Holidays at our house were steeped in tradition. Since our family were practicing Catholic's, some of our activities were centered at church. We marked time with Advent candles lit before mass, one for each week of Advent. It was a season of fasting and penitence to prepare us to be worthy to celebrate the birth of Jesus. I always found Sunday mass during Advent to be very non-eventful and wished we could sing more Christmas music. But that was reserved for Christmas day.
At home, we turned into quiet, happy, helpful children. I guess we wanted to make up for a year of being hooligans in Santa's eyes. The Sears wishbook was passed from one child to another as we tried to decide what we really wanted for Christmas. We watched Christmas specials on TV and sang Christmas songs and carols. Everything was leading up to the magic of Christmas Eve.
Every day the week before Christmas, Mom would check the mail for a special package sent by my Grandma and Great-Grandmother. Their parish church, like most in the mid-west, still distributed oplatki, a thin wafer about 4" by 6" that was embossed with either a chalice or a Nativity scene. The taste is similar to communion wafers. Oplatki were handed out after mass on the third Sunday of Advent. My aunts and uncles, along with my grandmothers, would pool their wafers to send them to us so we could take part in the traditions of our Slovak heritage.
Christmas Eve day was like most days in December, except there was added attention to cleaning our rooms, wrapping small gifts and helping Mom however we could. The church had rules about when you could or couldn't eat meat during Advent, but other than Fridays (when we Never had meat), I don't remember fasting. But my parents kept Christmas Eve as a time of fasting with a sparse meal.
When it got dark, we would sit down for a dinner menu specific only to Dec. 24. After grace, we'd eat our oplatki, somber with the knowledge that Joseph and Mary could not find room at the inn and remembering the sacrifice of our Midwest relatives in sharing their oplatki with us. Because the wafers were dry and tasteless, we'd drizzle honey on them before being eaten. Soon all nine kids were sticky and somewhat hyper from the sugar in the honey.
Then came the second course - steaming sauerkraut soup with floating mushrooms. I'm not sure where my Mom got the idea to make this concoction every Christmas Eve or why. Maybe it was what she grew up with. The soup was a thin, clear broth made from sauerkraut juice with sliced mushrooms floating on top. It was certainly an acquired taste. I would try small sips and manage to drink some, but I never could eat the mushrooms. Even on our best behavior, I don't think anyone (except my parents) ever got much down. I don't know what, if anything, we had after the soup - probably something like grilled cheese sandwiches.
After dinner, my Dad would be in charge so Mom could attend to last minute details, or just rest. I recall caroling one specific Christmas Eve, but I'm pretty sure we usually did that earlier in December. Many years, we'd all pile in the car and drive around looking at the beautiful lights on all the houses. There were neighborhoods, especially in California, that were famous for how the homes were decorated in lights.
Before we knew it, it was time to hang our stockings. We used real socks and it was the one time we were grateful for the sock box. Socks were lined up so we could find the biggest one. We'd hang them on the fireplace in descending birth order so Santa would know whose stocking was whose.
And to our surprise, we were each allowed to open one gift before going to bed. Every year the gift turned out to be new pajamas. It was a ritual that we loved because new, warm PJ's made the night more special. And my parents knew we'd be presentable for pictures the next morning.
We'd push two or three beds together so all the kids could pile into one room to sleep. I know this started because my parents had bikes, trikes and dollhouses to assemble and gifts to wrap. They put us together so we'd police each other and they didn't run the risk of a child wandering into the preparations.
As all kids know, Christmas Eve is the hardest night to fall asleep. It took a long time to get everyone settled and relaxed. We'd whisper in the dark until one by one, we started to nod off to sleep.
But having us together worked against my parents in the morning. If one of us woke up, be it 4:00 or 5:00 a.m, we'd all be awake. I know there were years that my parents had barely gotten to bed before nine children were jumping on and around their bed saying "Get up! It's Christmas! Get Up!!!"
Merry Christmas To All, And To All A Good Night!
Saturday, December 29, 2012
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Deck the Halls
As I decorate my home for the holidays, I can't help remembering how we prepared for Christmas when I was young. It would start right after Thanksgiving dinner, when all of us kids would start pestering Mom. In our minds, if Thanksgiving was over, Christmas was starting. But Mom knew that Christmas music and decorations meant the start of her to-do list going from one page to three, and trying to get everything done with a brood of hyper kids was no easy feat. So she held off as long as possible, although she was quietly making plans and purchasing our gifts since early in October.
The Christmas music came out first. Our favorites were Bing Crosby, The Kingston Trio, and The NY Philharmonic with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. We also listened to other albums with assorted artists. Mom let us play Christmas music once we were squarely into December.
By the second weekend in December, the mood was set with music. Boxes of lights, tree ornaments and other miscellaneous decorations would be brought down from the attic. Outside lights, the manger and our Christmas tree were the primary decorations. We had small touches elsewhere, usually hand made by Mom or we kids. Decorating for Christmas was festive, but not expensive and Christmastime was felt throughout our house, even if every room wasn't decorated.
Special things happened only between Halloween and New Years. Mom put us to work polishing the good silver. We learned the proper way to wipe away a years worth of tarnish from trays, teapots and silverware. It was a long and messy afternoon and we usually got frustrated using the soft cloths Mom gave us and resorted to using old toothbrushes to reach tarnish embedded in the intricate scrolls of the silver patterns. Years later, I looked at the silver and asked why it had tiny scratches. I should have known!
Wonderful smells also entered the air as Mom would bake friutcake (the only one I could ever eat) and other holiday treats. Most of the recipes Mom used were difficult and used several steps. As we girls got older, we started baking too - goodies, such as traditional Christmas cookies that were lucky to last the day.
Dad would be pounding away on his typewriter, but not for his usual work. He composed the annual "The Steeletter," a summary of the events that occurred in our family throughout the past year. He used the same format almost every year - an opening greeting, a short paragraph devoted to each child and my parents and a closing wish for a happy and prosperous New Year to the recipient. Then Mom and Dad would sit at the dining room table and set about signing and addressing the hundreds of cards they sent annually. A copy of the Steeletter was included in cards being sent to family and friends. It seemed like everyone my parents had ever met received a beautiful holiday card. It usually took several days to complete this process, but Mom and Dad enjoyed working together while chatting about all people they knew.
About the second weekend in December, it was time to put up the tree. For many years Dad, with the assistance of some or all of us kids, would find the perfect tree from a local lot. But one year Dad picked out the tree with a friend (I don't remember who) and brought home a tree that had been flocked with fake snow. As an adult, I can now see this decision was made after an afternoon of toasting holiday cheer (often the source of Dad's mischief). It was a terrific mess and Mom was not pleased. But we kids loved it! There was remnants of fake snow (the consistency of damp powered sugar) on our tree lights and ornaments for years.
We didn't have hundreds of ornaments but our beautiful trees had flickering multi-color lights accented by hand-made and store bought ornaments. In the early years, we would add tinsel, something that is rare today. For those who have not witnessed this decoration, I can only describe it as paper thin strips of tinfoil that was draped on the the tree branches. Tinsel reflected the lights and moved with any breeze, so the tree came alive. Most people, including us, discontinued using it when commercial garland became available and reasonably priced. Tinsel was also shown to be dangerous for small children and pets if eaten. But everyone used to use it. It took a long time to place tinsel on the tree properly and I remember several years when we got bored with the tedious process and took to throwing it at the tree, letting the wads of silver settle where they landed.
Once the tree was up and decorated, we spent countless hours laying on our backs looking up into the tree from underneath. This is where we'd dream of all the toys and things we hoped Santa would bring. The effect was best at night with all the other lights in the room turned off.
Our Christmas trees were always located in the family room, where there was ample room for gifts and the Christmas morning mess was more manageable. Sometime after the flocked tree disaster, Mom declared that she wanted an additional tree that she would decorate. A small "adult" tree that was placed in the living room. It was a spectacular display of white lights, gold garland, artificial miniature white doves and ornaments that Mom handmade by taking styrofoam balls and expertly covering them with gold ribbons held in place by white-topped pins. It added so much to the living room (a place normally off-limits to children) that we took to using the small tree at Christmas.
Today when I look at my tree, I can't help thinking about everyone who contributed the many precious ornaments I have for decorations Barbie gave us wooden toy and hand-made ornaments and the Angel top, spread over the first six years before and after Richard and I were married. I love the ornaments that were bought annually for each of my boys, along with others that were gifts from many people in our families. There are precious gold ornaments made by a local jeweler that reflect our town's landmarks and beautiful Lenox Disney characters that were gifts to me from Richard.
Christmas comes with a unique set of challenges, stress and financial woes. But I love the season because it invites all to remember the wonderment of Christmas from growing up. To this day, I wish I knew Mom's secret for getting everything done in time to enjoy the season (and she couldn't internet shop!)
It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas!
The Christmas music came out first. Our favorites were Bing Crosby, The Kingston Trio, and The NY Philharmonic with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. We also listened to other albums with assorted artists. Mom let us play Christmas music once we were squarely into December.
By the second weekend in December, the mood was set with music. Boxes of lights, tree ornaments and other miscellaneous decorations would be brought down from the attic. Outside lights, the manger and our Christmas tree were the primary decorations. We had small touches elsewhere, usually hand made by Mom or we kids. Decorating for Christmas was festive, but not expensive and Christmastime was felt throughout our house, even if every room wasn't decorated.
Special things happened only between Halloween and New Years. Mom put us to work polishing the good silver. We learned the proper way to wipe away a years worth of tarnish from trays, teapots and silverware. It was a long and messy afternoon and we usually got frustrated using the soft cloths Mom gave us and resorted to using old toothbrushes to reach tarnish embedded in the intricate scrolls of the silver patterns. Years later, I looked at the silver and asked why it had tiny scratches. I should have known!
