Remembering Mom

Richard & I get the Hartford Courant every Thursday and Sunday. I must admit that we subscribe to have easy access to the store ads (food, pharmacy, and other places to compare prices for things we need). So I rarely read the actual paper. But today as I flipped through the stack, my eye caught the title of an article under the picture of a beautiful woman holding up a smiling baby. The article was "Left With Love - Coping With My Mother's Death, One Step At A Time". 

I thought about our Mom. Tomorrow makes 16 years since she passed away. I feel I'm still coping with her death because I think of her so often. 

So much has changed in those years - Barbie, Dad and Judy went to join her in heaven; we all grew up, and those of us that were grown up have grown old. Fear of terrorist and global warming are pushed into our thoughts daily via our obsession with technology - hating to surrender our time to it, but afraid of missing something if we don't. 

Yes, time marches on, but not everything is gloom and doom. We've had weddings, graduations, grandchildren, and other wonderful events. And through it all, the memory of Mom is there. And our love for each other is always there too. I credit Mom and Dad for that - we just can't stay mad at family for long, no matter what the circumstances are. And we include everyone, absent or present, living or gone, in our celebration of good times.  

So, back to the newspaper article. It is a heartfelt and well written story. But the one thing that stood out for me was a short reflection the author heard at church. It said:

     

"Love doesn't die, people do.

So when all that's left of me is love

Give me away."

Enjoy your weekend and the beautiful colors of fall. I can almost hear Mom exclaiming "Oh, the trees are so lovely - I just want to paint them!"   I love you all! 

Hippity Hoppity

Spring is finally here! The nights are still cold, but the temperature on most days is above freezing. And although snow piles still cover almost every corner and shady spot, they are getting smaller each day. That's a sure sign. The end of a long, cold, snowy winter emphasizes my yearning to get outside and enjoy the warm sun. And to think about Easter.

When you're Roman Catholic, Easter is the most holy day of the year. It's big - bigger than Christmas or any other holiday. Easter is the whole reason Catholics are Catholics. As children, we were strongly encouraged to "give something up" for the season of Lent - the five weeks before Easter Sunday. We'd resolve to give up candy (which we didn't get often anyway). Or we'd promise to keep our rooms clean. Or stop fighting with each other. And in most cases, we stuck to our little sacrifice.

At school, we were reminded daily that Lent was the most holy season, and that Jesus died for our sins and rose again on Easter Sunday. It wasn't like before Christmas when everything was festive and fun. The start of Lent gave rise to an increase in religious education and time spent in church. The entire school would attend Mass every Friday morning, followed the Stations of the Cross. We read the story of the Last Supper on Holy Thursday. On Good Friday we stayed in quiet prayer until 3:00 (the hour the bible said that Jesus died on the cross). We went to confession to prepare for communion at Easter Mass, a requirement to complete our "Easter Duty" - yes, that's a real Catholic rule. 

But it wasn't all praying and penance. I remember Mom making several dozen hard-boiled eggs on Holy Saturday so we could dye two or three eggs each. Egg dying started with hot water and white vinegar - to this day the smell of vinegar reminds me of Easter. We'd use every coffee cup in the house, lined up the length of the kitchen table, for dipping our eggs. We made pastel and bold colored eggs and write secret messages with wax crayons that appeared as the egg turned color. 

Easter Mass was such an event that each of us always had a new outfit, usually down to our underwear. Mom would take us out shopping in groups of two or three. My new Easter dress was usually accompanied by a cute hat. I loved wearing pretty hats with big brims. And white socks with frilly lace edges under cute Mary-Jane shoes. 

When we lived in California it was always warm and sunny on Easter. But once we moved to Deerfield it was still cold enough for coats, especially in years that Easter fell in March. I was always a little sad when my pretty new dress had to be covered up by a frumpy old coat. Easter was one of the few times we all attended church as a family instead of splitting into two groups and going at different times. Easter Mass was always a beautiful celebration of life and rebirth. I felt holy and blessed as Mass ended and the congregation spilled outside into the spring sunshine. 
  
