It was a busy day today! I found a Flea (really!) on Sadie; and since she is my bed-partner for the time being, that Flea was the object of my scorn for the better part of the morning. A quick trip to the local CVS Pharmacy, and the subsequent purchases of a Flea Collar, a Flea ointment, and an Oatmeal Shampoo, is putting chase to that one and only Flea as we speak! There will be no Flea Circus in my bedding...I don't care how the Sirs Barnum and Bailey would have handled that enigma in the good old days!
But that is not the "gist" of this story, probably has not the slightest connection to what I am going to share with you.
The "gist" of this story I am about to lay upon you came to me while I was humming a song to myself while searching for all those Flea products and the fact that Christmas would soon come upon us and CVS was being duly all decked out by its employees in Christmas decorations on a slightly colder day than usual for sunny Southern California and I was happy! Silver Bells happy! And it was only 9:25 a.m....
Let me take you back in time to the remaining three months of 1991, to the suburbs of Arcadia, California, where the calendar pages were confirming it was truly Winter, the days were getting shorter and the weather fast becoming slightly on the brisk side...REAL SNOW was expected on nearby Mt. Baldy and other Ski Resorts. Not much going on in our end of town but in the "uppity" part of Arcadia, there were rumors that a famous movie star was scouting out sites for a Turner Movie Classic to be called "Christmas in Connecticut." He was seen running up and down the myriad streets of our bedroom community in his Hummer (oh, yeah, this could be the connection) and was going to hire citizens to be "extras" in this movie that would star ruggedly handsome Kris Kristofferson, Laker's No. One Fan and fashion-model-skinny Dyan Cannon and some others, large and small, not quite so well known. (Well, Tony Curtis was definitely well-known but he wasn't in any scenes being shot in Arcadia.) The man who singlehandedly had made The Hummer famous, Mr. Universe himself, Arnold Schwarzenegger, was to be the Director; he was the guy in the white tee-shirt in the Hummer, and everybody was agog with excitement. (Aren't you glad I solved Sadie's problem in one fell swoop, and we can now concentrate on this one man known as The Terminator, Mr.Freeze, Maria's muscled husband and, oh yes, California's 38th Governor!)
Back to the making of this Classic Movie - well, not really, but it was to be a remake of a Classic Movie - and for the true movie buff, I will probably ruin your take on movie making when I divulge one or two dirty little secrets I learned by peeking when I should have been typing away at my Pre-School duties.
By now you are probably wondering how I know even this much about how Arnold spent the months of October, November and December of 1991. It just so happened that one of the places scouted for a couple of the important scenes to wrap up the movie was the Quaker Church where I had lovingly toiled as Secretary, Treasurer, Board of Trustees, Window Washer on Work Days since 1965. The Hummer parked in front of the Church was one of the first indications that this location was exactly what Arnold had in mind: yes, the pews could be removed, wooden floors laid down over the new carpet and voila! the Sanctuary would become a place where Kris and Dyan would have a great time of mingling and dancing to the clapping hands of the extras. And the sidewalk in front of the Quaker Church was ideal for artificial snow to be blown about as the sleigh drawn by a beautiful horse left the dance with Kris and Dyan snuggled up under cozy robes. Perfect! Arnold was happy with the arrangements, the Trustees of the Church were happy for there was a fee involved for the use of the premises, and I was really happy for some church members who would be paid for being "extras" for the day...waiting to be discovered just like Lana Turner was at the drugstore counter in Hollywood, if you want to believe THAT story!
Sometimes out of a "downside" to any story there can be an "upside" ... in my case, the December 5th target date was the day I spent at the hospital with Del who was experiencing some heart problems and, not being there on location that day, I was definitely out of "the loop" and unlikely to be "discovered" which, if you will recall from previous Blogging, is why I came out to California in the first place in 1948. It seemed simple enough: Shirley Temple had 52 curls and became a star. I could type, take and transcribe Shorthand and had a few pin curls of my own...but I couldn't dance and no Bojangles to teach me. Enough said.... (Explaining to you with tongue-in-cheek, the Downside.)
(The Upside) Arriving at the scene where the stars and the church extras were acting out their lines at the dance inside the Church walls, the horse being fed a nice bucket of oats by his (or her) handler, the limousines with attached chauffeurs lined up both sides of Lenore Avenue, klieg lights, cameras, overhead booms (for sound) and reflection boards being wielded by stagehands, I was swept up in all the excitement as were a lot of the neighbors and Lookie Lou's who had dropped by to see what all the commotion was. Even the Arcadia police men and women strolled the premises which I found exciting, too! Uniforms! Sleepy South Arcadia had come alive!