Wonderful smells also entered the air as Mom would bake friutcake (the only one I could ever eat) and other holiday treats. Most of the recipes Mom used were difficult and used several steps. As we girls got older, we started baking too - goodies, such as traditional Christmas cookies that were lucky to last the day.
Dad would be pounding away on his typewriter, but not for his usual work. He composed the annual "The Steeletter," a summary of the events that occurred in our family throughout the past year. He used the same format almost every year - an opening greeting, a short paragraph devoted to each child and my parents and a closing wish for a happy and prosperous New Year to the recipient. Then Mom and Dad would sit at the dining room table and set about signing and addressing the hundreds of cards they sent annually. A copy of the Steeletter was included in cards being sent to family and friends. It seemed like everyone my parents had ever met received a beautiful holiday card. It usually took several days to complete this process, but Mom and Dad enjoyed working together while chatting about all people they knew.
About the second weekend in December, it was time to put up the tree. For many years Dad, with the assistance of some or all of us kids, would find the perfect tree from a local lot. But one year Dad picked out the tree with a friend (I don't remember who) and brought home a tree that had been flocked with fake snow. As an adult, I can now see this decision was made after an afternoon of toasting holiday cheer (often the source of Dad's mischief). It was a terrific mess and Mom was not pleased. But we kids loved it! There was remnants of fake snow (the consistency of damp powered sugar) on our tree lights and ornaments for years.
We didn't have hundreds of ornaments but our beautiful trees had flickering multi-color lights accented by hand-made and store bought ornaments. In the early years, we would add tinsel, something that is rare today. For those who have not witnessed this decoration, I can only describe it as paper thin strips of tinfoil that was draped on the the tree branches. Tinsel reflected the lights and moved with any breeze, so the tree came alive. Most people, including us, discontinued using it when commercial garland became available and reasonably priced. Tinsel was also shown to be dangerous for small children and pets if eaten. But everyone used to use it. It took a long time to place tinsel on the tree properly and I remember several years when we got bored with the tedious process and took to throwing it at the tree, letting the wads of silver settle where they landed.
Once the tree was up and decorated, we spent countless hours laying on our backs looking up into the tree from underneath. This is where we'd dream of all the toys and things we hoped Santa would bring. The effect was best at night with all the other lights in the room turned off.
Our Christmas trees were always located in the family room, where there was ample room for gifts and the Christmas morning mess was more manageable. Sometime after the flocked tree disaster, Mom declared that she wanted an additional tree that she would decorate. A small "adult" tree that was placed in the living room. It was a spectacular display of white lights, gold garland, artificial miniature white doves and ornaments that Mom handmade by taking styrofoam balls and expertly covering them with gold ribbons held in place by white-topped pins. It added so much to the living room (a place normally off-limits to children) that we took to using the small tree at Christmas.
Today when I look at my tree, I can't help thinking about everyone who contributed the many precious ornaments I have for decorations Barbie gave us wooden toy and hand-made ornaments and the Angel top, spread over the first six years before and after Richard and I were married. I love the ornaments that were bought annually for each of my boys, along with others that were gifts from many people in our families. There are precious gold ornaments made by a local jeweler that reflect our town's landmarks and beautiful Lenox Disney characters that were gifts to me from Richard.
Christmas comes with a unique set of challenges, stress and financial woes. But I love the season because it invites all to remember the wonderment of Christmas from growing up. To this day, I wish I knew Mom's secret for getting everything done in time to enjoy the season (and she couldn't internet shop!)
It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas!
Friday, November 30, 2012
Robinwood Lane
My Mom had told us that people in Illinois would be refined - even wearing hats and gloves after dark. Little did I know that hats and gloves were needed to keep from freezing to death! We were kids that never owned a winter coat. We didn't know about leaves changing color - and never had to rake them. None of us remembered snow.
But now we were in Riverwoods, a section of Deerfield, Illinois. Our house was on Robinwood Lane, a one-mile, one-lane dirt road. There were other houses on our lane, but very few in comparison to Talbot Drive. None of the neighbors seemed to have children our age. We couldn't roller skate outside - thank goodness there was a huge basement we could skate round and round. Every time Cherie would convince me to explore the woods or visit the horses owned by our neighbors, I ended up with poison ivy. I think it was the longest summer of my life. I was miserable those first few months.
I didn't hate the house. In fact, it's still my favorite home from all our moves. In addition to the terrific tree house and window seat, the house also had a small, walk-in pantry, a laundry chute and large closets. And I had my own bedroom.
The house was set up with huge, dormitory style rooms at each end of the second floor. Because they were so large, the boys, Tommy, Ricky and Greg shared one room, like they did on Talbot Drive. The first few months we girls played musical bedrooms with my parents, but they finally settled into a small room in the middle of the long hall (my Mom wanted to be within earshot of all the kids). It was the best room because it had the window seat. Barbie & Cherie shared the largest bedroom at the opposite end of the house from the boys. Margie and Susie shared a smaller room, and I got the smallest room. Barbie always said I was such a pain, nobody wanted to share a room with me. But I was three years younger than Cherie and five years older than Margie, so I didn't fit in with either set of girls.
There was one and a half bathrooms on the second floor. The half bathroom had a hole built into the floor under a four-foot shelf that we learned was a laundry chute. When dirty clothes were tossed into this hole, they would slide down and end up in a cabinet next to the washer and dryer downstairs. Much easier for my Mom.
Of course the laundry chute was way too tempting to be used just for clothes. My Mom always found as many toys as clothes when she opened the cabinet to start laundry. It was fun to climb up to the cabinet and hide during hide-and-go-seek, but the older kids were too big to do much more. One day when my parents were out, we learned that when Susie was lowered into the hole, she would slide right down and someone could catch her at the bottom. Then we decided to give Greg a turn. Success! Next was Margie. She eagerly stepped to the hole and we proceeded to put her in the chute. She started to slide down, but never made it to the bottom. She was wedged in the bend the chute made to line up into the cabinet. We tried to pull her out the top - no luck. We tried to pull her feet out the bottom - she didn't budge. Poor Margie was stuck and getting scared. After a long time (probably only 15 minutes, but it seemed like a century), Cherie was finally able to calm her enough that she relaxed and we got her out. She probably told Margie to stop crying because Santa was watching and we'd all be in trouble.
The house had a detached garage with a bicycle rack made by the previous owners. We thought it was so cool to park our bikes neatly. There was also a ride-on mower (we called it the tractor). In California, our yard was so small Dad cut the grass with a push mower that had sharp whirling blades. But now, there was at least an acre of grass to mow of the three acres that we owned. And rake - the leaves never stopped. My Dad would give us rides in the cart that attached to the mower, usually on a big pile of leaves. I don't remember any of the girls or Mom ever driving the tractor, although Mom did the majority of the raking. Tom learned to mow the lawn, but only with Dad's supervision. There was also a little plow that Dad used to move snow from the garage to the road for their cars.
We only got to stay in the Deerfield house two and a half years. I made some of my best, life-long friends there. Barbie and Cherie started high school, and Barbie got her first job as a waitress in the local ice cream shop. Tommy played Little League. Margie started kindergarden. Dad ran and won a seat on the City Council. And we got our Christmas baby. Kitty was born two days before Christmas in 1966. Yes, it was short but it seemed much longer because our lives there reflected the stuff movies are made of.
When my Dad was transferred again, the house was put on the market and advertised as "Mansion in the Woods." It was the only time we moved that I wanted to stay. I believe the time we lived there was the happiest for each of us and for all of us. We just didn't know it then.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Reading Is Fundamental
Books have been a part of our family since my first memories. My parents spent a lot of their lives quietly reading. I love the smell of new books. Just the slightly musty scent of most libraries somehow brings a sense of peace to me. A good bookstore will keep me occupied for hours, but the library is even better - anything of interest can be yours for at least two weeks.
My parents had 100's of books - fiction, non-fiction and reference. They belonged to several book clubs, as well as subscribing to a series of "All About" books on science subjects and historical reference for the kids. New books were always arriving at our house. When looking for a suitable home in our many moves, room for the books was almost as big a consideration as room for all the kids.
Our new house in Deerfield had six large bedrooms. One of the biggest on the first floor was designed as the master bedroom. Not for us - it became our first home library. My parents invested in even more floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Our library housed my parents books, at least most of them. We also had bookshelves on one side of the main staircase where all the art books were displayed. On some subjects, our home library had a bigger selection than the local library.
Books were shared and passed down from child to child in our house. We loved reading stories like "A Fly Went By" and "The Big Ball Of String." There was never a limit of how many books we could keep in our bedrooms. As our appetites for reading developed, the local library filled the void for books covering each of our ages and interests.
Soon after we moved to Deerfield, my parents decided to invest in a full set of the Encyclopedia Britannica. As a bonus when you bought the adult version, you also received a set of Britannica Junior. It was like Christmas the July afternoon they arrived. Up to then, we had a Children's Golden Book Encyclopedia, but it was light on subject matter and somewhat dated. This was real reference we could really use! I guess we were weird kids - we would grab a volume to read just for fun (or was that just me?)
One rainy afternoon shortly after the new encyclopedias came, we were playing school, as we sometimes did when we were bored. Barbie was our Teacher. We got into our heads that we should write reports using our special new books. We gathered around the table to decide what each of us would write about (it wouldn't be good if your subject was in the same volume that somebody else was using). Cherie said she would write about cats, my report would be on flowers, Tommy said he's write about trains, and Rick's report would be on racing cars. Margie was just learning to write, but insisted on a report of her own too. So we asked her what she wanted to write on. She looked a bit confused, but quietly said, "I'm going to write on paper."
