I thought I'd write about a typical day during the week at our house. It's funny, but the list of our daily activities, from the time we started school through high school graduation, contains very little change year after year, house after house. We all did almost exactly the same thing each day. Obviously there were seasonable adjustments, but our lives had a rhythm that was generally predictable.
Dad was ALWAYS the first one to wake up. You could define the phrase "early bird" by watching my Dad. He was always showered, shaved and dressed no later than 7:00 a.m. even on Saturdays. When Dad was home (on weekends), he'd let us sleep to a reasonable time, then he'd start calling "Up-and-at-em," standing at each bedroom door. He never really had any trouble getting us to wake up (at least until we hit high-school age). But even when Dad was home during the week, he'd usually be off to work before we woke up.
We were responsible for getting ourselves dressed and ready for school - including getting our own breakfast. Mom was always awake, but she usually stayed in bed because she spent a lot of nights being pregnant, recovering from delivery or was up during the night feeding babies or nursing sick kids. Mom's role in our mornings was mostly as referee because that's when we tended to squabble the most.
A recurring morning fight was over "who gets the glug-glug." To explain, we thought there was something special about how a new glass bottle of milk would say "glug-glug" on the first pour into our cereal or glass. And we would really fight to get it! I have no idea how it started, but I guess other families had the same problem because milk doesn't "glug-glug" anymore.
We each had an imitation leather (plastic) book bag that looked like a little briefcase. It was up to us to make sure our books & supplies, including homework, was packed up and ready to go. We also needed to assemble and take our lunch every day. And if we were going to Mass during school (every first Friday, holiday, holy day and during Advent and Lent) it was mandatory to remember our uniform beanie.
I don't think there ever a year that all of us school-aged kids went to the same school. The majority of the time we were in Catholic school, but there was no kindergarden, and once Barbie reached high school, that was also a different school. We were mostly scattered among three schools. So it was a nightmare for Mom if anyone missed their bus in the morning.
By 8:30, all the school-aged kids had climbed on their buses and were off to school. We'd arrive at school just early enough to feel the chilly mornings before the bell would ring and we'd line up with our class.
When the school day was complete (between 2:15 and 3:00 depending on what grade), we'd board the bus for the return trip home. We took our time walking home from the bus-stop because it was likely our last "outside time" for the day.
Mom was usually folding clothes and diapers or ironing when we got home. We were always told to change into play-clothes (we each had five white shirts for everyday, but our plaid uniform skirts or jumpers and navy blue pants for the boys needed to stay clean all week). We'd proceed to our rooms with our book bags, and sometimes we'd actually change.
We were usually hungary and needed a snack. Mom was not big on snacking, but we were allowed to have a piece of fruit or some crackers to hold us until dinnertime. In later years, we started eating cereal after school.
Next we were supposed to do our homework before we played or watched TV, and again, sometimes we did. But mostly there was other stuff we'd pursue, either alone or with a sibling. The one thing we didn't do after school was go outside and play with other kids in the neighborhood. I'm not sure why - my guess is that since Dad traveled so much, Mom felt better having all her little chicks in the nest.
At about 6:30, Mom would start dinner. There was always at least two jobs that were assigned to unlucky kids before dinner - making a salad and setting the table. And sometimes peeling and mashing potatoes. No matter what job you got, it seemed like you just did it the night before. But sometimes it was better to just do it - or dare I say, volunteer? Because that gave you immunity from doing the dishes after dinner.
Mom made the most delicious casseroles. Or we'd have meatloaf, fish sticks or sometimes for a treat, sloppy Joes. We had salad with every dinner. We always sat together at the table. And clean plates were required before we each drank a glass of milk and dinner was over.
After dinner, we went to our rooms to finish (or start?) homework or read until bedtime at 8:00. Except on Thursday night, when we'd watch The Donna Reed Show, followed by My Three Sons. (Thursday was always a good TV night. Over the years, shows like The Beverly Hillbillies, Gilligan's Island and The Flying Nun were aired on Thursday).
And then we went to bed. As we got older, bedtimes got later, but everything else hardly changed. Looking back now, it sounds incredibly dull, but I don't ever remember being bored. I guess I spent a lot of time plotting how to get the glug-glug the next morning.
What was the one thing you did, without fail, every day? Were there any recurring squabbles with your siblings that were routine? Leave a comment and let me know!
Showing posts with label blog. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blog. Show all posts
Sunday, October 20, 2013
Saturday, October 19, 2013
Creative Pastimes
My parents knew a suitable craft project could keep a child quiet and engaged for hours. When there are nine children in the house, this is definitely preferable (at least for them) to squabbling with our siblings or making a mess.
I don't remember Mom or Dad ever "teaching" us how to make things or be creative, except through example. But we were lucky to have older siblings, friends, scouts and enough natural resourcefulness to guide us through each burst of creativity. (And of course, when all else fails, read the directions).