Sometimes I just cannot help myself, wanting to know all the inside details of what makes things tick. But why I walked over to the parking lot where all the movie stars' huge trailers were parked and where the Transportation Crew was settled in, doing nothing but waiting for the movie to wrap up and they could all go home, well, that is what I do best...ask questions and soak up information to be mentally filed away to be used 19 years later in a Blog.
Only a shy and innocent lass from Iowa would ask the typically blonde question: "Is anybody famous here?" Of the Transportation Crew yet! Yup, I got their attention, and I shared with them that all my relatives back in Ioway thought I had movie stars for neighbors ever since I had written them about Martin and Lewis and my close encounter with Jerry. That got things started, of course, and so I took pictures of everyone and everything in the immediate vicinity, which can now be found somewhere in large boxes in a closet at 5529.
Now about those dirty little secrets. In those movie scenes where the actors are dancing dizzily around and around the dance floor and you think they are really better than anyone on "Dancing with the Stars"..well, don't you believe it! The dancers are standing, and hopefully anchored, on a moving platform and are not "boot-scooting" at all...very deceptive, right? The "snow" comes out of a machine and isn't really "snow" but that is a trick that is as old as the hills and this is not something new I am telling you. It is a convincing trick tho'! Furthermore, "Arnie" is really not all that tall, all that muscular nor all that different from your average "Joe" hanging out with his crowd at the Bit o' Bavaria down street on Live Oak Avenue. Mebbe a tad richer! (And Dyan hung out with her stand-in and ignored my Rose Parade Princess hand wave...whatever, Dyan!)
As day turned to dusk and, with camera in hand trying to find just the right moment to "snap" Kris Kristofferson as he hurried to his "home away from home," I think I might have caused him to swallow his orange-colored Tic Tac (he jumped a country mile!) when I reached out to sweep a tree limb from his path and he might have thought I was reaching out to touch his arm....nawwwww! :)
But the dumbest thing I did that evening was to turn down a chance to meet Arnold on a one-to-one basis. Previously I had met a young man...he was seated among the Transportation Crew when I asked if there was anyone famous there, remember?...by the name of John. He and his wife were there as part of the movie and they were personal friends of Arnold's. As we got better acquainted and John realized I was not a threat to the completion of this movie, he asked me if I wanted to meet Arnold. Arnold, at that exact moment, was passing by, and it would have been the ideal time to exchange small talk, ask him how he's doing, how's the wife, when's the next "cattle call"... that sort of thing. (Yes, I do know John's last name but to save him embarrassment, I am not disclosing it at this time....he sorta got in trouble with the Government when he was involved with the House Banking scandal of 1992 after the making of this film. I am sure you can Google it if you are one of those who lose sleep over trivia like this...I'm going to!)
I can close my eyes and see the disconcerting look of disbelief on the face of my new friend, John of political fame in Washington D.C., as I said "Un huh...uhhh...nah."
So, kids, I am here to tell you now: when an opportunity that may never come again, presents itself to you in the form of a "gift," take it! We all know "It is not over until the Batlady sings!" and, perhaps, there will come another Kodak Moment for Arnold and me, perhaps not! The populace of California will "let Arnold go" in January of 2011, and he will have more time to flit around our countryside scouting locations for another new film in one of those Hummers now out of business, too. And if they decide to cast a now older, even shorter, curly-haired, nicely-rounded "femme fatale" for the role of "Batlady"...why, I am sure I can take time from my Facebook Friends to audition for an old "friend!" (It's either THAT or challenge Palin for President in 2012...on the Blogger's Transparency Platform...'cause every Geriatric Doctor's column I've read says..."You Seniors gotta keep movin', movin', movin'!)
No doubt "Christmas in Connecticut" will soon be seen on Turner Network again for the 18th time, and I (and my bed-partner, a Flealess Sadie) will watch it with the same wide-eyed enthusiasm I felt on that comfortably cold and wintry night, just before Christmas 1991.
Along with the employees of CVS, may I be the first to wish you a "Very Merry Christmas!"? And, that's a "wrap!" That's movie lingo for "30" in the newspaper world....
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Saturday, October 30, 2010
THE GESTATIONAL PERIOD FOR A "PUBLISHED" WRITER
There are some subject matters that are just plain "taboo" when mixed genders are gathered around the fireplace, the dining room table or at the local Hockey Rink.