After church we'd have a big Sunday breakfast. Dad replaced the usual bacon with Easter kielbasa and we'd have English muffins instead of toast. The atmosphere was festive as we sat down to breakfast. 

After church, breakfast and pictures, we were finally allowed to get out empty Easter baskets (usually saved from previous years). My parents hid the eggs we had dyed and small candies in the Living Room, which was usually off-limits to kids. A staggered start was used to make sure the youngest kids got an equal share of the goodies. We'd race around trying to grab as much candy and eggs as we could. I thought children who got the pre-assembled baskets of toys and candy that we saw in stores must be very rich and lucky. But we were happy with our little candy hunt. Easter, after all, was about Jesus saving our souls, not the bunny. 

When every visible piece of candy and colored eggs were found, we'd give the dyed eggs to Mom, who would transform them into delicious deviled eggs and potato salad for dinner. Easter dinner was usually ham, although occasionally Mom would make leg of lamb, served with bright green mint jelly.   

And that was Easter at our house. I think it's strange that the smells of Easter are such a unique part of the holiday. If planning a holiday from scratch, I doubt you'd say, "Let's start by making the house smell like vinegar and hard-boiled eggs."

Happy Easter!!!

Martha My Dear

It's Mother's Day week, and I thought I would take some time to write about my mom, Martha. Mom was thoughtful, practical and fun, but also could be very stern. She did not have an easy life. It must have been hard for her that Dad got treated like a king at home while she did almost all the work. She was with us every day, while Dad appeared on weekends like a special treat. But once we grew up and moved out of the house, Mom was the one most of us called regularly, just to chat, and I got my best advise from her. She always had a kind word, a fun story or thoughtful wisdom that I, a young wife and mother, appreciated.  

Martha grew up in Indiana. Her mother, Mary, was hard working and strict. Mary worked as a nanny and housekeeper for wealthy families and was not happy about it. Mom's father, Thomas, had tuberculosis and was confined to a sanatorium for treatment soon after Martha was born. He died when Mom was about four years old.  

As a small child, Mom had osteomyelitis and was hospitalized for a long period of time. It was painful and scary for her. Because her mother, Mary, was in her own depressed world, she rarely visited Martha at the hospital. In the late 1920's, treatment for osteomyelitis included exposing the leg bones to scrape away the infection. They also used leeches to prevent swelling and to reduce pain. Not an easy course of treatment for a child less than 5 years old, especially without the loving support of parents. The long, silvery scars that began at Mom's knees and ran to her ankles were a constant reminder not only of this physical hurt in her childhood, but how her demeanor and mental health were affected from being left so painfully alone.

A few years after Thomas died, Mary remarried a nice man with two children named George. Suddenly Martha had a step-sister and brother, Jean and Raymond. George was a good natured steel worker and kind to Mom. 

The biggest influences in mom's life were her grandmother, Sophie, and her uncles, John and Emil. Sophie was a little powerhouse who taught Mom how to properly keep house, but also gave her a big doses of love. Sophie had a profound influence on Mom's self-esteem. Uncle John and Uncle Emil were always in Mom's corner, especially when she decided to start nursing school - Mary had been told it was a waste of money because Martha's legs would never be able to withstand the pace of a Registered Nurse. John and Emil stood up to convince their sister that Mom was strong and determined, resulting in Martha being allowed to start nurses training.

Martha aspired to help people who were hospitalized, many without a voice (as she had been as a child). Because of her ambitious career path and her rocky relationship with her mother, marriage and motherhood were definitely not part of her plans. Even when she met a smart, handsome, and ambitious guy named Richard.

As Dad told it, Mom had been dating one of his friends. The friend had been introduced to another girl that interested him, but he didn't want to let Martha go just yet. He asked Dad to invite Mom out for coffee so he could check out the other girl. Well, just like in a sitcom, Dad liked Martha so much that his friend never got Mom back. And although Martha insisted that she didn't want to marry, Dad eventually convinced her and they became engaged. 

Since Mom wanted to be married in the Catholic church, Dad converted to Catholicism and received the sacraments of Baptism, Holy Communion and Confirmation in the months before their wedding. After the wedding, Mom became pregnant, even though she said she really didn't want children. Being good Catholics, the children kept coming and Martha gave up her nursing career to stay home. 