As soon as Barbie and Cherie understood "over and under," Dad constructed simple frames from scraps of wood. Then small nails were added, spaced evenly around the perfect square. Using this simple tool, many potholders were made, using brightly colored fabric loops that were purchased at a local toy or five-and-dime store. Unfortunately, it was almost impossible to get the loops tight enough to use these creations as actual potholders, but we were very proud of our handiwork all the same. In later years, when the nails at each mitered corner loosened, the looms were replaced by plastic ones that were packaged with the loops in kits.
The first project completed every year in Girl Scouts was making a "sit-upon". This little mat was your chair for meetings and outings all year. Since a sit-upon needed to keep your fanny warm and dry when sitting outside, it was made using several layers of newspaper sandwiched between two pieces of Naugahyde (fake leather, like pleather today). Once assembled, it was kept together by stitching around all four sides, not an easy task because pushing a needle through Naugahyde wasn't easy. You could always tell which side was the last to be stitched - there was usually a repair made from tape by the end of the year. I never understood why we didn't just use tape to begin with, but I guess it was to teach us a basic joining stitch.
I remember the frustration of trying to get fabric smooth and tight on an embroidery hoop (or is it hoops), although I don't remember a single stitch.
We became masters of making crochet ropes using old thread spools, again with small nails, pounded around the hole in the top.
And for awhile, there were "No Wire Hangers, Ever" at our house when it was discovered how easy it was to cover an ugly hanger with pretty yarn.
There were summers we spent weaving and threading long plastic strips into braided lanyards. We also learned Never to throw out gum wrappers. They could be folded and inter-attached. By the time we lost interest in this craft, I had a rope at least 30 feet long and a very sore jaw from chewing all that gum!
Not that the girls had all the fun - there were many Saturday afternoons when newspapers covered the kitchen table and model airplanes, ships and cars were painted and assembled. I also remember the day Tommy carefully put a line of airplane glue on the side of his finger to spread on his model piece, only to reach up and unthinkingly rub his eye, effectively gluing his eye shut!
When one of the boys got a rock tumbler (Rick?), I thought it was surely going to be a disappointment. They gathered and washed rocks and then set them into the tumbler with the smoother ingredient, included in the kit. And then, it was wait, wait, wait and wait, Like for days! Maybe weeks. But when the tumbler was finally stopped, the ugly rocks from outside were transformed into beautiful stones! Boy, was I surprised.
One year Dad made a huge dollhouse for Barbie & Cherie's Barbie dolls. We all set to the task making furniture out of anything we could repurpose. We used egg cartons (cut apart with fabric scraps glued on make cute chairs), made Popsicle stick beds and tables, and even used the boxes from Dad's Benson & Hedges cigarettes, glued as a stack, for bureau drawers.
Yes, scissors and glue were hard to find at our house since we rarely remembered to put things back. But if you ever wondered what kids did inside before video games and the internet, now you know.
I don't remember Mom or Dad ever "teaching" us how to make things or be creative, except through example. But we were lucky to have older siblings, friends, scouts and enough natural resourcefulness to guide us through each burst of creativity. (And of course, when all else fails, read the directions).
As soon as Barbie and Cherie understood "over and under," Dad constructed simple frames from scraps of wood. Then small nails were added, spaced evenly around the perfect square. Using this simple tool, many potholders were made, using brightly colored fabric loops that were purchased at a local toy or five-and-dime store. Unfortunately, it was almost impossible to get the loops tight enough to use these creations as actual potholders, but we were very proud of our handiwork all the same. In later years, when the nails at each mitered corner loosened, the looms were replaced by plastic ones that were packaged with the loops in kits.
The first project completed every year in Girl Scouts was making a "sit-upon". This little mat was your chair for meetings and outings all year. Since a sit-upon needed to keep your fanny warm and dry when sitting outside, it was made using several layers of newspaper sandwiched between two pieces of Naugahyde (fake leather, like pleather today). Once assembled, it was kept together by stitching around all four sides, not an easy task because pushing a needle through Naugahyde wasn't easy. You could always tell which side was the last to be stitched - there was usually a repair made from tape by the end of the year. I never understood why we didn't just use tape to begin with, but I guess it was to teach us a basic joining stitch.
I remember the frustration of trying to get fabric smooth and tight on an embroidery hoop (or is it hoops), although I don't remember a single stitch.
We became masters of making crochet ropes using old thread spools, again with small nails, pounded around the hole in the top.
And for awhile, there were "No Wire Hangers, Ever" at our house when it was discovered how easy it was to cover an ugly hanger with pretty yarn.
There were summers we spent weaving and threading long plastic strips into braided lanyards. We also learned Never to throw out gum wrappers. They could be folded and inter-attached. By the time we lost interest in this craft, I had a rope at least 30 feet long and a very sore jaw from chewing all that gum!
Not that the girls had all the fun - there were many Saturday afternoons when newspapers covered the kitchen table and model airplanes, ships and cars were painted and assembled. I also remember the day Tommy carefully put a line of airplane glue on the side of his finger to spread on his model piece, only to reach up and unthinkingly rub his eye, effectively gluing his eye shut!