I find that Hockey Moms (and others of their ilk) of my acquaintance tend to feel they can break the "rules of convention" in the conversational area in today's more liberal or relaxed society wherein Hockey Dads, on the other hand, band together, (hey, when a Hockey Mom is immersed in record keeping, supplying drinks, cookies and band aids to the team, scheduling family outings around future hockey games, who has time to do that four-letter word "cook"?), to discuss how to fix the Thanksgiving turkey in one of those new deep-fry contraptions you can find at your nearby Kohl's or, perhaps, ask around who has the best recipe for Creme Brulee, and, yes, the best use of duct tape?..like across the Hockey Team's Mom's mouth when her kid is taking a beating at the end of an opponent's lethal hockey stick. (You ever see a Mother Bear in attack mode? Kinda like that...)
When I was active in PTA and other stuff when my own three kids were of school age, it was considered beyond the dictates of good taste to ask, especially in a chiding tone: "Is that really a Paula Young Wig?" ..."Now tell me, how much do you actually weigh (or drink...or smoke...or gamble...or cheat)?" And the most cutting of questions ever..."And how is that working for you?" Bless you, Dr. Phil, for perhaps the most cogent of all questions of this century.
The question put forth today to the Hockey Moms gathered at the Riverside Ice Rink really put me to thinking. The question: "What animal has the longest Gestational Period?" A Dad piped up (these are erudite family men, to wit: a doctor, an advertising executive, an Internal Revenue civil servant, two teachers among others) and I think it was the rocket scientist who offered: "690 days for one of Ceyla's six baby elephants!" Of course the Hockey Moms (and others of their ilk) were duly impressed and upon returning home, I looked up on Ask.com, just to be sure, and sure enough the wannabe naturalist was right. And for purposes of this Blog and just for fun, I looked up information for the "Blue Whale" and found the Gestational Period to be one year, three months longer than that of any of the Hockey Moms who would have you believe their Gestational Period was...forever!
The point I am trying to make here is that these blessed events take time, these "new births at the end of Gestational Periods." Just for comparison's sake, for me it took a "Gestational Period of some 75 years" to realize a dream come true, a dream that was conceived when I was ten years of age and submitted an Essay on one Abraham Lincoln, the Young Backwoodsman, the Rail Splitter, the Young Man Who Walked Miles to Return Forgotten Change, The Young Lawyer from Springfield, Illinois, the 16th President of the United States, and he had a little something to do with the Emancipation Proclamation! A good ten pages, handwritten as I did not have access to anything but a No. 2 pencil, and sheets of Woolworth's notepaper upon which I poured my deep and undying love for this Backwoodsman! I did not notice the facial wart until much later, but I doubt that it would have made any difference in my degree of affection for this man...less than 20-20 eyesight can be a good thing sometime! Even today! (I personally doubt that his wife, Mary, had for him the kind of adoration I held buried secretly away in my humble heart until today!)
If you have been to Facebook lately, you will have noticed directly across from my name in bold print and a picture that could use some updating, the URL that will lead you to the website maintained by PoliticsDaily.com whose Editor-in-Chief is Melinda Henneberger, the one directly responsible for my entry into the world of "published writers" and my emotional condition as of today's date which is, also, the end of my own personal "Gestational Period."
A lot of writers my age are retired, should be retired or no longer among us, and here Melinda finds me at the age of 85 and gives me something that no one else could: space in her online newspaper! I love that woman, but not as much as I love Abe, but she will understand: there's just "something" about a Rail Splitter!
75 years spent in writing letters overseas to four brothers during World War II, writing the humor column and human interest stories for the AHS's newspaper, The Needle, letters to young classmates of the year 1943 who were in the Service, to Mom in Atlantic, Iowa, after Del and I moved to California, stacks of church and preschool newsletters at my place of employment, 20 years of publicity news releases and newsletters for three PTAs, a year's worth of "Portrait of a Teacher" column for our school district (and listen to this, at least two teachers told me they were promoted within a short time of their "Portrait" being printed in the local community paper) over 67 years of personal reminders for Class Reunions and two self-published booklets spotlighting their lives, the annual Family Christmas Letter...this "on-the-job" training probably is just about the equivalent of the four years of Journalism at the University of Iowa I so dearly wanted to pursue following graduation. But, as I have mentioned before...Life has a way of happening, and I am just really pleased with the way Romans 8:28 spells it all out for me!
Melinda told me once that she knew of someone dear to her who, late in life, pursued her dreams with great success. Hardly knowing me at all except for an occasional post, in telling me that, Melinda encouraged me in the only way that I could wrap my heart around...just keep writing, pursue my dream. I had found a dream earlier in the form of http://countrygalcitywoman.blogspot.com/ where I aimed to write "from the heart with an attitude of Thanksgiving" as long as there are people like my wonderful Facebook Friends and family and friends in Iowa who try to keep track of their Auntie in this manner....and am "pursuing" as fast as I can!