Although we had the best of intentions, the reports were soon forgotten when the sun came out and we were all free to play outside again.
I started reading ravenously before we left Talbot Drive. Carolyn Haywood's series about the antics of Betsy and her little sister, Star, were my favorites. I soon graduated to The Bobbsey Twins, The Tuckers, and The Five Little Peppers And How They Grew. In Deerfield, I "met" Nancy Drew, and a friend of Barbie's loaned me the entire series - original, hard-cover editions from before they were edited and mass marketed with uniform covers. It was a sad day for me when they finally had to be returned.
So the point of my rambling? Two words - Window Seats. The house on Robinwood Lane in Deerfield had the most perfect spot for curling up and reading. Someday I hope to have a house with a window seat flanked by bookshelves. But to this day, I remember that feeling of comfort whenever I enter a library. Oh, the possibilities.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Movin' On Up
I'm not sure exactly when we were told that our family was moving away from Talbot Drive, but it was the year I was ten. We were called to a family meeting and my Dad said that he was being transferred to Chicago, so our house was going on the market and we would be moving that summer.
I was excited about the prospect of a new house, new friends, and (according to my Mom) a new way of life. My parents were from the midwest - Mom and Dad grew up, went to college and married in Indiana. My Mother told us that people from the midwest were refined - not like the the heathens we had become living in southern California. People in the midwest ALWAYS acted gracious and polite. They wore hats and gloves, especially if going out after dark. I was fascinated. Yes, I could be a lady, at least most of the time.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. We learned quickly that a house on the market must be beautiful, clean and uncluttered at all times if expected to sell. There were eight children in the family at that point. We were somewhat crowded in the house, although I don't ever remember anything looking cramped. But there was a noticeable difference of how my Mom cleaned and fixed everything up for sale. And we knew better than to mess it up!
Before we knew it, the house was sold and we were ready to start the long journey from California to Illinois. Movers had come and packed up almost everything in the house. Our beds and the final boxes would be added to the moving van that morning.
We each got several sets of play-clothes and new sneakers for the trip. Those that were old enough packed our own bags, although I don't remember what we had for suitcases. My Mom carefully assembled bottles, diapers and other necessities for Susie (ages 2) and clothes for Greg (age 3) in the upstairs linen closet. She planned to dress them and pack a diaper bag at the last minute before we left. The movers were given strict instructions not to pack that closet. But as you may guess - when it was time, the closet was empty. I'm not sure what Mom did, although I know Greg & Susie were dressed when we were leaving. Perhaps a kindly neighbor?
A new station wagon had been purchased in honor of the trip - a Chrysler Town & Country. The entire neighborhood turned out to say goodbye. As a salute to our friends and the happy years we spent on Talbot Drive, my Dad lit off a Piccolo Pete - a small firecracker that sent out an ear-splitting, shrill whistle. There were many hugs, a few tears and then it was time to go. Off we went, with my Father leading us singing "Let's Go Fly A Kite" from Mary Poppins.
Instead of barreling across the country in the least amount of time, my parents planned to make this journey a vacation. Our route was not the most direct, but led up the scenic California coastline to San Francisco, over mountains to Yosemite National Park, across the beautiful Nevada desert, and included a day at Yellowstone. I'm not sure how long the trip was, but my guess is about a week. We were in the car together about eight hours a day.
And finally we arrived in Deerfield, Illinois. Our new house was much bigger than I ever imagined and it sat on three acres of partially wooded land. There was an old swingset and sandbox in the backyard, but the most exciting thing for us kids was the neat little treehouse that was expertly constructed at the edge of the woods. The ladder used for entrance was at least ten feet high. Once at the top, you needed to turn your body to get on a little porch. Then there was this little room, complete with a window, big enough for several children. I wish someone had thought to take a picture.
So a new chapter in our lives began, although Talbot Drive was still very close to our hearts and memories.
Before we knew it, the house was sold and we were ready to start the long journey from California to Illinois. Movers had come and packed up almost everything in the house. Our beds and the final boxes would be added to the moving van that morning.
We each got several sets of play-clothes and new sneakers for the trip. Those that were old enough packed our own bags, although I don't remember what we had for suitcases. My Mom carefully assembled bottles, diapers and other necessities for Susie (ages 2) and clothes for Greg (age 3) in the upstairs linen closet. She planned to dress them and pack a diaper bag at the last minute before we left. The movers were given strict instructions not to pack that closet. But as you may guess - when it was time, the closet was empty. I'm not sure what Mom did, although I know Greg & Susie were dressed when we were leaving. Perhaps a kindly neighbor?
A new station wagon had been purchased in honor of the trip - a Chrysler Town & Country. The entire neighborhood turned out to say goodbye. As a salute to our friends and the happy years we spent on Talbot Drive, my Dad lit off a Piccolo Pete - a small firecracker that sent out an ear-splitting, shrill whistle. There were many hugs, a few tears and then it was time to go. Off we went, with my Father leading us singing "Let's Go Fly A Kite" from Mary Poppins.
Instead of barreling across the country in the least amount of time, my parents planned to make this journey a vacation. Our route was not the most direct, but led up the scenic California coastline to San Francisco, over mountains to Yosemite National Park, across the beautiful Nevada desert, and included a day at Yellowstone. I'm not sure how long the trip was, but my guess is about a week. We were in the car together about eight hours a day.
And finally we arrived in Deerfield, Illinois. Our new house was much bigger than I ever imagined and it sat on three acres of partially wooded land. There was an old swingset and sandbox in the backyard, but the most exciting thing for us kids was the neat little treehouse that was expertly constructed at the edge of the woods. The ladder used for entrance was at least ten feet high. Once at the top, you needed to turn your body to get on a little porch. Then there was this little room, complete with a window, big enough for several children. I wish someone had thought to take a picture.
So a new chapter in our lives began, although Talbot Drive was still very close to our hearts and memories.
Saturday, November 3, 2012
The Idiot Box
My parents received a television early in their marriage as a gift from my grandpa Casey and my step-grandmother, Minerva. There was always a TV in our house, like almost every 1960's home, although nobody owned more than one television.
When visiting friends, I noticed the television set was usually displayed as a focal point in the living room. But my Mom believed it was crass to have a TV in the best room of the house where we entertained guests. When we moved to Talbot Drive, the TV was placed in a closet of the 4th bedroom, used as a small den. When not in use, the closet door was pulled closed. In those early days, television viewing was limited at our house during the week. My parents called the TV the Idiot Box and the Boob Tube. But I remember sitting cross-legged watching Saturday morning programs like Mighty Mouse, Popeye, Sky King, Casper and Top Cat.
When the 4th bedroom was needed for our growing family, my parents built an addition on the house so there was a Family Room where we kids could play and the old Black & White TV was relocated. The 1960's was a special time in the development of television programming. We waited eagerly each week to watch shows like Leave It To Beaver, My Three Sons, The Donna Reed Show, and Lassie. In later years we became devoted fans of The Patty Duke Show, The Beverly Hillbillies, Mr. Ed, I Dream of Jeanie and Gilligan's Island.
On Sunday nights, my Dad would take the TV off the stand and put it on the countertop between the kitchen and family room so we could watch Disney's Wonderful World of Color during dinner. Every week as the show started with a kaleidoscope of swirling colors, my Dad would say how he wished we had a new TV, because "that must be just beautiful in color".
People who grew up in small families don't know about "saving your seat". But anyone who has watched TV in a house where people outnumber soft seats knows that if you get up and don't save your chair, you could lose it. Someone in a less comfortable spot would jump up and grab your place once you were a foot or two away. So the protocol was that as soon as you stood up, you had to say "Saved". Then if someone is sitting there when you return, they have to move. But if you forgot to save your seat, you were stuck sitting on the floor or in a less-than-desirable location.
Side note: I always thought this practice was unique to our family until I met my husband, who grew up with 13 siblings. One day when we were still dating, he got up while we were watching TV and, just joking, said Save. I knew right then we were ment to be.
In 1964, a new technique was developed by Rankin/Bass for stop-motion animation and gave us classic Christmas specials such as Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and Frosty the Snowman. Because of the success of these shows, new animated specials, including A Charlie Brown Christmas and How the Grinch Stole Christmas, were added each year. This was a big deal - prior to that, Christmas specials were live variety shows or stories acted out in stage format. Amahl and the Night Visitors was mandatory viewing at our house when it was broadcast each year. But these new shows were specifically made to excite and mesmerize children. Toy makers of the day, Hasbro, Kenner and Mattel, advertised heavily during these cartoon-type programs. Unlike today, these shows were broadcast only once a year. They were special nights when we kids would gather and watch the shows while munching popcorn. We'd be giddy with excitement, even as we got older because we could share them with our younger sisters and brothers.
We finally got a color TV many years later and the first show we watched in "living color" was Lost in Space. We didn't have more than one TV until the 1970's and my Mother's living room was never defiled with a television set.
Kids today can watch Christmas specials in July, or as many times as they want, thanks to DVD's, On-Demand, YouTube, and DVR machines. Homes have TV's in almost every room and there are hundreds of channels to watch at any hour of any day. It makes me miss the old days when we knew exactly what we'd be watching before the TV was turned on.
When visiting friends, I noticed the television set was usually displayed as a focal point in the living room. But my Mom believed it was crass to have a TV in the best room of the house where we entertained guests. When we moved to Talbot Drive, the TV was placed in a closet of the 4th bedroom, used as a small den. When not in use, the closet door was pulled closed. In those early days, television viewing was limited at our house during the week. My parents called the TV the Idiot Box and the Boob Tube. But I remember sitting cross-legged watching Saturday morning programs like Mighty Mouse, Popeye, Sky King, Casper and Top Cat.
