer-olympics-coverage-epic-fail-twitter.htm

Danny Boyle’s vision? I thought it started out slow, but enjoyed it as it went along. And of course, gotta love Lizzy’s spot with Bond.

And Mr. Bean.

The hospital dream sequence was really good as well, but I don’t feel like looking for a photo (yeah, I know — less than two minutes time, but it’s Saturday morning, 9:32 a.m., and I’ve been awake for four and half hours already. It’s almost naptime).

As they moved on to the Parade of Nations, the commentators changes — thankfully! Though Anjee spent most of the time correcting Bob Costas’ pronunciations of country names. Great prep, Bob!

Of course, everyone watching wanted to be part of the Independent Olympic Athletes.

They may never win a medal, but they’re still winners!

And finally it was time for David Beckham to arrive in a speedboat, fulfilling the world’s craving for eye candy.

Ok, the big moment: the torch meets the cauldron. I think the most memorable past final torch moment for me — and possibly for others — was in 1996 when Muhammad Ali, visibly shaking from Parkinson’s disease, lit the flame.

I don’t know about everyone else, but I was extremely nervous for this, worrying that he’d burn down the set.

Hmmm. . . I guess I actually did watch some of the 1996 Olympics. Who knew?

Back to the lighting of this year’s torch. Very touching, having not one person, but seven, set the flames to light the cauldron, all of them young athletes who might be in future games.

Another nice touch? Using the petals that arrived with each delegation to form the cauldron.

So that’s it, my obligatory Olympics post. I guess I had more to say than what I expected.

And we each only drank one beer, so maybe we’ll decide to uncap a few more and watch some of the events!

Child-rearing through the ages

         Ok, this probably won’t be a long entry, just some miscellaneous stuff that occurred to me today.

I was feeding two babies today, children who are 8 or 9 months old. One had mashed avocado. The other had avocado mixed with carrots (both in chunks) with a side of tofu. Avocado and tofu. Things have certainly changed. When I was little, babies ate baby food.

I suppose in some ways that was an innovation. After all, my parents didn’t eat Gerber: they grew up with mashed-up table food. And we even ate honey and peanut butter, things that today are definitely not recommended for babies. That makes me wonder: in another ten to twenty years, will avocado and tofu be on the list of foods to be avoided under the age of two?

And bottles? I was a breast-fed baby, fed my children the same way. However, when my children were young, it was more conventional to feed infants by bottle. Not that this option didn’t exist for my mother. I remember the glass baby bottles and those rubber nipples.

Diapers as well. I opted for cloth diapers, which were just like the ones that my mother had used for me.

Which were used with plastic pants.

I could have used disposable diapers — or Pampers, as they were called. Yes, I know, that’s a brand name, but since it was the only one, that term was preferable to “disposable diapers.”

My grand-nephew, Max, wears cloth diapers, but nowadays, they look so much different.

Much more convenient to use and cuter as well.

Sleeping. Modern cribs have regulations concerning spaces between slats. Not so in the 50’s — or even in the late 70’s and early 80’s when my kids slept in the same crib I had used.

Not to mention sleeping positions. At one time babies could only sleep on their tummies. Now only on their backs. And I think there was a period where side-sleeping was recommended.

Another difference: car safety. The car seats that my kids used would now be considered unsafe and old-fashioned.

But really? Compare those to what I remember my brother Donnie using.

And me? While Donnie was riding in that, I was sitting in the front passenger seat. No seat belts — we didn’t even know what those were.

It’s a wonder we ever grew up with all of those unsafe practices.

Shop 'til you drop

Here in Gaithersburg we have plenty of grocery stores, but many of them have little choice. We seem to have an abundance of Giant stores, though I do find shopping at them aggravating. It seems that as soon as I learn where everything is in a particular store, the company decides to renovate. I could drive a lot further to visit a Weis or a Wegman’s, but. . .

Of course, there are always the international stores: H-Mart, Grand Mart, Maxim, Mega-Mart. Each of those has its merits, having specialty items at lower cost. However, many staples — what I would consider staples — cost more.

Or Trader Joe’s. Especially right now: my nieces, Courtney and Lindsay, have been posting to my Facebook page telling me about the cookie butter that they discovered. That must have been while they were on vacation because they have no TJ’s near them and I’m usually their source for special snacks.

I suppose that there are also smaller food stores, but I’m not familiar with them, and that makes finding and shopping at them so much less convenient.