Those two years of Journalism taught by Grace Busse, bless her heart, at AHS is finally paying off and the check soon to be sent by Politics Daily represents the first cash payment for any of the stuff that has come off this keyboard and all those manual keyboards of so long ago! I am going to take a digital picture of the check before cashing it and frame it so that my descendants in the year 2090 will know what their Granny was up to in those "good old days."
If there is a lesson or moral in this Blog that "says" something to you, take it from me, who took it from Melinda Henneberger...pursue your dream. It is out there waiting for you. Have patience...not all Gestational Periods are the same. I refer you to the Prolific Bunny Rabbit - 33 days; Minnie and Mickey Mouse - 20 days (each); Gilbert (Alan and Molly Cranston's lordly cat) - 62 days; and Sadie - ruler over all my domain - 65 days, but, again, who's counting!
All those cute little Hockey Moms I know personally have managed to fit in from one to six Gestational Periods...and as long as those handsome Hockey Dads serve up a nicely caramelised Creme Brulee, I don't see that changing any time soon!
Personal aside to Dana...a Hockey Mom who really does understand all those complicated Rules and Regulations of Hockey: Now do you know why I (one of those of like ilk) asked that "Gestational Period" question?
This Blog is for you! Love, Mom
I find that Hockey Moms (and others of their ilk) of my acquaintance tend to feel they can break the "rules of convention" in the conversational area in today's more liberal or relaxed society wherein Hockey Dads, on the other hand, band together, (hey, when a Hockey Mom is immersed in record keeping, supplying drinks, cookies and band aids to the team, scheduling family outings around future hockey games, who has time to do that four-letter word "cook"?), to discuss how to fix the Thanksgiving turkey in one of those new deep-fry contraptions you can find at your nearby Kohl's or, perhaps, ask around who has the best recipe for Creme Brulee, and, yes, the best use of duct tape?..like across the Hockey Team's Mom's mouth when her kid is taking a beating at the end of an opponent's lethal hockey stick. (You ever see a Mother Bear in attack mode? Kinda like that...)
When I was active in PTA and other stuff when my own three kids were of school age, it was considered beyond the dictates of good taste to ask, especially in a chiding tone: "Is that really a Paula Young Wig?" ..."Now tell me, how much do you actually weigh (or drink...or smoke...or gamble...or cheat)?" And the most cutting of questions ever..."And how is that working for you?" Bless you, Dr. Phil, for perhaps the most cogent of all questions of this century.
The question put forth today to the Hockey Moms gathered at the Riverside Ice Rink really put me to thinking. The question: "What animal has the longest Gestational Period?" A Dad piped up (these are erudite family men, to wit: a doctor, an advertising executive, an Internal Revenue civil servant, two teachers among others) and I think it was the rocket scientist who offered: "690 days for one of Ceyla's six baby elephants!" Of course the Hockey Moms (and others of their ilk) were duly impressed and upon returning home, I looked up on Ask.com, just to be sure, and sure enough the wannabe naturalist was right. And for purposes of this Blog and just for fun, I looked up information for the "Blue Whale" and found the Gestational Period to be one year, three months longer than that of any of the Hockey Moms who would have you believe their Gestational Period was...forever!
The point I am trying to make here is that these blessed events take time, these "new births at the end of Gestational Periods." Just for comparison's sake, for me it took a "Gestational Period of some 75 years" to realize a dream come true, a dream that was conceived when I was ten years of age and submitted an Essay on one Abraham Lincoln, the Young Backwoodsman, the Rail Splitter, the Young Man Who Walked Miles to Return Forgotten Change, The Young Lawyer from Springfield, Illinois, the 16th President of the United States, and he had a little something to do with the Emancipation Proclamation! A good ten pages, handwritten as I did not have access to anything but a No. 2 pencil, and sheets of Woolworth's notepaper upon which I poured my deep and undying love for this Backwoodsman! I did not notice the facial wart until much later, but I doubt that it would have made any difference in my degree of affection for this man...less than 20-20 eyesight can be a good thing sometime! Even today! (I personally doubt that his wife, Mary, had for him the kind of adoration I held buried secretly away in my humble heart until today!)
If you have been to Facebook lately, you will have noticed directly across from my name in bold print and a picture that could use some updating, the URL that will lead you to the website maintained by PoliticsDaily.com whose Editor-in-Chief is Melinda Henneberger, the one directly responsible for my entry into the world of "published writers" and my emotional condition as of today's date which is, also, the end of my own personal "Gestational Period."
