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.
Showing posts with label growing up. Show all posts
Showing posts with label growing up. Show all posts
Saturday, October 19, 2013
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Random Thoughts
It's funny how memory works. Sometimes it just takes a whiff of something in the air or the shortest bit of sound to take you back to a special time from your past. I love those moments.
Like when I smell carmel-corn and remember the popcorn shop that was near the studio we took dance classes in California.
Or the exact notes the harp plays on the introduction to the Waltz of the Flowers from the Nutcracker Suite.
And the way a new plastic babydoll smells fresh out of the box.
Everyone has their own list of items that give them instant deja vue. There are also specific things that we kids grew up with that would make us say "Aww" today.
Like Dad's Tin Lizzy that played the song Tijuana Taxi.
And the peppermill that we used forever. Even when Mom & Dad got fancier upgrades as gifts or parts of a set, the old wooden box with the black bowl and crank on top is what we always used.
The ballerina lamps we had in California and Illinois. In my mind, I remember it was weird to have lamps that were just legs wearing ballet shoes and they were kinda ugly. But Mom seemed to love them and yelled like crazy when we rough-housed around them. (Through the years they got more and more chips and were eventually replaced).
The way we would count the blasts from the horn that called the volunteer firemen when we lived on Sturbridge Hill. We didn't know all the codes by heart (except the one for our street), but we could always figure out what area of town had a fire without looking at the chart.
And coming home from school to the smell of warm homemade bread that my grandmother made when she came to visit.
The artwork Mom & Dad kept in the living room made by us. There are two I specifically remember - the abstract blob of fired clay with sharp edges Barb made (she called it DisneyLand) and the sculpture Cheryl made of a kneeling child (she spent a long time taking photos of Susie from every angle before starting that piece).
The sound of the bell on Dad's ship's clock as it let us know what time it was every 15 minutes - no matter where in the house we were.
The geisha doll Dad brought home for Mom from Japan. The doll was never played with, but over the years was displayed and taken to school for show and tell until it became a little tattered and faded. Her face is still strong and beautiful. She was the start of Mom's foreign doll collection.
And of course Moses, whose bigger-than-life presence watched over us all those years. It was fitting then, and funny now, that Mom & Dad chose the biggest painting in the house to be a biblical figure holding the Ten Commandments.
Yes, so many memories tied to material treasures. Yet it isn't the objects that are precious. They are just reminders of time past in our lives. Some were happy times, some were not, but every minute we've lived is time we never get back. And our memories make us who we are today. Which, in my opinion, is pretty darn good!
Like when I smell carmel-corn and remember the popcorn shop that was near the studio we took dance classes in California.
Or the exact notes the harp plays on the introduction to the Waltz of the Flowers from the Nutcracker Suite.
And the way a new plastic babydoll smells fresh out of the box.
Everyone has their own list of items that give them instant deja vue. There are also specific things that we kids grew up with that would make us say "Aww" today.
Like Dad's Tin Lizzy that played the song Tijuana Taxi.
And the peppermill that we used forever. Even when Mom & Dad got fancier upgrades as gifts or parts of a set, the old wooden box with the black bowl and crank on top is what we always used.
The ballerina lamps we had in California and Illinois. In my mind, I remember it was weird to have lamps that were just legs wearing ballet shoes and they were kinda ugly. But Mom seemed to love them and yelled like crazy when we rough-housed around them. (Through the years they got more and more chips and were eventually replaced).
The way we would count the blasts from the horn that called the volunteer firemen when we lived on Sturbridge Hill. We didn't know all the codes by heart (except the one for our street), but we could always figure out what area of town had a fire without looking at the chart.
And coming home from school to the smell of warm homemade bread that my grandmother made when she came to visit.
The artwork Mom & Dad kept in the living room made by us. There are two I specifically remember - the abstract blob of fired clay with sharp edges Barb made (she called it DisneyLand) and the sculpture Cheryl made of a kneeling child (she spent a long time taking photos of Susie from every angle before starting that piece).
The sound of the bell on Dad's ship's clock as it let us know what time it was every 15 minutes - no matter where in the house we were.
The geisha doll Dad brought home for Mom from Japan. The doll was never played with, but over the years was displayed and taken to school for show and tell until it became a little tattered and faded. Her face is still strong and beautiful. She was the start of Mom's foreign doll collection.
And of course Moses, whose bigger-than-life presence watched over us all those years. It was fitting then, and funny now, that Mom & Dad chose the biggest painting in the house to be a biblical figure holding the Ten Commandments.
Yes, so many memories tied to material treasures. Yet it isn't the objects that are precious. They are just reminders of time past in our lives. Some were happy times, some were not, but every minute we've lived is time we never get back. And our memories make us who we are today. Which, in my opinion, is pretty darn good!
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!
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.
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