My first memories of Mom start in the happy days when we lived on Talbot Drive. With four children under the age of seven and another on the way, Mom was always working. Everything was under control the day we moved into our new neighborhood. I remember playing Uncle Wiggley in the room that was first our den, later the bedroom I shared I with Margie. I loved it when Mom would let me help her fold laundry. She often would sing a song that I remember (in my little kid mind) was called "Alice Blue Gown." I can remember asking her to sing it for me on many days.

Thru the years, the new babies and new houses, Mom took care of her brood. She did all the cleaning, laundry, planning, chauffeuring, discipline, coaching and cooking (OK - sometimes Dad would grill). She was also the neighborhood nurse whenever anyone we knew got hurt. She washed and folded over a hundred of diapers every week for almost 20 years. She wore nurses shoes for the comfort and rarely wore pants or shorts. I don't think I ever saw her in blue jeans. 

There were many times Mom was my hero. I know all of us kids had moments that Mom would swoop in and save the day. There were also times we swore we'd never forgive her for. But mostly, she was just our Mom - in the station wagon wearing the cat's-eye Ray Ban sunglasses with the rhinestones in the corners she liked so much.    

Mom loved to travel - some of her best times were when she was planning a trip with Dad. She also loved to entertain and was a master party planner. Mom and Dad didn't entertain often, but when they did no detail was too small or overlooked. Their parties were beautiful, elegant and delicious. And Mom was able to pass that sense of style and class to her children - we all give excellent parties today! 

When Dad finally retired, they moved to a cute little house in Florida. Martha finally had relief from much of the stress that had burdened her for so many years. There was finally room for creativity, and Mom loved participating in art and poetry sessions in their community.     

I credit my parents with so many, many good things I achieved from being their daughter. Especially my Mom, who was teaching me even when I didn't know I was learning.   

I could write several more pages about Mom and still not convey the feelings l have about her. I just know that Mom taught me so much and I have missed her every single day for the last 15 years.    
Happy Mother's Day in heaven, Mom. I love you. 

A Day In The Life

I thought I'd write about a typical day during the week at our house. It's funny, but the list of our daily activities, from the time we started school through high school graduation, contains very little change year after year, house after house. We all did almost exactly the same thing each day. Obviously there were seasonable adjustments, but our lives had a rhythm that was generally predictable. 

Dad was ALWAYS the first one to wake up. You could define the phrase "early bird" by watching my Dad. He was always showered, shaved and dressed no later than 7:00 a.m. even on Saturdays. When Dad was home (on weekends), he'd let us sleep to a reasonable time, then he'd start calling "Up-and-at-em," standing at each bedroom door. He never really had any trouble getting us to wake up (at least until we hit high-school age). But even when Dad was home during the week, he'd usually be off to work before we woke up. 

We were responsible for getting ourselves dressed and ready for school - including getting our own breakfast. Mom was always awake, but she usually stayed in bed because she spent a lot of nights being pregnant, recovering from delivery or was up during the night feeding babies or nursing sick kids. Mom's role in our mornings was mostly as referee because that's when we tended to squabble the most. 

A recurring morning fight was over "who gets the glug-glug." To explain, we thought there was something special about how a new glass bottle of milk would say "glug-glug" on the first pour into our cereal or glass. And we would really fight to get it! I have no idea how it started, but I guess other families had the same problem because milk doesn't "glug-glug" anymore. 

We each had an imitation leather (plastic) book bag that looked like a little briefcase. It was up to us to make sure our books & supplies, including homework, was packed up and ready to go. We also needed to assemble and take our lunch every day. And if we were going to Mass during school (every first Friday, holiday, holy day and during Advent and Lent) it was mandatory to remember our uniform beanie. 

I don't think there ever a year that all of us school-aged kids went to the same school. The majority of the time we were in Catholic school, but there was no kindergarden, and once Barbie reached high school, that was also a different school. We were mostly scattered among three schools. So it was a nightmare for Mom if anyone missed their bus in the morning. 