When one of the boys got a rock tumbler (Rick?), I thought it was surely going to be a disappointment. They gathered and washed rocks and then set them into the tumbler with the smoother ingredient, included in the kit. And then, it was wait, wait, wait and wait, Like for days! Maybe weeks. But when the tumbler was finally stopped, the ugly rocks from outside were transformed into beautiful stones! Boy, was I surprised.
One year Dad made a huge dollhouse for Barbie & Cherie's Barbie dolls. We all set to the task making furniture out of anything we could repurpose. We used egg cartons (cut apart with fabric scraps glued on make cute chairs), made Popsicle stick beds and tables, and even used the boxes from Dad's Benson & Hedges cigarettes, glued as a stack, for bureau drawers.
Yes, scissors and glue were hard to find at our house since we rarely remembered to put things back. But if you ever wondered what kids did inside before video games and the internet, now you know.
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
The Lying Nuns
Mom's upbringing was as Roman Catholic as it came. Her mother and grandmother went to mass daily and took care of laundering the priest's vestments and church linens from St. Mary's church in the blue-collar, Indiana town where Mom grew up. My father was not particularly religious when he met Mom. His background was tied to the Lutheran church. He'd become interested in the Catholic faith while attending Notre Dame.
Mom & Dad met at Northwestern College. Although it took Dad awhile to convince Mom to marry him, she eventually agreed. Dad converted to Catholicism and received Communion and Confirmation in the weeks before their large wedding at St. Mary's Church.
I tell you these facts because this was our family environment in the early years. At every meal, no one was allowed to touch a bit of food before we bowed our heads and said grace together. We would kneel at bedtime every night and recite "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep...." We prayed to St. Anthony to help us find lost items. There seemed to be a prayer for anything and everything.
At school, a bell rang to signal the start of each day. We would immediately line up at our designated places in the schoolyard. In unison, every child and teacher would salute the flag with the Pledge of Allegiance. Then, we all turned to face the church building and say a prayer to Salute the Cross. The time spent learning the teachings of the church and attending mass rivaled time allotted for Math, History or English. We truly believed God was everywhere. Nuns and priests were on earth to help God make us good human beings. They were closest to God and super holy.
So imagine my surprise when I learned the nuns lied! Wearing patent leather shoes would not reflect my underwear! And it was not a sin to play with other children who did not go to Catholic school.
Once we discovered that Nuns had faults and were probably more like us than God, school became a bit easier. We secretly called them funny names behind their backs. I wonder if Sister Mary Helen knew we called her Sister Hairy Melon!
Sister Clementissima (a.k.a. Sister Clementiddle-hopper) had the power to use "The Board of Education" to paddle children who misbehaved. There was not much that was out of bounds when the nuns needed to keep a classroom of 60 children (yes, 6 rows of 10 desks in each class) obedient and quiet. Sometimes when I think about my early school days, my mind says "did that really happen?" But it was a different time and place, and if you were punished at school and dared to complain to your parents, you would get more punishment instead of sympathy. Because if the nuns said you did wrong, they would not lie. But we kids knew better!
Mom & Dad met at Northwestern College. Although it took Dad awhile to convince Mom to marry him, she eventually agreed. Dad converted to Catholicism and received Communion and Confirmation in the weeks before their large wedding at St. Mary's Church.
I tell you these facts because this was our family environment in the early years. At every meal, no one was allowed to touch a bit of food before we bowed our heads and said grace together. We would kneel at bedtime every night and recite "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep...." We prayed to St. Anthony to help us find lost items. There seemed to be a prayer for anything and everything.
At school, a bell rang to signal the start of each day. We would immediately line up at our designated places in the schoolyard. In unison, every child and teacher would salute the flag with the Pledge of Allegiance. Then, we all turned to face the church building and say a prayer to Salute the Cross. The time spent learning the teachings of the church and attending mass rivaled time allotted for Math, History or English. We truly believed God was everywhere. Nuns and priests were on earth to help God make us good human beings. They were closest to God and super holy.
So imagine my surprise when I learned the nuns lied! Wearing patent leather shoes would not reflect my underwear! And it was not a sin to play with other children who did not go to Catholic school.
Once we discovered that Nuns had faults and were probably more like us than God, school became a bit easier. We secretly called them funny names behind their backs. I wonder if Sister Mary Helen knew we called her Sister Hairy Melon!
Sister Clementissima (a.k.a. Sister Clementiddle-hopper) had the power to use "The Board of Education" to paddle children who misbehaved. There was not much that was out of bounds when the nuns needed to keep a classroom of 60 children (yes, 6 rows of 10 desks in each class) obedient and quiet. Sometimes when I think about my early school days, my mind says "did that really happen?" But it was a different time and place, and if you were punished at school and dared to complain to your parents, you would get more punishment instead of sympathy. Because if the nuns said you did wrong, they would not lie. But we kids knew better!
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!
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.
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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