A lot of writers my age are retired, should be retired or no longer among us, and here Melinda finds me at the age of 85 and gives me something that no one else could: space in her online newspaper! I love that woman, but not as much as I love Abe, but she will understand: there's just "something" about a Rail Splitter!
75 years spent in writing letters overseas to four brothers during World War II, writing the humor column and human interest stories for the AHS's newspaper, The Needle, letters to young classmates of the year 1943 who were in the Service, to Mom in Atlantic, Iowa, after Del and I moved to California, stacks of church and preschool newsletters at my place of employment, 20 years of publicity news releases and newsletters for three PTAs, a year's worth of "Portrait of a Teacher" column for our school district (and listen to this, at least two teachers told me they were promoted within a short time of their "Portrait" being printed in the local community paper) over 67 years of personal reminders for Class Reunions and two self-published booklets spotlighting their lives, the annual Family Christmas Letter...this "on-the-job" training probably is just about the equivalent of the four years of Journalism at the University of Iowa I so dearly wanted to pursue following graduation. But, as I have mentioned before...Life has a way of happening, and I am just really pleased with the way Romans 8:28 spells it all out for me!
Melinda told me once that she knew of someone dear to her who, late in life, pursued her dreams with great success. Hardly knowing me at all except for an occasional post, in telling me that, Melinda encouraged me in the only way that I could wrap my heart around...just keep writing, pursue my dream. I had found a dream earlier in the form of http://countrygalcitywoman.blogspot.com/ where I aimed to write "from the heart with an attitude of Thanksgiving" as long as there are people like my wonderful Facebook Friends and family and friends in Iowa who try to keep track of their Auntie in this manner....and am "pursuing" as fast as I can!
Those two years of Journalism taught by Grace Busse, bless her heart, at AHS is finally paying off and the check soon to be sent by Politics Daily represents the first cash payment for any of the stuff that has come off this keyboard and all those manual keyboards of so long ago! I am going to take a digital picture of the check before cashing it and frame it so that my descendants in the year 2090 will know what their Granny was up to in those "good old days."
If there is a lesson or moral in this Blog that "says" something to you, take it from me, who took it from Melinda Henneberger...pursue your dream. It is out there waiting for you. Have patience...not all Gestational Periods are the same. I refer you to the Prolific Bunny Rabbit - 33 days; Minnie and Mickey Mouse - 20 days (each); Gilbert (Alan and Molly Cranston's lordly cat) - 62 days; and Sadie - ruler over all my domain - 65 days, but, again, who's counting!
All those cute little Hockey Moms I know personally have managed to fit in from one to six Gestational Periods...and as long as those handsome Hockey Dads serve up a nicely caramelised Creme Brulee, I don't see that changing any time soon!
Personal aside to Dana...a Hockey Mom who really does understand all those complicated Rules and Regulations of Hockey: Now do you know why I (one of those of like ilk) asked that "Gestational Period" question?
This Blog is for you! Love, Mom
Friday, October 15, 2010
'ONCE IN A BLUE MOON...PART III"
Call it the "Luck of the Irish" or "providential" or "mere coincidental"...or "out of this world!"...
Mary and I began our plans for our August trip to Iowa way back in November of 2009 when she remarked, off-handedly over Turkey and the Trimmings at the Brea home of son Denny and wife, Trish, that she would like to once again visit Iowa. With her busy schedule, how would that be possible? What I thought was a guest's heavy hand on his fork and knife at the dinner table was actually an Earthquake of great proportion but 300 miles from us and so we felt only that back-and-forth movement which is discombobulating when it comes to spearing a piece of turkey and other goodies! That was my second surprise! We would make it happen!
We chose August 16-August 30 which, just so happened, would include the date of the AHS Class Reunion for the years 0-1956, though this was unknown to us until March when the date was set in cement. Chalk this up to one of the four in the first paragraph. See where I am going with this?
The 1943 Class Reunion held in 2008 was supposed to be my last Reunion, ever, as I was getting too upset, or excited, over all that body searching that seems of late to be zeroing in on us innocent-looking (wherein the danger sometimes lurks) grandmotherly types. I called a halt to traveling alone after the 2008 trip and was happy with that decision, no matter how much Dale Anderson, Class President, would beg or beseech...Nope! But, oh, how I loved Class Reunions, getting together with those guys and gals of yesteryear...
Mary's desire to visit Atlantic for a two-week period was a most-excellent reason to ticket Allegiant Air as our airline of choice (straight through to Des Moines) immediately before minds were changed. Never have those months passed so quickly ... the fact that there would be people (and a horse named "Jesse") in Des Moines and Atlantic just as eager to see us as we were to see them was heartwarming. Mary, Denny and Dana had accompanied me to Iowa in 2008 but had only five days to spend there, not nearly enough time to revisit family and friends and places they came to love during our family vacations.