However, when I was young, all we had were those small stores. There seemed to be a store every couple blocks, each one a Mom and Pop affair. I guess they were more or less “general stores.” Wooden floors, close-set shelves, maybe a meat case in the back (we didn’t know to call it a deli at that time, at least not in central Pennsylvania). They sold foods and laundry detergent, as well as small household items, because. . . well, where else would you go? We’re talking the 50’s here, when most women were stay-at-home moms, unless they were teachers or nurses or maybe waitresses. Most families had only one car and the man took that to work with him, so anything that was needed had to be close to home.

I’ve already mentioned Young’s. That’s where my mom worked when in high school. I visited it a few times — or maybe more than a few. Enough to remember it, at least its location.

Derrick’s was also on Race Street, but two blocks south of Young’s. This wasn’t a huge store — more an ice cream and candy shop. I think they had sandwiches, too, but that’s not what I remember. It was right across the street from Feaser School, a prime location for a candy shop. Before and after school each day there were liens of kids waiting to buy treats. Mostly penny candy, which was chosen carefully from the glass display case: “One of those and two of those. No, one of those instead.”

The items were placed in small paper bags.

And guess what? Penny candy was actually sold for a penny a piece. Sure, the actual candy bars were more — a whole nickel.

Ok, moving on. Cain’s store — I think that it was on Spruce and Columbia. Maybe. I know that I visited that store, but it just didn’t have the appeal of Derrick’s.

Closer to home, the corner of Union and Water, Fager’s. The corner opposite held more appeal during my high school years — Banks’ Pharmacy with its soda fountain, but tonight is all about food stores, so that will be for another time.

Back to Fager’s — this is where I was usually sent when my mom or my great-grandmother needed something. I’d head off with a quarter and come back with a loaf of Sunbeam bread and a Hershey bar. Or maybe I’d buy a half-pound of Lebanon bologna or cheese. Or those Lucky Strikes cigarettes.

Or maybe, if I was lucky, there would be a special event. Back to that good old Sunbeam bread. I think that’s the company that sponsored it, though it might have been Stroehmann’s. A truck arrived towing a special carousel: a free merry-go-round ride to advertise this wonderful white bread!

Yes, that’s a photo of a Sunbeam carousel float. What do you expect? In the late 1950’s I had no idea that I’d be writing this so I didn’t take a picture. And if I had, it would probably still be on the film for my Brownie camera, waiting to be developed.

And even closer to home was Shope’s. This one was smaller than many of the others, but it was right behind my house. It wasn’t always there, was built when I was 6 or 7 years old? My greatest memory of this place was a debacle that occurred one afternoon. My mom sent me out with money to get “spaghetti cheese.” I told Dottie, the owner, exactly what I needed, in my mom’s words, and returned home with a paper-wrapped package of cheese. My mother took a look at it, told me that it was wrong and it needed to take it back and get “spaghetti cheese.” Back and forth I went that afternoon, trying to please my mother. Meanwhile, Dottie was getting angry at me. Finally, however, we figured it out and I returned home with the familiar green tin of Kraft Parmesan Cheese.

One more small store (though I know there were others): Stonebreaker’s Store, also known as Stoney’s. This one was on Catherine Street, and its story must wait, because it has its own story.

We did have larger grocery stores, notably Acme. Reminiscent of Wile E. Coyote, isn’t it? However, that was what we thought of when we wanted to go to a “supermarket.” Perhaps not very “super” by today’s standards, but in those days. . .?

And just a note: when we moved to Juniata County in the 80’s, there were still small general stores. Fuller’s, Reinard’s, Oriental. Sometimes I wonder which is better — convenience or knowing exactly what and whom to expect.

Family vices

          During yesterday’s conversation with my parents I jotted down a lot of notes. However, there was one story that my mom insisted, “Don’t write that down!” Ok, I didn’t write it. But I remember what was said and it fits into a topic that I find amusing: the vices of my family.

I think this subject first came up about ten years ago, while I was working for SUM Child Development. We were attending a professional development day and my assistant, Donna, and I had signed up for a workshop on creating memories for children. A good deal of the session involved the book Roxaboxen.

It’s a great book and one that I’d recommend. But part of this class that really appealed to us was when we were told to reflect for a few minutes on how we spent our family time when we were little and to share those memories with a partner. Donna and I ended up giggling hysterically because in both of our families, when there was a get-together, there was usually gambling involved. We gambled for pennies — her family while playing poker, mine in dice games — but we gambled. We wondered what that said about our families.