By 8:30, all the school-aged kids had climbed on their buses and were off to school. We'd arrive at school just early enough to feel the chilly mornings before the bell would ring and we'd line up with our class. 

When the school day was complete (between 2:15 and 3:00 depending on what grade), we'd board the bus for the return trip home. We took our time walking home from the bus-stop because it was likely our last "outside time" for the day. 

Mom was usually folding clothes and diapers or ironing when we got home. We were always told to change into play-clothes (we each had five white shirts for everyday, but our plaid uniform skirts or jumpers and navy blue pants for the boys needed to stay clean all week). We'd proceed to our rooms with our book bags, and sometimes we'd actually change. 

We were usually hungary and needed a snack. Mom was not big on snacking, but we were allowed to have a piece of fruit or some crackers to hold us until dinnertime. In later years, we started eating cereal after school. 

Next we were supposed to do our homework before we played or watched TV, and again, sometimes we did. But mostly there was other stuff we'd pursue, either alone or with a sibling. The one thing we didn't do after school was go outside and play with other kids in the neighborhood. I'm not sure why - my guess is that since Dad traveled so much, Mom felt better having all her little chicks in the nest. 

At about 6:30, Mom would start dinner. There was always at least two jobs that were assigned to unlucky kids before dinner - making a salad and setting the table. And sometimes peeling and mashing potatoes. No matter what job you got, it seemed like you just did it the night before. But sometimes it was better to just do it - or dare I say, volunteer? Because that gave you immunity from doing the dishes after dinner. 

Mom made the most delicious casseroles. Or we'd have meatloaf, fish sticks or sometimes for a treat, sloppy Joes. We had salad with every dinner. We always sat together at the table. And clean plates were required before we each drank a glass of milk and dinner was over. 

After dinner, we went to our rooms to finish (or start?) homework or read until bedtime at 8:00. Except on Thursday night, when we'd watch The Donna Reed Show, followed by My Three Sons. (Thursday was always a good TV night. Over the years, shows like The Beverly Hillbillies, Gilligan's Island and The Flying Nun were aired on Thursday).    

And then we went to bed. As we got older, bedtimes got later, but everything else hardly changed. Looking back now, it sounds incredibly dull, but I don't ever remember being bored. I guess I spent a lot of time plotting how to get the glug-glug the next morning. 

What was the one thing you did, without fail, every day? Were there any recurring squabbles with your siblings that were routine? Leave a comment and let me know!  


  

Creative Pastimes

My parents knew a suitable craft project could keep a child quiet and engaged for hours. When there are nine children in the house, this is definitely preferable (at least for them) to squabbling with our siblings or making a mess. 

I don't remember Mom or Dad ever "teaching" us how to make things or be creative, except through example. But we were lucky to have older siblings, friends, scouts and enough natural resourcefulness to guide us through each burst of creativity. (And of course, when all else fails, read the directions). 

As soon as Barbie and Cherie understood "over and under," Dad constructed simple frames from scraps of wood. Then small nails were added, spaced evenly around the perfect square. Using this simple tool, many potholders were made, using brightly colored fabric loops that were purchased at a local toy or five-and-dime store. Unfortunately, it was almost impossible to get the loops tight enough to use these creations as actual potholders, but we were very proud of our handiwork all the same. In later years, when the nails at each mitered corner loosened, the looms were replaced by plastic ones that were packaged with the loops in kits. 

The first project completed every year in Girl Scouts was making a "sit-upon". This little mat was your chair for meetings and outings all year. Since a sit-upon needed to keep your fanny warm and dry when sitting outside, it was made using several layers of newspaper sandwiched between two pieces of Naugahyde (fake leather, like pleather today). Once assembled, it was kept together by stitching around all four sides, not an easy task because pushing a needle through Naugahyde wasn't easy. You could always tell which side was the last to be stitched - there was usually a repair made from tape by the end of the year. I never understood why we didn't just use tape to begin with, but I guess it was to teach us a basic joining stitch.  

I remember the frustration of trying to get fabric smooth and tight on an embroidery hoop (or is it hoops), although I don't remember a single stitch. 

We became masters of making crochet ropes using old thread spools, again with small nails, pounded around the hole in the top. 