Mary and I were determined to visit the five scattered cemeteries, lay flowers on each and every loved one's gravesite; tour the famous Hitchcock House in nearby Lewis, partake of refreshments at the Tea House in Audubon, consider possibility of getting a Tattoo in Omaha, meet up with Del's "removed" cousin, "Doc" Derry to hear more about his Aunt Rhoda's poignant story and the Documentary being filmed of her bittersweet life and, of course, sample as much food as possible at the Pizza Ranch, the China Buffet, The Downtowner, Hy-Vee and The Burger King, going back twice or thrice as the taste buds demanded. Nieces Sherry Cranston and Mary Barnholdt Ray quickly scheduled their hospital work days to have Wednesday, Thursday and Friday free to transport us in the four directions...it is nice to have professional medical people in the family and not have to worry about "billing" should the need arise. Randi and Liz Cranston, daughters of Sherry, went along for the ride and what fun those two young ladies proved to be, bubbly personalities at full tilt. Nick Kern, Liz's fiance, was our male escort to the Tea House in Audubon as well as a welcome dinner guest other times..and I am sure he is still wondering: "How in the heck did I manage to inherit this family?" (Again, refer to that first sentence, Nick! You're a perfect fit!)
Now about that All-Class Reunion up to and including the class of 1956!
More than 175 graduates of AHS were in attendance at the August 29th festivities with the oldest a lovely 98-years-young lady who drove herself to the Atlantic Community Center. How's that for intestinal fortitude? The Class of 1947 hostessed the event, The Downtowner catered the delicious lunch (ham balls or chicken with a nice sauce, delicious buttery small potatoes flavored like no other I have ever tasted, a vegetable that was not "forgettable" but one that I can't remember right now, rolls, beverages and dessert, a generous slice of cake and don't ask me what color! The Committee and its Chairman, Donnas Helbourg, deserve kudos for a Reunion that will be remembered for a long, long time...the Class of 1943 was represented by Janice Clithero Williams, Howard Paulson, Wayne Ullerich and myself out of our class of 101 strong back then. It was great seeing some of those guys and dolls who had traversed the halls of the old (WPA-built) High School before us, and to once again, reacquaint ourselves with the "youngun's" who sat in the very same seats we did so very long ago. I brought home two souvenirs of the event... black and gold pens...one that will forever remind me of that very special day and one sent on to the Topeka, Kansas home of Dale. Go Trojans!
For all the 23 years I lived in Atlantic and just down the road from The Hitchcock House in Lewis, I had heard about its history as being a part of the Underground Railroad transporting fugitive slaves from the Kansas Territory with the help of Reverend George Hitchcock, a Congregational minister during the mid-1800s time frame. The House was abandoned during the 1960s and deteriorated to a very sad state of affairs. But...you should see her now! Grants from organizations and with the help of a group of dedicated citizens from the area, the house is now restored as it was thought to have been in those early days. Tours are given, and we were not about to head back to California without seeing this House which is now a nationally recognized site (2001) on the National Park Service Underground Railroad Network to Freedom and which is one of only 2,500 historic properties in the United States to be designated (2006) as a National Historic Landmark by the Secretary of the U.S. Department of the Interior, its highest honor.
I have always been intrigued by the often-told stories of workmen uncomfortably seeing/feeling "presences" around and about the House as it was being restored. Mark Crum repeated a story over a lunch at The Machine Shed where a relative had, indeed, witnessed such an occasion. Mary and I believed him! It was not what you might call a "busy" day when we paid a call to the premises. Others of our party had seen the House (I in 2008 with the Class of 1943) and it just happened that there was a guide who was willing to show Mary the House as a party of one. My daughter took tens of pictures which she would not have been able to do if there were others taking the Tour...policy and such. It was an experience that Mary is not likely to forget for a long, long time...and she has the pictures to prove it. Rather, on the digital Memory Card. For on the Memory Card were shadows of four or five people, some standing, some sitting, as if they were "at home at another time, some light and some dark in skin color." Could it possibly be? When Mary returned to her home and posted the pictures to the computer, the figures did not develop as such which is what we were hoping would happen. It's hard to convince the occasional non-believer what we were trying to show them on the digital camera. And, we don't try. Question... Are we, on a daily basis, surrounded by "friendly spirits"? I vote "Yes"...It was not my "imagination" that recognized a little girl in a dress of that period, an older woman seated in a chair with hands folded as if in repose, and of others. Mary has the Memory Card to back up our claims, you have only to ask! "Out of this world" ... hands down.