When the 4th bedroom was needed for our growing family, my parents built an addition on the house so there was a Family Room where we kids could play and the old Black & White TV was relocated. The 1960's was a special time in the development of television programming. We waited eagerly each week to watch shows like Leave It To Beaver, My Three Sons, The Donna Reed Show, and Lassie. In later years we became devoted fans of The Patty Duke Show, The Beverly Hillbillies, Mr. Ed, I Dream of Jeanie and Gilligan's Island.
On Sunday nights, my Dad would take the TV off the stand and put it on the countertop between the kitchen and family room so we could watch Disney's Wonderful World of Color during dinner. Every week as the show started with a kaleidoscope of swirling colors, my Dad would say how he wished we had a new TV, because "that must be just beautiful in color".
People who grew up in small families don't know about "saving your seat". But anyone who has watched TV in a house where people outnumber soft seats knows that if you get up and don't save your chair, you could lose it. Someone in a less comfortable spot would jump up and grab your place once you were a foot or two away. So the protocol was that as soon as you stood up, you had to say "Saved". Then if someone is sitting there when you return, they have to move. But if you forgot to save your seat, you were stuck sitting on the floor or in a less-than-desirable location.
Side note: I always thought this practice was unique to our family until I met my husband, who grew up with 13 siblings. One day when we were still dating, he got up while we were watching TV and, just joking, said Save. I knew right then we were ment to be.
In 1964, a new technique was developed by Rankin/Bass for stop-motion animation and gave us classic Christmas specials such as Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and Frosty the Snowman. Because of the success of these shows, new animated specials, including A Charlie Brown Christmas and How the Grinch Stole Christmas, were added each year. This was a big deal - prior to that, Christmas specials were live variety shows or stories acted out in stage format. Amahl and the Night Visitors was mandatory viewing at our house when it was broadcast each year. But these new shows were specifically made to excite and mesmerize children. Toy makers of the day, Hasbro, Kenner and Mattel, advertised heavily during these cartoon-type programs. Unlike today, these shows were broadcast only once a year. They were special nights when we kids would gather and watch the shows while munching popcorn. We'd be giddy with excitement, even as we got older because we could share them with our younger sisters and brothers.
We finally got a color TV many years later and the first show we watched in "living color" was Lost in Space. We didn't have more than one TV until the 1970's and my Mother's living room was never defiled with a television set.
Kids today can watch Christmas specials in July, or as many times as they want, thanks to DVD's, On-Demand, YouTube, and DVR machines. Homes have TV's in almost every room and there are hundreds of channels to watch at any hour of any day. It makes me miss the old days when we knew exactly what we'd be watching before the TV was turned on.
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Rain, Rain Go Away!
I'm writing this on the eve of Hurricane Sandy. 2012 is the second year a storm has hit Connecticut during Halloween week. I hope trick or treating isn't canceled again this year!
I have lived through several "storms of the century". There was little to fear when we lived in California (maybe a few minor earthquakes). But all that changed when we moved to Illinois. There were major snowstorms, and we also learned about tornado warnings and watches.
Our home in Illinois was built in several stages. Since the basement was the original dwelling for the builder and his family, it was reinforced and we were perfectly safe from tornados while downstairs. Many nights we were awakened by our parents and told to grab our pillow and go to the basement. When we got there, Mom had blankets and sleeping bags laid out on the cement floor. We'd line up our pillows and snuggle in to sleep the best we could. When the threat passed, we were again woken up and we'd trudge upstairs to our beds. A tornado never touched down near our house, but it was possible.
There are only a few storms that I consider truly memorable. The first was a 1967 snowstorm in Illinois. The forecast called for a few inches of snow, but overnight the storm developed into a monster blizzard. By the time it stopped snowing, it measured about an inch or two below my waist. We were safe and secure at home but all that snow paralyzed the entire greater Chicago area. My Dad was traveling in South America, and had a hard time getting home because of the airline delays. When his plane finally landed, he got a taxi at the airport to bring him home. Our street (a one-lane dirt road) was not plowed and the cabdriver wouldn't drive up (we lived almost a mile up the road). I remember my Dad trudging through the snow with his South American tan, snow over his knees and pulling a sled full of luggage.
Fast forward to late 1973 in New Canaan, CT. When the historic ice storm hit two weeks before Christmas, my Dad was again traveling. Barbie and Cherie were both in college (I think?) and I had been dating Rich (later my husband) since that summer. We rarely lost power, but this time when it went out, it stayed out for over a week. The first few days were an adventure - we gathered around the fireplace in the living room and ate everything we could from the refrigerator. But then, as the days went by it got colder and colder in the house. Mom dispatched Greg and Sue to load the sled up with wood for the fireplace, but the wind was strong and we lived on a hill. Try as they might (and they were little kids!) they could only get a few logs at a time to the house from the pile at the bottom of the hill.
After several days, the goldfish bowl froze solid, and ice was starting to form in the toilets. Mom knew she needed to do something quickly to keep us warm and fed. Tom, Ricky, Greg and Susie were dispatched to stay at friends houses that had power or generators. Rich lived in Danbury and found out the power was on there. So the rest of us piled into his car and we made our way to his apartment. Margie, Kitty and I slept in blankets on his living room floor. He slept in an oversize chair. And when he gave my Mom his bed and the warmest blankets he could find, he was golden in her eyes. I think power was restored in the next day or two. But it was a very scary week.
Hurricane Sandy has passed and we've been spared the worst. Many homes on the CT shoreline are damaged and a few even washed away, but the the damage to life and property is certainly less than originally predicted. We are fortunate. Happy Halloween!
There are only a few storms that I consider truly memorable. The first was a 1967 snowstorm in Illinois. The forecast called for a few inches of snow, but overnight the storm developed into a monster blizzard. By the time it stopped snowing, it measured about an inch or two below my waist. We were safe and secure at home but all that snow paralyzed the entire greater Chicago area. My Dad was traveling in South America, and had a hard time getting home because of the airline delays. When his plane finally landed, he got a taxi at the airport to bring him home. Our street (a one-lane dirt road) was not plowed and the cabdriver wouldn't drive up (we lived almost a mile up the road). I remember my Dad trudging through the snow with his South American tan, snow over his knees and pulling a sled full of luggage.
Fast forward to late 1973 in New Canaan, CT. When the historic ice storm hit two weeks before Christmas, my Dad was again traveling. Barbie and Cherie were both in college (I think?) and I had been dating Rich (later my husband) since that summer. We rarely lost power, but this time when it went out, it stayed out for over a week. The first few days were an adventure - we gathered around the fireplace in the living room and ate everything we could from the refrigerator. But then, as the days went by it got colder and colder in the house. Mom dispatched Greg and Sue to load the sled up with wood for the fireplace, but the wind was strong and we lived on a hill. Try as they might (and they were little kids!) they could only get a few logs at a time to the house from the pile at the bottom of the hill.
After several days, the goldfish bowl froze solid, and ice was starting to form in the toilets. Mom knew she needed to do something quickly to keep us warm and fed. Tom, Ricky, Greg and Susie were dispatched to stay at friends houses that had power or generators. Rich lived in Danbury and found out the power was on there. So the rest of us piled into his car and we made our way to his apartment. Margie, Kitty and I slept in blankets on his living room floor. He slept in an oversize chair. And when he gave my Mom his bed and the warmest blankets he could find, he was golden in her eyes. I think power was restored in the next day or two. But it was a very scary week.
Hurricane Sandy has passed and we've been spared the worst. Many homes on the CT shoreline are damaged and a few even washed away, but the the damage to life and property is certainly less than originally predicted. We are fortunate. Happy Halloween!
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
I Got The Music In Me
From my first memories, there was music in our house. Dad was very proud of his record collection and always had a state-of-the-art system to play them on. It was not unusual on any Saturday morning to hear the sounds of Scottish Highland Bagpipes, the cannons booming in 1812 Overture or other classical music being played loud enough to not only wake up everyone in our house, but many neighbors as well. We were introduced to instruments with the classic Peter and the Wolf. And we also had a 78 rpm record of the Nutcracker Suite with words to the songs - something that I've not heard since.
We used to love one particular record that was molded in several colors of swirling vinyl. We called it the "color record" and it was actually a demo of a new technology called Stereo. When placed on the turntable, waves of sound would bounce around the room as an announcer proclaimed "THIS IS STEREO-O-O-O!!" Then the sound of a huge freight train would chug from one side of the room to the other, blowing it's loud whistle and steam as it sped by. I don't know what comprised the rest of the recording, but it was played so often I know I'd know it if I heard it.
As I mentioned before, my Dad traveled for business a lot when we were growing up. One positive thing that came of his absence was that sometimes his trips took him to New York. He would often go to see the latest Broadway show, and bring the soundtrack album home. Dad would gather us to listen to the music as he narrated the story taking place between the songs (G-rating the seedier parts, of course). We all became familiar with many musicals including The Sound of Music, My Fair Lady, The King & I, Camelot, Flower Drum Song, Carousal and South Pacific. Imagine Mom's dismay as we marched around the house singing "don't get caught, that's the crime" from Irma Le Douce or "be kind to your parents, though they don't deserve it" from Fanny. As movies were made of these and other new stories, albums were added including Oliver!, Mary Poppins, Bye Bye Birdie, and Funny Girl.
During the week, we would play all this music as much as possible, even though we weren't supposed to touch Dad's stereo. In our minds, we were a modern day Von Trapp family. Most of us knew the words to every song and sometimes we'd even act out the story. We certainly had enough players to cover the main roles of any Broadway cast.