And for awhile, there were "No Wire Hangers, Ever" at our house when it was discovered how easy it was to cover an ugly hanger with pretty yarn. 

There were summers we spent weaving and threading long plastic strips into braided lanyards. We also learned Never to throw out gum wrappers. They could be folded and inter-attached. By the time we lost interest in this craft, I had a rope at least 30 feet long and a very sore jaw from chewing all that gum! 

Not that the girls had all the fun - there were many Saturday afternoons when newspapers covered the kitchen table and model airplanes, ships and cars were painted and assembled. I also remember the day Tommy carefully put a line of airplane glue on the side of his finger to spread on his model piece, only to reach up and unthinkingly rub his eye, effectively gluing his eye shut! 

When one of the boys got a rock tumbler (Rick?), I thought it was surely going to be a disappointment. They gathered and washed rocks and then set them into the tumbler with the smoother ingredient, included in the kit. And then, it was wait, wait, wait and wait, Like for days! Maybe weeks. But when the tumbler was finally stopped, the ugly rocks from outside were transformed into beautiful stones! Boy, was I surprised. 

One year Dad made a huge dollhouse for Barbie & Cherie's Barbie dolls. We all set to the task making furniture out of anything we could repurpose. We used egg cartons (cut apart with fabric scraps glued on make cute chairs), made Popsicle stick beds and tables, and even used the boxes from Dad's Benson & Hedges cigarettes, glued as a stack, for bureau drawers. 

Yes, scissors and glue were hard to find at our house since we rarely remembered to put things back. But if you ever wondered what kids did inside before video games and the internet, now you know. 

Happily Every After

We had a wonderful family event at the beginning of August. Tommy's oldest daughter got married! It was a wonderful day with family, church, food, dancing, and a little science thrown in for good luck. The bride and groom were radiant and happy, with just enough coy sweetness to make the day perfect. 

This wedding will be remembered for everything, so carefully planned, that went off without a hitch; the beautiful Catholic mass, the bride in her stunning ivory wedding dress, the perfect reception venue (at the world famous Museum of Science in Boston), the proud parents, the toasts, the dancing, the museum with so much to fascinate young and old. And our memories will be peppered with the laughter of mishaps, obviously not planned, that became part of the day too.      

Like leaving Greg, his fiancee and their daughter in the dust when leaving the hotel for the wedding. Greg mentioned he didn't have a GPS, but I didn't realize he also didn't have the church address, or any idea where we were going. 

And how Kitty & her husband took a walk down the street after church, only to see the charter buses bringing us to the reception whiz by, leaving their only option to catch a taxi. 

Oh, and watch that first step if you go into Kitty's room at the hotel - it's a doozy! 

So after the exciting and wonderful experience of the weekend, I started thinking about my own wedding, 38 years ago (today!). It was the summer of 1975 and I was the first one in the family to be married. Mom and Barbie planned everything - I had no idea what to do or what was needed. But with their help, and Dad's checkbook, I had the fairytale most girls dream of. 

My sisters were all in my wedding. Barb was my maid of honor, Cheryl, Margie and Susie were bridesmaids, and Kitty (age 9) was the flower girl. And Tommy was an usher, along with two of my fiancee's brothers. The best man was his nephew (and best friend) and the ring bearer was another nephew. We were a great looking wedding party.  

Earlier that summer, Barbie and Cherie made dresses for all my sisters to wear on my special day. It wasn't an easy task -  Susie & Kitty kept growing and Sue actually ended up with lace attached to the bottom of her dress, so it could be turned under for a hem. She seemed to grow at least 1/2" every time the dress was fitted. Barbie also arranged for flowers and threw my wedding shower. And to make sure I had nice pictures of the day, she starting dating a semi-professional photographer who she invited to be her date, and "Oh, by the way, will you bring your camera and take some nice pictures?" 