A funny thing happened to The Trio after our Sloppy Joe dinner at Alan and Molly Cranston's home in Marne. We had enjoyed good food, good company, a tour of the Masonic Lodge of which Alan is a "head honcho," meeting Gilbert, the family cat of immense proportions and beauty, a warm and balmy evening spent in this small community of 149 home-loving citizens, all good stuff for thinking about come winter time.
It was all going rather well for us...no need yet to call out for The Guardian Angels...HOWEVER, the evening was not over yet, by any means! When it came time to leave and while driving cautiously out the driveway, we noticed a car was coming up the road. Peggy stopped to let the car pass, and then proceeded to continue backing while turning the wheel of the Saturn to get us into the direction to go back to Atlantic. With no street lights shining down upon us and with the dark of night upon us, and evidently the Guardian Angels at that moment were eating Sloppy Joe leftovers in Molly's kitchen, the car somehow managed to find itself in a slightly tilted position on the bank of a ditch that had the night before been saturated with rain, therefore, it was slippery. I first realized we might be in for a bit of excitement when I found myself "tilted, too"...leaning way too far back in the front seat was my first clue. The two Marys (the other Mary being my sister-in-law and widow of my brother Ben, also of Marne) were also leaning thataway. Peggy had hold of the wheel which kept her from sliding into my space. We were at such a tilt that if anyone had slid or tilted further than they had, the car would have, no rocket science here, flipped over with us inside and possibly rolled. Into the fence of the baseball field on the other side of the street. Ok, I will give this one to "The Luck of the Irish" grouping. Of course, we giggled a tad nervously, for fear of any movement, but it was kinda funny in a way that only three sober Irish scrubwomen would fully understand....
Alan, the Grand Tyler of all 30,000 Iowa Masons in 322 Lodges the year 2001-2002, now a volunteer everyman for Heritage House, the Hospital, Gilbert's seatmate, and Molly's handsome 72-year-old husband...tonight would become legendary! Just like Superman in the comics, Alan held the car upright with both hands, with ONE when he opened the door for us on the right-hand side, as we exited so gingerly. Never have I wished I weighed less than at that moment! Once all of us were safely out of the car, it was a question of what way would be the safest way to remove the car from the side of the ditch. Remember it was slippery and the car could have dislodged at any moment. Molly suggested that Alan run over to the nearest and only bar in town to get help from those (see Plan B) who were visiting the friendliest place in town...they could easily have lifted or moved the car with little or no effort OR, here's another thought Molly came up with, call a friend with a John Deere Tractor. She's so darn cute! Plan B was to entice the entire Motorcycle Club to do The Deed!
A wise thinker always, Alan figured out just how to do it, using Einstein's Theory and Newton's Law of Gravity and common sense, and brought the Saturn back safe and sound to where we were standing at the side of the road...we were in a fit of laughter by this time as all was well...for the moment! We gathered up the Guardian Angels and off we went, down that lonely country road that leads to Atlantic and the Super Eight; and now you are reading about it in this Blog, and Alan and Molly will probably get a great big chuckle out of this experience as they relive it when I send them an e-mail telling them...it is written! I think of this occasion as payback time for when Mom, Dad and I were his big brother, Dick, and his "guardians" during World War II when his Dad was in Italy in a foxhole. Molly, with your gentle and sweet soul and Alan, with your great big dark brown eyes that sparkle with "life!" ... how I love you! And, oh yes, Gilbert...you ARE precious! Meowww!
The first woman I saw sporting a pair of pierced earrings was a darling little old lady by the name of Fanny who lived one short block from my house, heading east on Third Street. (No, not Fanny Brice but of that era.) The minute I saw those sparkling baubles sitting so daintily on those two little old earlobes, I swore I would one day sport pierced ears ... if I could ever muster up enough courage to actually withstand all that piercing pain! That day came, but in a most unprofessional way and in the unprofessional hands of "Sonny". (I must confess here that I have never called Del "Sonny" in conversation with others or to his face and why I am doing it now in this Blog, I can't explain...is there a psychologist in the house?)
We had only recently moved to Pasadena, dinner was over and the dishes washed, we had no television but did have a small radio and pretty much had seen all the movies being shown that week. Bored! One of the fascinating aspects that drew me to Del prior to our marriage was his one pierced ear which, as a sailor during WWII, he gave himself. Courage personified! Looking at that now-healed-over wound, I remarked I had always wanted pierced ears. "I can do that!" ... those words from "Sonny's" mouth prompted quick action. He quickly gathered up all his medical needs: a raw potato, a sharp and sterilized needle and a piece of straw, probably unsterilized because it is highly flammable around flames. With more determination than courage, I displayed one hour later: one small hole and one small straw, to be twirled every 15 minutes and soaked with rubbing alcohol at said intervals, in each dainty earlobe. I had reached Womanhood! I hesitate but must say that these wounds were slow in healing, and I was getting impatient. Straw does not sparkle, looks ugly, and my one broom was looking rather sparse and straw-bare. Time to take action!