I remember acting out Mary Poppins for my parents and Grandma Homcho. When we got to "I Love to Laugh" Ricky (about 5, playing Uncle Albert) got them laughing so hard they were crying, and I'm not sure my normally prim and proper Grandmother made it to the bathroom in time.
The favorite gift my parents ever gave me was a little portable record player. Now I could listen to records without fear of hurting Dad's equipment. It also brought new music into my life, as the British Invasion was in full swing. I loved the Beatles, Rolling Stones, Dave Clark Five and the non-British Monkees. I would spend several hours a day learning the words to even more songs and practice singing to music new and old.
Of course there was always singing in church and when I was in about 6th grade, I joined the choir. It was made up of both children and adults and we sang beautiful harmonies to the otherwise dry chants and responses of the Catholic Mass. Since Dad had to drive me to rehearsal on Saturday afternoon, he also joined the choir and brought his beautiful bass harmony to the group. To this day when I hear certain pieces of music, especially at Christmas, I can hear Dad's strong, clear voice.
Dad also taught us many songs, serious and silly. We were each assigned to sing an instrument line for a piece called The Orchestra Song. Dad modified a few lines so even the smallest of us could have a part. When it came together it was magic (even if most of us had our fingers in our ears to keep on track with our part). The song was eventually retired until Barbie went to college and tracked down the sheet music. It was used in the background of the movie "You've Got Mail." We never got to sing that song with Dad again, but it was revived for his CT memorial, with every person in attendance taking part.
To this day, music is part of our lives. We still sing anytime we are together (when appropriate). Singing Edelweiss at Mom and Barbie's memorials, or the Orchestra Song at Dad's is certainly unconventional, but it brought us together in our memories of these wonderful people and showed our children how a big family can find peace even in sad times. Edelweiss, Edelweiss, Bless my Family Forever.
We used to love one particular record that was molded in several colors of swirling vinyl. We called it the "color record" and it was actually a demo of a new technology called Stereo. When placed on the turntable, waves of sound would bounce around the room as an announcer proclaimed "THIS IS STEREO-O-O-O!!" Then the sound of a huge freight train would chug from one side of the room to the other, blowing it's loud whistle and steam as it sped by. I don't know what comprised the rest of the recording, but it was played so often I know I'd know it if I heard it.
As I mentioned before, my Dad traveled for business a lot when we were growing up. One positive thing that came of his absence was that sometimes his trips took him to New York. He would often go to see the latest Broadway show, and bring the soundtrack album home. Dad would gather us to listen to the music as he narrated the story taking place between the songs (G-rating the seedier parts, of course). We all became familiar with many musicals including The Sound of Music, My Fair Lady, The King & I, Camelot, Flower Drum Song, Carousal and South Pacific. Imagine Mom's dismay as we marched around the house singing "don't get caught, that's the crime" from Irma Le Douce or "be kind to your parents, though they don't deserve it" from Fanny. As movies were made of these and other new stories, albums were added including Oliver!, Mary Poppins, Bye Bye Birdie, and Funny Girl.
During the week, we would play all this music as much as possible, even though we weren't supposed to touch Dad's stereo. In our minds, we were a modern day Von Trapp family. Most of us knew the words to every song and sometimes we'd even act out the story. We certainly had enough players to cover the main roles of any Broadway cast.
I remember acting out Mary Poppins for my parents and Grandma Homcho. When we got to "I Love to Laugh" Ricky (about 5, playing Uncle Albert) got them laughing so hard they were crying, and I'm not sure my normally prim and proper Grandmother made it to the bathroom in time.
The favorite gift my parents ever gave me was a little portable record player. Now I could listen to records without fear of hurting Dad's equipment. It also brought new music into my life, as the British Invasion was in full swing. I loved the Beatles, Rolling Stones, Dave Clark Five and the non-British Monkees. I would spend several hours a day learning the words to even more songs and practice singing to music new and old.
Of course there was always singing in church and when I was in about 6th grade, I joined the choir. It was made up of both children and adults and we sang beautiful harmonies to the otherwise dry chants and responses of the Catholic Mass. Since Dad had to drive me to rehearsal on Saturday afternoon, he also joined the choir and brought his beautiful bass harmony to the group. To this day when I hear certain pieces of music, especially at Christmas, I can hear Dad's strong, clear voice.
Dad also taught us many songs, serious and silly. We were each assigned to sing an instrument line for a piece called The Orchestra Song. Dad modified a few lines so even the smallest of us could have a part. When it came together it was magic (even if most of us had our fingers in our ears to keep on track with our part). The song was eventually retired until Barbie went to college and tracked down the sheet music. It was used in the background of the movie "You've Got Mail." We never got to sing that song with Dad again, but it was revived for his CT memorial, with every person in attendance taking part.
To this day, music is part of our lives. We still sing anytime we are together (when appropriate). Singing Edelweiss at Mom and Barbie's memorials, or the Orchestra Song at Dad's is certainly unconventional, but it brought us together in our memories of these wonderful people and showed our children how a big family can find peace even in sad times. Edelweiss, Edelweiss, Bless my Family Forever.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Wild Indians Combat Chaos
My parents, who where both only children, knew little about raising a family with lots of kids. But they were both very good organizers. In fact, my Dad's job as a Management Consultant entailed his looking at businesses and making suggestions that would make the business stronger. He brought this focus into our lives and with my Mother's insight into our personalities, they were able to keep our household running smoothly, at least most of the time.
One example - When I was little, toothbrushes were manufactured with only four color choices. This could be a problem for a family that had twice that many children. So about twice a year, when we all got new toothbrushes, my Dad would line-up the new ones, get out his pocket knife, and make little notches in the handle of each brush. The color helped us know which toothbrush could be ours, but the notch count was the deciding factor - Barbie had one notch, Cherie got two, mine had three notches and so on. It's a good thing little Susie only had a few teeth to brush - her toothbrush ended up with eight notches (not that she could count that high yet). By the time Kitty was born, toothbrush makers had figured out additional colors would sell very well.
About the time we were awaiting Greg's arrival in late1960, it became apparent that my Mom needed more help with the tasks of keeping six children clean and prepared for school or play each day. Barbie was nine and Cherie was eight - very grown up to the rest of us. So they became our Indian Chiefs and each was assigned a tribe of Indians. Barbie got the girls (me and baby Margie) and Cherie got the boys (Tommy and Rick). This system worked very well, and we learned to ask our Chief (instead of Mom) for help with baths, homework and an assortment of other things that came up each day. Within a year, Barbie and Cherie were allowed to walk us to the park or the local shopping center where we could get an ice cream cone for 5 cents, or visit a branch of the local library. As new babies arrived, they were assign a Chief, who were their main diaper changer and bottle feeder.
Each Christmas season, we drew names from a hat (actually, a bowl) to see who we would buy a present for. I'm not sure how my parents managed it, but one tribe always seemed to draw the names of the kids in the other tribe. We would pile in the car and Dad would drive us to a local outdoor mall, all beautifully decorated for Christmas. This was a big deal because it was night, and the spirit of Christmas was brighter then the beautiful lights. A return time was agreed upon and Dad would give the Chiefs money (our limit was $5 each). Off we'd go with our Chief to do Christmas shopping. We'd alway try to spend a little less so the balance of each $5 allotment could be spent on something little for our parents.
The tribes prevailed for many years. I know my Mom was very grateful for the help, but also really proud of Barbie and Cherie. It seemed so logical at the time, but until I grew up I never realized how young they were when this all started.
One example - When I was little, toothbrushes were manufactured with only four color choices. This could be a problem for a family that had twice that many children. So about twice a year, when we all got new toothbrushes, my Dad would line-up the new ones, get out his pocket knife, and make little notches in the handle of each brush. The color helped us know which toothbrush could be ours, but the notch count was the deciding factor - Barbie had one notch, Cherie got two, mine had three notches and so on. It's a good thing little Susie only had a few teeth to brush - her toothbrush ended up with eight notches (not that she could count that high yet). By the time Kitty was born, toothbrush makers had figured out additional colors would sell very well.
About the time we were awaiting Greg's arrival in late1960, it became apparent that my Mom needed more help with the tasks of keeping six children clean and prepared for school or play each day. Barbie was nine and Cherie was eight - very grown up to the rest of us. So they became our Indian Chiefs and each was assigned a tribe of Indians. Barbie got the girls (me and baby Margie) and Cherie got the boys (Tommy and Rick). This system worked very well, and we learned to ask our Chief (instead of Mom) for help with baths, homework and an assortment of other things that came up each day. Within a year, Barbie and Cherie were allowed to walk us to the park or the local shopping center where we could get an ice cream cone for 5 cents, or visit a branch of the local library. As new babies arrived, they were assign a Chief, who were their main diaper changer and bottle feeder.
Each Christmas season, we drew names from a hat (actually, a bowl) to see who we would buy a present for. I'm not sure how my parents managed it, but one tribe always seemed to draw the names of the kids in the other tribe. We would pile in the car and Dad would drive us to a local outdoor mall, all beautifully decorated for Christmas. This was a big deal because it was night, and the spirit of Christmas was brighter then the beautiful lights. A return time was agreed upon and Dad would give the Chiefs money (our limit was $5 each). Off we'd go with our Chief to do Christmas shopping. We'd alway try to spend a little less so the balance of each $5 allotment could be spent on something little for our parents.
The tribes prevailed for many years. I know my Mom was very grateful for the help, but also really proud of Barbie and Cherie. It seemed so logical at the time, but until I grew up I never realized how young they were when this all started.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Talbot Drive
My memories begin in 1959 on a suburban street in southern California. I actually lived in three houses before, but only have flashes of them and mostly from stories my parents and sisters relayed through the years. But I remember the day we moved to our house in a new development of middle class families. The developer had bought property that was an olive grove. The only stipulation the seller placed on the sale was that when the land was cleared, one olive tree would be left on each lot.