Other ways it was different getting married in the 1970's - Barbie did my hair, and I did my own makeup. My dress and veil were purchased in one trip to The Elegant Lady in Wilton at the whopping cost of  $600. Roses and daisies were standard for weddings - my bouquet was fragrant pink roses with greens and babies breath. The other girls carried white baskets with daisies dyed to match the different pastel sashes on each of their white dresses.  In general, bridesmaid dresses were the same price as a regular dress (if a bride didn't have talented sisters to make them). Wedding favors were books of matches imprinted with the name of the bride and groom (because who didn't smoke and need matches?) The reception venue provided the bar, the food and the cake. Our place, The Longshore Country Club, even included a room after in a 5-star Greenwich hotel with breakfast the next morning before leaving for our honeymoon. 

Not that everything happened without a glitch. Barbie and Kitty accompanied me to the church in a borrowed Lincoln TownCar that Tommy drove. We were followed by my parents, Greg and Rick in Dad's car. When we arrived at church, it was discovered that while shuffling the cars in the driveway that morning, Tom and Dad had the keys to every other car in their pockets. My grandmother, Cheryl, Margie and Sue were stranded at our house (about 20 minutes away). One of my girlfriends offered to pick up my grandmother, not knowing my three sisters were also there. So she got to our house in her little 1969 Volkswagen Beetle, to be greeted by four ladies in long, formal dresses with everyone but my grandmother in white. They all squeezed into a very small, and not particularly clean, car. But they made it! They got to the church and we could finally start the ceremony (at least 40 minutes late!) 

Our wedding ceremony included the verse on Marriage from The Prophet that was part of almost every wedding in the 1970's. From that point, everything that happened that day is a blur. But I know it was wonderful! I only had eyes for my handsome new husband. We danced (my hubby and the best man even took over the band for a complete set), we kissed whenever our guests tapped on their glasses, and it was the happiest day of my life to that point. 

So from new marriages thru standing the test of time - Best Wishes to my niece and welcome to our family to her adorable new husband.  And Happy Anniversary to me and my still handsome and wonderful husband. 
  

Random Thoughts

It's funny how memory works. Sometimes it just takes a whiff of something in the air or the shortest bit of sound to take you back to a special time from your past. I love those moments. 

Like when I smell carmel-corn and remember the popcorn shop that was near the studio we took dance classes in California.

Or the exact notes the harp plays on the introduction to the Waltz of the Flowers from the Nutcracker Suite. 

And the way a new plastic babydoll smells fresh out of the box.

Everyone has their own list of items that give them instant deja vue. There are also specific things that we kids grew up with that would make us say "Aww" today. 

Like Dad's Tin Lizzy that played the song Tijuana Taxi. 

And the peppermill that we used forever. Even when Mom & Dad got fancier upgrades as gifts or parts of a set, the old wooden box with the black bowl and crank on top is what we always used. 

The ballerina lamps we had in California and Illinois. In my mind, I remember it was weird to have lamps that were just legs wearing ballet shoes and they were kinda ugly. But Mom seemed to love them and yelled like crazy when we rough-housed around them. (Through the years they got more and more chips and were eventually replaced).  

The way we would count the blasts from the horn that called the volunteer firemen when we lived on Sturbridge Hill. We didn't know all the codes by heart (except the one for our street), but we could always figure out what area of town had a fire without looking at the chart.
  
And coming home from school to the smell of warm homemade bread that my grandmother made when she came to visit. 

The artwork Mom & Dad kept in the living room made by us. There are two I specifically remember - the abstract blob of fired clay with sharp edges Barb made (she called it DisneyLand) and the sculpture Cheryl made of a kneeling child (she spent a long time taking photos of Susie from every angle before starting that piece).  

The sound of the bell on Dad's ship's clock as it let us know what time it was every 15 minutes - no matter where in the house we were. 

The geisha doll Dad brought home for Mom from Japan. The doll was never played with, but over the years was displayed and taken to school for show and tell until it became a little tattered and faded. Her face is still strong and beautiful. She was the start of Mom's foreign doll collection. 

And of course Moses, whose bigger-than-life presence watched over us all those years. It was fitting then, and funny now, that Mom & Dad chose the biggest painting in the house to be a biblical figure holding the Ten Commandments. 

Yes, so many memories tied to material treasures. Yet it isn't the objects that are precious. They are just reminders of time past in our lives. Some were happy times, some were not, but every minute we've lived is time we never get back. And our memories make us who we are today. Which, in my opinion, is pretty darn good! 