Ok, back to the story from yesterday. I asked my parents where they lived, all of the addresses and when. There were several arguments between the two of them, particularly about timelines. My father’s defense about timing for one of our homes on Vine Street was an incident. “There was a party at Ted and Donna Fritz’s house, an adult party. I never drank alcohol before and I got drunk. I was drinking sloe gin out of the bottle and got so drunk that they had to put me in the back of a pick-up truck and drive me home and then carry me into the house. Tut Kleinfelter came across the street to see what was wrong with me. That was the last time I ever get drunk.”

And of course, the presence of Tut was what made the point of where they lived at the time. What was even more amusing is that the next day my parents (and me, I suppose) had Sunday dinner with Gammy and Pappy, my dad’s parents, while my dad had a miserable hangover. One of our final memories of Gammy was at Pappy’s funeral. At that point in time she was already affected by Alzheimer’s, but was usually able to carry on conversations with some semblance of sense. Not at Pap’s funeral. Somehow I earned the job of sitting with her while she received guests: each person who approached her was told, “I never smoked and I never drank.” That became her litany. After her funeral, we all gathered at my sister’s house and drank a toast to her.

That may have been the last time my dad got drunk but that doesn’t mean that we didn’t have alcohol in the house. We almost always had a bottle of sloe gin in the closet. I’m not sure why. Whiskey, however, found its use.

At Christmas time Mom made pineapple. Yes, that sounds strange, since pineapple is grown, not made, but that’s what we called it. I suppose a more accurate name would be “pineapple boats.”

Mom would cut the pineapple, carefully slicing it into wedges and returning it to the peel. Next she mixed powdered sugar and whiskey, brushed it over the pineapple slices, and topped each slice with a maraschino cherry speared on a toothpick. This was a staple for my great-grandmother’s family Christmas Eve party. She didn’t measure anything for this, and some years she went heavier on the whiskey than others. But a little whiskey or a lot, this was a favorite of the kids in the family. At that point in time, there wasn’t as much concern over children and alcohol.

Cigarettes as well. No, we didn’t smoke them (at least, not when our parents could see us). But we could buy them. There were no warning labels on the packs.

Ok, there were warning labels, but not until 1965. It was not uncommon for a relative to hand me some money and say, “Run over to Fager’s Store and get me a pack of Lucky Strikes.” Unfiltered, no less. And I’d head over there and back without a problem, bringing back the cigarettes and earning myself a Popsicle or Hershey bar in payment.

Some of my relatives quit smoking as more evidence was produced about the ill effects. Of course, that didn’t stop the younger generation from starting. And others never quit: I can still remember seeing my aunt Bert (Pappy’s sister) taking a hit off her cigarette followed by a puff of her inhaler, her emphysema not stopping her habit.

And now for the gambling — because I started with that and because my family loves it. My parents play the lottery religiously, even having plans for the distribution of the money if they ever hit the big one. I don’t play, but I’m waiting for them to make me rich. Mom and Dad also like to hit the casino. They used to visit Atlantic City, but why bother when they can go to Penn National Race Track and hit the slots there?

Race tracks. There were many race tracks in my childhood. Of course, there were the ones where my dad raced cars, but those weren’t the gambling type. No, that was Ocean Downs. Located just outside of Ocean City, Maryland, this was a special outing whenever we vacationed at Rehoboth, Dewey, or Bethany Beaches. The adults saved money to play on the sulky races.

Donnie and I had a chance to bet as well. Of course, we couldn’t place our own bets, but Dad would buy a ticket for each of us for the Daily Double. Sometimes we pored over the listings of horses and riders — simply because that’s what the grown-ups were doing — but more often we just chose random numbers. In fact, that was how I won. Before the races, we would go to Phillips Crab House for dinner.

Then a short walk on the boardwalk. This particular year, I decided to “invest” some of the money I had saved — a quarter, to be exact — in a fortune telling machine.

I don’t remember what the card I received gave as my fortune, but I do remember that my lucky number was “54.” I played numbers 5 and 4 on the Daily Double that night and my $2 ticket paid $152. I used that money for school shopping that year.

Our other gambling took place on New Year’s Eve. Gammy and Pappy were the hosts of the annual party, and right in the center of the house, spread out on the dining room table, was the Penny Game. This was a homemade affair, a large sheet of white oil cloth, to which my grandfather had carefully added boxes and numbers. We’d carefully place our pennies on the boxes, then throw the dice to determine which pennies we could remove from our array. Whoever removed all of their pennies first won all those remaining on others’ boxes, as well as the ante in the middle. I don’t know whether he invented the game or adapted it from something he saw. I also don’t know what happened to the oil cloth game. I hope that someone in our family still has it.

So that’s it: the family vices. I guess they aren’t that bad, but much of what we did when we were together could have been frowned upon by others.