The olive trees in the front yard of every house were productive and messy. As the fruit emerged, we spent many afternoons collecting the green orbs in coffee cans to be used in giant olive fights that included every kid in the neighborhood. I can still recall the sting of getting hit in the leg or back with an olive expertly thrown by one of the older kids. It was a yearly ritual.
The olives that managed to stay on the trees would ripen into squishy black & purple mini-bombs that would fall and stain everything - sidewalks, cars and kids. My mom nearly went crazy as 12 dirty feet would track them into the house and on the living room carpet. One year we had an olive fight with the ripened olives, but it made such a mess and we got into such trouble that it was never attempted again.
Our street was laid out on a long, gradual hill of neat homes. We lived about 1/2-way down the block in a two-story with 4 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms. In the first year, Barbie was 8, Cherie was 7, I was 4, Tommy was 3, Rick was almost 1 and Mom was soon pregnant with Margie.
Through the years everyone would spend the weekends on roller skates, riding our bikes, collecting butterflies, climbing the olive trees (not very easy) or entrenched in the famous olive battles.
The hill we lived on proved to be a great source of entertainment. We had a great time when someone discovered a roll-away bed in their garage. It was old and rickety, but perfect for pushing down the hill at high speed. Then one of the older kids (I would say Cherie, but that would be tattling) got the great idea to open the bed, coax someone in, and close it back up so only their head and feet were visible. Depending on how tall the rider was, they looked like a hot dog in a huge bun. Once they were loaded, several of us would give the bed a starter push and it went sailing down the hill, picking up speed as it traveled. When one of the adults noticed what was going on (and I mean, like on the second day!) the roll-away was confiscated. But we were not to be deterred! Someone brought out two huge, old tires. We could curl up on the inside by sticking our hands and feet into the well, and again with a good push, away we would go down the hill. You can see were were influenced by TV (we loved The Little Rascals).
Because the hill was steep enough to make a fun ride down, we were always ready to careen down on anything with wheels. But once we reached the bottom, it was a long walk back up, especially on skates or pushing a bike or riding toy. There were times that cars turning into our street would see a pile of bikes, tricycles, wagons, skates and Tommy's Irish mail left behind, hoping Mom would bring the station wagon or Dad would recognize and collect our stuff as he came home from work. That rarely happened, and we were usually dispatched to get our belongings before dinner.
One afternoon, Tommy and I decided it would be fun to play in Mom's big Mercury station wagon that was parked on the street. This was great fun until Tom moved the gear-shift and the car began to roll down the hill. My Mom was in the front yard, talking to a neighbor, as this unfolded. She was 7 months pregnant at the time. As she started to run (a funny sight in itself), her "pregnancy underwear" started to slide down. By the time the car was finally stopped by an alert neighbor down the street, my Mom was standing in the middle of the street, yelling her head off, with her panties around her ankles.
Tommy and I were both spanked for this indiscretion. And we never played in the car again.
My Dad worked in Los Angeles and was home on weeknights, although he started to travel on business quite often during this period. We lived on Talbot Drive about 7 years. Many great and funny things happened in this house that I'll share in time. But the happiest days were when more siblings arrived - Margie, Greg and Susie.
The olive trees in the front yard of every house were productive and messy. As the fruit emerged, we spent many afternoons collecting the green orbs in coffee cans to be used in giant olive fights that included every kid in the neighborhood. I can still recall the sting of getting hit in the leg or back with an olive expertly thrown by one of the older kids. It was a yearly ritual.
The olives that managed to stay on the trees would ripen into squishy black & purple mini-bombs that would fall and stain everything - sidewalks, cars and kids. My mom nearly went crazy as 12 dirty feet would track them into the house and on the living room carpet. One year we had an olive fight with the ripened olives, but it made such a mess and we got into such trouble that it was never attempted again.
Our street was laid out on a long, gradual hill of neat homes. We lived about 1/2-way down the block in a two-story with 4 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms. In the first year, Barbie was 8, Cherie was 7, I was 4, Tommy was 3, Rick was almost 1 and Mom was soon pregnant with Margie.
Through the years everyone would spend the weekends on roller skates, riding our bikes, collecting butterflies, climbing the olive trees (not very easy) or entrenched in the famous olive battles.
The hill we lived on proved to be a great source of entertainment. We had a great time when someone discovered a roll-away bed in their garage. It was old and rickety, but perfect for pushing down the hill at high speed. Then one of the older kids (I would say Cherie, but that would be tattling) got the great idea to open the bed, coax someone in, and close it back up so only their head and feet were visible. Depending on how tall the rider was, they looked like a hot dog in a huge bun. Once they were loaded, several of us would give the bed a starter push and it went sailing down the hill, picking up speed as it traveled. When one of the adults noticed what was going on (and I mean, like on the second day!) the roll-away was confiscated. But we were not to be deterred! Someone brought out two huge, old tires. We could curl up on the inside by sticking our hands and feet into the well, and again with a good push, away we would go down the hill. You can see were were influenced by TV (we loved The Little Rascals).
Because the hill was steep enough to make a fun ride down, we were always ready to careen down on anything with wheels. But once we reached the bottom, it was a long walk back up, especially on skates or pushing a bike or riding toy. There were times that cars turning into our street would see a pile of bikes, tricycles, wagons, skates and Tommy's Irish mail left behind, hoping Mom would bring the station wagon or Dad would recognize and collect our stuff as he came home from work. That rarely happened, and we were usually dispatched to get our belongings before dinner.
One afternoon, Tommy and I decided it would be fun to play in Mom's big Mercury station wagon that was parked on the street. This was great fun until Tom moved the gear-shift and the car began to roll down the hill. My Mom was in the front yard, talking to a neighbor, as this unfolded. She was 7 months pregnant at the time. As she started to run (a funny sight in itself), her "pregnancy underwear" started to slide down. By the time the car was finally stopped by an alert neighbor down the street, my Mom was standing in the middle of the street, yelling her head off, with her panties around her ankles.
Tommy and I were both spanked for this indiscretion. And we never played in the car again.
My Dad worked in Los Angeles and was home on weeknights, although he started to travel on business quite often during this period. We lived on Talbot Drive about 7 years. Many great and funny things happened in this house that I'll share in time. But the happiest days were when more siblings arrived - Margie, Greg and Susie.
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Crime and Punishment
In the 1960's and early 1970's, we were a family the lived daily life as it came. Of course there was drama, but my Mom was able to keep us in line. Sometimes she didn't need to say a word to straighten us up - she had a look that said "knock it off!" But many times we were left to figure out our conflicts on our own.
My parents were strict about many things. When we were eating, there were no elbows on the table, milk was withheld until after dinner and we were expected to be a "clean plate clubber".
If an offense was serious, or even if we pushed on after being warned, capital punishment was not off limits. We learned early that when the kitchen drawer that held the pancake turner and wooden spoons opened, someone was gonna get it. It's amazing that we knew the sound of that particular drawer - sometimes we'd stop in our tracks and change course if we heard that drawer open, even when we were being good and Mom was just cooking dinner.
Although we were surprisingly well behaved in public, at home we could squabble with the best of them. I don't specifically remember the source of most of our fights, but they usually involved turf (I SAVED that chair!), chores (I did the dishes yesterday!) or just plain being cranky (He's looking at me). We were expected to keep our bedrooms clean (never happened) and help with other tasks, but our chores were never a set routine. If something needed to be done, we were asked to do it and it better get done. Period. And my parents NEVER gave us allowance.
But if a pattern of misbehavior developed, the worst punishment Mom could bestow was to tell the offending child (or children) to "Get the Sock Box". That phrase could strike fear in our hearts. Mom had a large cardboard box (later a laundry basket) that she would throw all the socks into as they came out of the dryer. In an average week over 150 socks hit that box. There were socks for boys, girls and babies. We would rummage through to find a pair that matched somewhat before school, but nobody owned a particular pair. So when Mom was at the end of her rope and needed a punishment that was quiet, she'd doom us to pairing socks. Usually we could make tidy pairs for about half the socks, but the others were impossible to match. My Mom's response "You can do better. Look really closely." This one simple chore would grant Mom at least an hour of peace, and often more if the box was really full.
Since we went places as a family, my parents also were strict about what was allowable in the car. For the most part, Dad would lead us in singing. We went on family trips or out to dinner and even drove across the United States in a station wagon that somehow fit ten or eleven. There were three bench seats that held three people each and the last two (usually Greg and Susie) sat toe to toe in the well between the second and third seat. Tom, Rick and Margie sat backwards in the third seat - a lethal combination. On more than one occasion, they would get riled up (we called it "getting the giggles") and Dad would have to pull over and swat their butts on the side of the road to calm them down.
If someone did something really bad, Dad would use his hand or sometimes his belt to spank us. In many cases, the act of disobedience happened when my Dad was out of town, so we'd have to wait for days to be punished. I think the waiting was worse than the actual spanking. He'd line the rest of us up to watch as an example of what happens when you act badly. And you'd better not laugh, or you'd be next.
Typing this, it sounds like my parents were cruel, but spanking was a rare occurrence, used only in the most severe cases. I can only remember being spanked twice. Usually my Mom could head-off bad behavior before it became a capital offense.
After all, she had a sock box.
My parents were strict about many things. When we were eating, there were no elbows on the table, milk was withheld until after dinner and we were expected to be a "clean plate clubber".
If an offense was serious, or even if we pushed on after being warned, capital punishment was not off limits. We learned early that when the kitchen drawer that held the pancake turner and wooden spoons opened, someone was gonna get it. It's amazing that we knew the sound of that particular drawer - sometimes we'd stop in our tracks and change course if we heard that drawer open, even when we were being good and Mom was just cooking dinner.