The Lying Nuns

Mom's upbringing was as Roman Catholic as it came. Her mother and grandmother went to mass daily and took care of laundering the priest's vestments and church linens from St. Mary's church in the blue-collar, Indiana town where Mom grew up. My father was not particularly religious when he met Mom. His background was tied to the Lutheran church. He'd become interested in the Catholic faith while attending Notre Dame. 

Mom & Dad met at Northwestern College. Although it took Dad awhile to convince Mom to marry him, she eventually agreed. Dad converted to Catholicism and received Communion and Confirmation in the weeks before their large wedding at St. Mary's Church. 

I tell you these facts because this was our family environment in the early years. At every meal, no one was allowed to touch a bit of food before we bowed our heads and said grace together. We would kneel at bedtime every night and recite "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep...."  We prayed to St. Anthony to help us find lost items. There seemed to be a prayer for anything and everything. 

At school, a bell rang to signal the start of each day. We would immediately line up at our designated places in the schoolyard. In unison, every child and teacher would salute the flag with the Pledge of Allegiance. Then, we all turned to face the church building and say a prayer to Salute the Cross. The time spent learning the teachings of the church and attending mass rivaled time allotted for Math, History or English. We truly believed God was everywhere.  Nuns and priests were on earth to help God make us good human beings. They were closest to God and super holy. 

So imagine my surprise when I learned the nuns lied! Wearing patent leather shoes would not reflect my underwear! And it was not a sin to play with other children who did not go to Catholic school. 

Once we discovered that Nuns had faults and were probably more like us than God, school became a bit easier. We secretly called them funny names behind their backs.  I wonder if Sister Mary Helen knew we called her Sister Hairy Melon! 

Sister Clementissima (a.k.a. Sister Clementiddle-hopper) had the power to use "The Board of Education" to paddle children who misbehaved. There was not much that was out of bounds when the nuns needed to keep a classroom of 60 children (yes, 6 rows of 10 desks in each class) obedient and quiet. Sometimes when I think about my early school days, my mind says "did that really happen?" But it was a different time and place, and if you were punished at school and dared to complain to your parents, you would get more punishment instead of sympathy. Because if the nuns said you did wrong, they would not lie. But we kids knew better! 

Sturbridge Hill

I apologize in advance if this entry sounds boastful or is detailed to the point of boring. My intention is to document this house as I remember it.  

Our Connecticut home was my Mom's crowning achievement. My Dad's employer had finally promised that this was the last relocation we'd have to go through. This gave Mom an opportunity to design and build a house for our family with everything she'd wished for.  A building lot was purchased in a small Connecticut town with a commuter train to NYC and excellent schools. The plan was to build a house so it was ready for us by the summer of 1969.  

Mom had been storing thoughts of her dream house for years. She did not take it well when the builder said some of her ideas were impossible to implement. 

One of the most important things Mom wanted was a designated laundry room on the second floor with the bedrooms. This room needed enough space to sort, presoak (in a washtub sink), wash, dry, fold, iron and stack clothes, sheets and towels for a family of eleven. When she was told it couldn't be done upstairs, she altered the blueprints to include her laundry room and gave the builder a solution to how a washtub and washing machine could be placed on the second floor without worry of water overflows. Her design included room for a hanging rack and shelves for folded clothes. 

When her laundry room was finally built (after she signed a waiver accepting responsibility for possible water damage), the washing machine stood next to the washtub in a pretty tiled insert, complete with a drain underneath. It was built exactly like a double shower floor. It was so nice, in fact, that it became a signature upgrade for all the future homes constructed by our builder. Clothes, fresh out of the dryer, were folded into neat stacks and placed on shelves labeled with our names. (It was our responsibility to collect our clean clothes and put them away).  No more carrying tons of clothes up and down the stairs. Talk about a V-8 moment! 