Although we were surprisingly well behaved in public, at home we could squabble with the best of them. I don't specifically remember the source of most of our fights, but they usually involved turf (I SAVED that chair!), chores (I did the dishes yesterday!) or just plain being cranky (He's looking at me). We were expected to keep our bedrooms clean (never happened) and help with other tasks, but our chores were never a set routine. If something needed to be done, we were asked to do it and it better get done. Period. And my parents NEVER gave us allowance.
But if a pattern of misbehavior developed, the worst punishment Mom could bestow was to tell the offending child (or children) to "Get the Sock Box". That phrase could strike fear in our hearts. Mom had a large cardboard box (later a laundry basket) that she would throw all the socks into as they came out of the dryer. In an average week over 150 socks hit that box. There were socks for boys, girls and babies. We would rummage through to find a pair that matched somewhat before school, but nobody owned a particular pair. So when Mom was at the end of her rope and needed a punishment that was quiet, she'd doom us to pairing socks. Usually we could make tidy pairs for about half the socks, but the others were impossible to match. My Mom's response "You can do better. Look really closely." This one simple chore would grant Mom at least an hour of peace, and often more if the box was really full.
Since we went places as a family, my parents also were strict about what was allowable in the car. For the most part, Dad would lead us in singing. We went on family trips or out to dinner and even drove across the United States in a station wagon that somehow fit ten or eleven. There were three bench seats that held three people each and the last two (usually Greg and Susie) sat toe to toe in the well between the second and third seat. Tom, Rick and Margie sat backwards in the third seat - a lethal combination. On more than one occasion, they would get riled up (we called it "getting the giggles") and Dad would have to pull over and swat their butts on the side of the road to calm them down.
If someone did something really bad, Dad would use his hand or sometimes his belt to spank us. In many cases, the act of disobedience happened when my Dad was out of town, so we'd have to wait for days to be punished. I think the waiting was worse than the actual spanking. He'd line the rest of us up to watch as an example of what happens when you act badly. And you'd better not laugh, or you'd be next.
Typing this, it sounds like my parents were cruel, but spanking was a rare occurrence, used only in the most severe cases. I can only remember being spanked twice. Usually my Mom could head-off bad behavior before it became a capital offense.
After all, she had a sock box.
Monday, October 8, 2012
Trick or Treat
Today is Columbus Day and it got me thinking about how we spent holidays when I was growing up. I don't remember anything special about Columbus Day, except we got a day off from school, but I have great memories of the major holidays - Easter, Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas. Since it's officially October, I'll tell you how we spent Halloween growing up.
For many years, there were two separate costumes for each of us enrolled in school. One to depict our "patron saint" (the Catholic saint where we got our name) and worn to school, and one for trick or treating on Halloween night. The school costume got the least effort except one year my Mom really got into it - we had a parade at school and it included Saint Barbara (Barbie), Saint Charles (Cherie), Saint Patrick (Me), and Saint Thomas Aquinas (Tom). We looked like illustrations from a book. I guess Saint Patrick was a bishop, because I wore this painted cardboard mitre (a tall triangle hat) that stayed on my head with stretchy elastic. It was one of the few days I remember that Tom was not in trouble at school - the nuns actually gushed over him.
Our real (aka trick or treating) costumes were alway home-made with clothes and things we already had in the house. Mom was a master at making hobo beards by burning a wine bottle cork and rubbing it (after it cooled!) on our faces. More than once there was torrential rain on Halloween night, so instead of the usual pirates, princesses, hobos and clowns, we became fishermen in our yellow raincoats & hats, black buckle boots, and mustaches made with Mom's burnt-cork crayon.
My favorite costume of all time was the year I dressed as Pipi Longstocking. I wore a red jumper and stripped shirt, with a different strip on my socks. But what made the costume complete is that Mom braided my hair with stiff garden wire woven in - so my braids made the famous Pipi Longstocking U on either side of my head.
I remember coming home with lots of candy, dumping it out and picking out my favorite candy bars, milk duds and wax lips. No matter how hard I tried to make it last, it was always gone within a few days except the stuff like Mary Janes and wrapped hard candy that nobody ever seemed to eat.
When we moved to Maryland, trick or treating became less of an event for me, but I still took my younger sisters and brothers around the neighborhood. By then, store-bought costumes became the usual choice, even though my Mom still resisted spending money on something so silly that could be made at home.
Things are certainly different today. We collected and ate candy from any house we could walk to without anyone looking it over. Costumes were less focused on scary and more on fun. We ran around the neighborhoods without adult supervision from 7:00 to at least 10. And if someone didn't have candy or wasn't home, we'd go to the next house without taking time to egg, toilet paper or damage the first property in any way. Not that we were saints, but we just didn't have time - the focus of the night was to collect as much candy as we could before we went home. Halloween and Easter were the only two times we were allowed to have more than one piece of candy on a given day.
And we'd trick or treated for UNICEF, trying to make the little cardboard house bank as heavy as possible.
For many years, there were two separate costumes for each of us enrolled in school. One to depict our "patron saint" (the Catholic saint where we got our name) and worn to school, and one for trick or treating on Halloween night. The school costume got the least effort except one year my Mom really got into it - we had a parade at school and it included Saint Barbara (Barbie), Saint Charles (Cherie), Saint Patrick (Me), and Saint Thomas Aquinas (Tom). We looked like illustrations from a book. I guess Saint Patrick was a bishop, because I wore this painted cardboard mitre (a tall triangle hat) that stayed on my head with stretchy elastic. It was one of the few days I remember that Tom was not in trouble at school - the nuns actually gushed over him.
Our real (aka trick or treating) costumes were alway home-made with clothes and things we already had in the house. Mom was a master at making hobo beards by burning a wine bottle cork and rubbing it (after it cooled!) on our faces. More than once there was torrential rain on Halloween night, so instead of the usual pirates, princesses, hobos and clowns, we became fishermen in our yellow raincoats & hats, black buckle boots, and mustaches made with Mom's burnt-cork crayon.
My favorite costume of all time was the year I dressed as Pipi Longstocking. I wore a red jumper and stripped shirt, with a different strip on my socks. But what made the costume complete is that Mom braided my hair with stiff garden wire woven in - so my braids made the famous Pipi Longstocking U on either side of my head.
I remember coming home with lots of candy, dumping it out and picking out my favorite candy bars, milk duds and wax lips. No matter how hard I tried to make it last, it was always gone within a few days except the stuff like Mary Janes and wrapped hard candy that nobody ever seemed to eat.
When we moved to Maryland, trick or treating became less of an event for me, but I still took my younger sisters and brothers around the neighborhood. By then, store-bought costumes became the usual choice, even though my Mom still resisted spending money on something so silly that could be made at home.
Things are certainly different today. We collected and ate candy from any house we could walk to without anyone looking it over. Costumes were less focused on scary and more on fun. We ran around the neighborhoods without adult supervision from 7:00 to at least 10. And if someone didn't have candy or wasn't home, we'd go to the next house without taking time to egg, toilet paper or damage the first property in any way. Not that we were saints, but we just didn't have time - the focus of the night was to collect as much candy as we could before we went home. Halloween and Easter were the only two times we were allowed to have more than one piece of candy on a given day.
And we'd trick or treated for UNICEF, trying to make the little cardboard house bank as heavy as possible.
Friday, October 5, 2012
Food, Glorious Food!
In a big family, there is always LOTS of food, and my Mom & Dad were master meal planners. My Dad always did the grocery shopping. I don't think he particularly enjoyed this job, but it was the lesser of two evils, the second option being staying home with the kids. This task was accomplished once a week on Saturday and Dad would usually take one child with him as a "helper". I always loved going with him because he was a softy (with a sweet tooth to match) and could be talked into all sorts of forbidden goodies.
Breakfast was "on our own" during the week and was always cereal. We had "special breakfast" on Saturday mornings, made by Dad since he was an early riser and wasn't a fan of most cereal. We would help him stir batter for fluffy pancakes or waffles, or wait impatiently until a huge pot of oatmeal or cream of wheat (my favorite) was ready. We'd also make orange juice from a big frozen can of concentrate and three cans of water. Mom never had to worry about left-overs!
The magic of Sunday breakfast is a source of debate among my siblings. Since it was Sunday, Dad would go to Mass early and come home and start cooking bacon. He'd assign whoever was around (usually the kids who were up and dressed early enough to attend church with him) to start making toast, more orange juice and set the table. When all that was done (it takes awhile to cook a pound or two of bacon), Dad called everyone to the table as he made sunny side up eggs. We had a large free-standing skillet that he would bring to the table to serve from. So here's where the story gets fuzzy. As much as I loved these family times, as we all got older it became a war to get everyone up and to the table. My younger brothers and sisters still talk about being tired and hung over from the night before, only to be summoned downstairs to face greasy bacon and runny eggs. It got much worse when Dad discovered the health benefits of poached eggs on soggy toast.
The first year that five of us were enrolled in school (leaving two at home and Mom pregnant with number eight), my parents invested in a huge chest freezer that was kept stocked with meat, TV dinners and of course, our sandwiches for school lunch. After kindergarden, we were each enrolled in Catholic School as soon as there was room in our grade. Because the school was run by the church, no cafeteria was available so we all had to brown bag our lunch every day.
Before the school year started, my Mom and Dad would stock up on about a dozen loaves of bread and sandwich fixings. The kitchen table became the staging area where sandwiches were assembled, one or two loaves at a time. First was the standard PB&J. Each sandwich was made and expertly wrapped in waxed paper or later, waxed sandwich bags (if there were plastic sandwich bags, they must have been expensive, since I don't recall using them). Then the sandwiches were all loaded back into the bread wrapper marked with the contents and sent to their frozen home until needed.
Since mayonaise didn't freeze well, we learned to eat some interesting combinations such as bologna with ketchup and tuna salad made with mustard. It was our job each morning to grab a brown bag, go into the freezer and pack a frozen sandwich from the wealth of selections. There was always one loaf of sandwiches nobody would touch, such as my Mom's creation of cream cheese and olives (Yuk!). We'd add an apple, raisins or banana to the bag and that was lunch. The sandwich would thaw enough to eat by lunchtime. A carton of milk was provided at school, as long as we remembered to bring in our milk money at the start of every month.
At our house, if you knew what day it was, you'd know what the dinner menu was. Dad traveled and was rarely home during the week, so Monday thru Thursday we had casseroles or occasionally TV dinners (depending on how Mom was feeling that day). Friday night was always spaghetti, but never with meat. My Mom made an interesting tomato-Velveeta cheese sauce mixed with cooked spaghetti. Saturday night was always hot dogs and baked beans. Sunday dinner we'd all assemble in the Dining Room and have something that usually involved Mom cooking a roast or pork chops or Dad barbecuing steak. Or we would go out to a nice restaurant. It was a rare event when we strayed from this rotation.
Some things I never knew about until I grew up and moved to my own home include: butter and margarine are different things (we always used Imperial and called it butter), real spaghetti sauce has meat and no Velveeta cheese in it, and that there are families that actually have salt shakers on the table at every meal. Even when we had eggs or potatoes, there was never any salt added and fresh-ground pepper was the only option for enhancing flavor.
Breakfast was "on our own" during the week and was always cereal. We had "special breakfast" on Saturday mornings, made by Dad since he was an early riser and wasn't a fan of most cereal. We would help him stir batter for fluffy pancakes or waffles, or wait impatiently until a huge pot of oatmeal or cream of wheat (my favorite) was ready. We'd also make orange juice from a big frozen can of concentrate and three cans of water. Mom never had to worry about left-overs!
The magic of Sunday breakfast is a source of debate among my siblings. Since it was Sunday, Dad would go to Mass early and come home and start cooking bacon. He'd assign whoever was around (usually the kids who were up and dressed early enough to attend church with him) to start making toast, more orange juice and set the table. When all that was done (it takes awhile to cook a pound or two of bacon), Dad called everyone to the table as he made sunny side up eggs. We had a large free-standing skillet that he would bring to the table to serve from. So here's where the story gets fuzzy. As much as I loved these family times, as we all got older it became a war to get everyone up and to the table. My younger brothers and sisters still talk about being tired and hung over from the night before, only to be summoned downstairs to face greasy bacon and runny eggs. It got much worse when Dad discovered the health benefits of poached eggs on soggy toast.
The first year that five of us were enrolled in school (leaving two at home and Mom pregnant with number eight), my parents invested in a huge chest freezer that was kept stocked with meat, TV dinners and of course, our sandwiches for school lunch. After kindergarden, we were each enrolled in Catholic School as soon as there was room in our grade. Because the school was run by the church, no cafeteria was available so we all had to brown bag our lunch every day.
Before the school year started, my Mom and Dad would stock up on about a dozen loaves of bread and sandwich fixings. The kitchen table became the staging area where sandwiches were assembled, one or two loaves at a time. First was the standard PB&J. Each sandwich was made and expertly wrapped in waxed paper or later, waxed sandwich bags (if there were plastic sandwich bags, they must have been expensive, since I don't recall using them). Then the sandwiches were all loaded back into the bread wrapper marked with the contents and sent to their frozen home until needed.
Since mayonaise didn't freeze well, we learned to eat some interesting combinations such as bologna with ketchup and tuna salad made with mustard. It was our job each morning to grab a brown bag, go into the freezer and pack a frozen sandwich from the wealth of selections. There was always one loaf of sandwiches nobody would touch, such as my Mom's creation of cream cheese and olives (Yuk!). We'd add an apple, raisins or banana to the bag and that was lunch. The sandwich would thaw enough to eat by lunchtime. A carton of milk was provided at school, as long as we remembered to bring in our milk money at the start of every month.
At our house, if you knew what day it was, you'd know what the dinner menu was. Dad traveled and was rarely home during the week, so Monday thru Thursday we had casseroles or occasionally TV dinners (depending on how Mom was feeling that day). Friday night was always spaghetti, but never with meat. My Mom made an interesting tomato-Velveeta cheese sauce mixed with cooked spaghetti. Saturday night was always hot dogs and baked beans. Sunday dinner we'd all assemble in the Dining Room and have something that usually involved Mom cooking a roast or pork chops or Dad barbecuing steak. Or we would go out to a nice restaurant. It was a rare event when we strayed from this rotation.
Some things I never knew about until I grew up and moved to my own home include: butter and margarine are different things (we always used Imperial and called it butter), real spaghetti sauce has meat and no Velveeta cheese in it, and that there are families that actually have salt shakers on the table at every meal. Even when we had eggs or potatoes, there was never any salt added and fresh-ground pepper was the only option for enhancing flavor.
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Meet the Family
So I think if I want anyone to continue reading this blog, I should tell you a little about my brothers and sisters. Here is a list of our names in birth order and a few words I think describes each of us.
Barbara Ann - elementary school teacher, in the dictionary to describe the word "efficient" Barb or Barbie to friends and family.
Cheryl Marie - quiet, calming, mother of 5 (4 boys and 1 girl). Was dubbed a tomboy growing up because she could climb a tree and played softball. We call her Cherie.
Patricia Lynn (Me!) - outgoing, talkative, organizer. Mother of two awesome boys. Family calls me Patty.
Thomas Michael - first born son, deep thinker, jokester, great speaker. Dad to two talented daughters. He was Tommy until high school, now we mostly call him Tom. Liked to be called Tom-Bow when he was little.
Richard Joseph - out-of-the-box thinker, creative, funny. Born on Dad's 33rd birthday. He's been known as Ricky, Rick-O-Shea (to my Mom) and Floyd (during high school), but we usually call him Rick.
Marjorie Beth - artistic, independent, open-minded. She got her name from a book Mom was reading, Marjorie Morningstar. Two wonderful girls call her Mom. We always call her Margie.
Gregory John - rugged, disciplined, traditional. Dad to one sweet little girl (who's getting big too quickly). His nickname is Greg. I love his name, although I thought his name should be Gregory Jonathan - I used to call him that.
Susan Lee - caring, dependable, patient, friend-in-need. Mom to one smart, handsome son. Called Sue or Susie all her life, and we also called her Susie Q and Surf City Sue when she was an infant.
Kathleen Mary - fun, hard working, adventurous. She was almost named Mary since my grandmother was sad there are six girls and none named for her. But we compromised and Mary became her middle name. She's Kitty to us. I used to call her "Little Kittle".
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Introduction
My name is Pat and this blog is an attempt to share some of the crazy events that led to my present life. Contrary to what my kids and grandchildren believe, I started out as a child. I came into the world the third child and third daughter of a family that eventually grew to six girls and three boys, keeping my parents laughing, crying, happy, mad or busy in general for the rest of their lives.
I came upon the name for this blog shortly after my Dad passed away. When my family was together after the memorial, we were talking about "dad-isms" and the unique phrases my Dad used frequently. Our family went out to dinner in nice restaurants quite often, even when most of us were very small. When we arrived at the door of a restaurant, my father would request a table for "ten plus a highchair." This went on for several years. That phrase always made me feel happy and proud of our family. So it became the title for this blog.
So how does a family with nine children keep things normal? First off, my Mom always said she had nine "only children". And she was right - we are all completely different in our temperament, likes and dislikes, professions and politics. As adults, we are somewhat connected by our differences, and there's usually someone to see your point of view or help with a difficult job. But as kids - well, put it this way - I don't know how my parents (Mom in particular) did it.
Today we are scattered through several states, but Mom & Dad were somehow able to instill a strong sense of Family in all of us. Although some of us may not see each other or gab on the phone regularly, when we connect, it's like we never separated. We still know how to make each other laugh, as well as push each other's buttons. The people who became our spouses are saints, none more than my own wonderful husband of 37 years.
So in the days to come, I will relay what I know about living in a large family, the funny things we did, the questions I hope someday to find answers to, and how I became the outgoing, outspoken, get it done, karaoke singing person I am today.
I came upon the name for this blog shortly after my Dad passed away. When my family was together after the memorial, we were talking about "dad-isms" and the unique phrases my Dad used frequently. Our family went out to dinner in nice restaurants quite often, even when most of us were very small. When we arrived at the door of a restaurant, my father would request a table for "ten plus a highchair." This went on for several years. That phrase always made me feel happy and proud of our family. So it became the title for this blog.
So how does a family with nine children keep things normal? First off, my Mom always said she had nine "only children". And she was right - we are all completely different in our temperament, likes and dislikes, professions and politics. As adults, we are somewhat connected by our differences, and there's usually someone to see your point of view or help with a difficult job. But as kids - well, put it this way - I don't know how my parents (Mom in particular) did it.
Today we are scattered through several states, but Mom & Dad were somehow able to instill a strong sense of Family in all of us. Although some of us may not see each other or gab on the phone regularly, when we connect, it's like we never separated. We still know how to make each other laugh, as well as push each other's buttons. The people who became our spouses are saints, none more than my own wonderful husband of 37 years.
So in the days to come, I will relay what I know about living in a large family, the funny things we did, the questions I hope someday to find answers to, and how I became the outgoing, outspoken, get it done, karaoke singing person I am today.
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