The house took about a year to be completed, with almost all Mom's changes intact. In fashion true to Mom's vision, the front door was the furthest from the street and not used by children. We had our own entrance, downstairs bathroom (very close to the door by design) and stairway off the family room. On the other end of the house, the front door gave entrance to a spacious foyer with the main staircase, a walk-in coat closet, powder room and the formal living room. If guests arrived without notice, Mom knew there was an area of the house that was always presentable for company. 

Other than the family room and living room, the main floor had a large eat-in kitchen, a formal dining room that easily sat twelve at the table, the foyer and our library. The library was especially cool to us because it had hidden closets (you pushed on the paneling)  and built in bookcases that held all the books and records my parents had accumulated through the years. A huge painting of Moses holding the Ten Commandments looked down on us as we read, listened to music or played endless hours of backgammon. It was the heart of the house, and most of us spent more time in the library than any other room (except maybe our bedrooms).

The floor plan upstairs put the rooms in four areas. The boys were at one end of the house - Tom in one bedroom, Rick & Greg sharing another, and a "boys" bathroom. In the middle, Cherie (and Barbie when she was home from college) had their room, separated from my bedroom by a connecting bathroom. Across the hall, Margie, Susie and Kitty had the same arrangement. On the end of the house was the master bedroom suite. There was a total of seven bedrooms and four bathrooms on the second floor. Plus, of course, the laundry room. 

We arrived in July 1969. That summer was special. Mom and Dad were happy as newlyweds and everything was organized, clean and shinny. I was sad that Barbie was leaving for college in the fall, but her excitement about school in Boston was infectious. We made many new friends in the neighborhood and spent lots of time hanging out with them. 

The house on Sturbridge Hill road was where our family grew up and changed more than in any other house. We had many good times and bad times too. But throughout, in less than ten short years, we learned to depend on each other, and on ourselves. And even as we started to branch out and move away from home, we were always connected. 

Vocabulary Lesson

I'm not a creative person. If I wish to do something new, I always look for guidance from an expert, either in print or in person. I have no aptitude to just "wing it". So when I decided to start this blog, I download all the articles I could find about "How to Blog". But in my excitement to get started, I forgot to read all this wisdom until I came across it the other day. Apparently, I'm doing this all wrong. So I'm deleting my blog. 

Only kidding!  But I read that to blog successfully, you're supposed to publish short posts more often. Maybe I'll try that someday. 

But for today, it's a quick primmer of the language used at our house with their meanings. These were phrases that we said or heard quite often. Some have already been defined in previous posts, but I'll include them anyway. 

UpAndAtEm: Dad's one-word wake up call. 

Gounnie: A body part, located between the bottom of the nose and top of the lip.

Special Breakfast: Anything eaten in the morning that wasn't cereal.

You're gonna get it!: Never specified what we would get, but generally implied someone was about to tattle and/or someone else was going to be in trouble.

We Make Mayonaise: Don't know how or why this started, but Tommy & I would put our heads together and sing-say this in horrible off-key harmony. It usually made everyone laugh. 

If you're not here, answer up!: Dad's call almost every time we all got into the car. 

Where's ChaCha: When Ricky was two or three, he loved to take one of Barbie's baby dolls and hide it, usually in his crib. Rick named the doll ChaCha (granted, he was little and just about learning to talk) and he really liked it. The day Barbie finally broke down and gave ChaCha to Ricky for good, he never touched it again.  

Sock Box and Wooden Spoon: Mom's preferred methods of punishment.

8:00 pm: Bedtime during the school year. No exceptions!

Frigidaire: What Grandma Homcho called the refrigerator. Only used by Grandma when she visited us, but it always cracked us up. 

Spegilly: Spaghetti

Who broke my diamond stylist?!: Yelled when Dad wanted to listen to music (almost anytime he was home) and we kids had been using his stereo to play records. The diamond stylist was the needle on the record player. It tended to collect dust if the record being played wasn't clean, so we'd "wipe" the dust off with our finger. If the needle got bent, Dad would get super mad because he couldn't play his music and the stylist was expensive to replace. 

I'm telling!: common to most families. see "You're gonna get it". 

Line up alphabetically by height: Another of Dad's attempts to amuse and confuse us. 

OK - what can we add to the list? I know there are many I missed!  I know a few popped into your head as you read this!