Downtown Pasadena was not that far in walking distance from our apartment and so, one fine morning, I took $10.00 out of my purse, plunked it down on the counter of the jewelry store near Lake and Colorado, and walked out of the store with my first pair of earrings, 14 kt. gold studs (today's market value - $100.00) and I still have them as we speak. My ears healed immediately, and now I wear 14 kt. gold earrings for medicinal purposes and do not feel one bit guilty...thank you, Fanny!
Now Mary Barnholdt Ray must have inherited the same "vanity" affliction a lot of the Cranston Women have...we don't like pain, but will suffer the moment if it takes a "little" courage and the result looks mighty fine when observed by the naked eye. In her case...a Tattoo! This was the Plan: The women folk would pile into her car on Friday, head for the Tattoo Parlor in Omaha, get that butterfly embossed on her curvaceous lower leg, hit the Antique Store across the street, lunch at Harrah's and do a bit of gambling on the now-anchored Boat that used to travel up and down the muddy and mighty Missouri. No room for Plan B...and it all worked out so well. The one most disappointed was daughter, Mary, who was hoping for an open appointment. For reasons I will explain later, we will both be getting butterflies sometime soon...ours will be black with highlights. Some of the money left at Prairie Meadow was recouped at Harrah's...all even and that means I "won" in gambling language. Mary's Tattoo is now completely healed and is envied by those of us who are mustering up enough courage and moola to enhance body parts rarely seen by others. I am going for the ankle...
If these writings are the ingredients for a Recipe on "How to Have a Very Excellent Time With Family and Friends"...and I do believe that it is a "dash of this and a dash of that" that make the tried-and-true ordinary vacation extra-ordinary...then the special condiments for this vacation time are places, people and properties heretofore not included and if left out, said Recipe would turn out just a tad short of being "yummy" for the reader. We can't have that!
For instance...meeting up with "Shorty" Parrott and ex-Sheriff Bob Vogesser at Hy-Vees during our Bill Auerbach episode. Brothers of childhood friends, their stories and laughter added flavor to the tales that were being spread around fast and furiously, some true, others?...who knows! I'm betting "true" as there are no secrets from the past in a small town the size of ours; maybe some embellishment, of course, but all in great fun. My brother, Perle, would have loved this as he could "embellish" with the best of 'em! At the Class Reunion, we reconnected with Ardythe Anderson Hanson of Altoona (the cute cheerleader I was telling you about?) and Robert (Ozzie) Paul who, at the age of 86, drove all the way from Michigan alone to attend the Reunion. Ozzie was at one time a "near relative," his sister having been married to said Perle in their early twenties. The "topping" came in the form of a still-beautiful woman of 90 years of age who approached my table with a gleam in her eye and a smile on her face that forecast I was in for a "I don't believe it!" kind of moment. For sure! When she announced as her first name "Ethel" I knew it was the gorgeous gal that Perle introduced to our family when I was all of 10-11 years of age, and whom I had not seen since their relationship ended after about two years when her family moved. Ethel Sorensen (a widow now with family) was one of those early friends who took me under "her wings," in a most nurturing of ways: how to apply Tangee lipstick with a liner brush, how to put more bounce in my curly locks, tips on how to grow out of my tomboyish stage into more of a ladylike pre-teen...I adored Ethel for her wisdom and friendship when it wasn't really necessary. Well, for me it was! Perle was her first love, she told Mary and me at the Reunion, and I kinda think she still thinks of my brother as I do...with tender affection.
The whole town of Walnut was on our "must visit" list as all of that small town has been turned over to Antiques and is world-renowned for its treasures. Mary found several while Peggy and I waited in the Saturn and nibbled on the best home-made pecan rolls ever tasted from the bakery on the corner where we parked. Back in Atlantic on another day, we paid a quick trip to the super big Walmart which is just across the street from Super Eight to pick up some personal necessities..okay, snacks...and to Oinkers, more commonly known as The Pines, where they serve the cutest piggy-shaped pork chops on a French Roll that is out of this world when topped with their special barbecue sauce. Peggy took several bottles of that back to Des Moines, and I wished I had some in my refrigerator right now....good!
I remember The Pines in a more vivid way...when it was kinda okay for the teenagers to visit The Pines in the early 1940's for dancing (no imbibing)...I happened to be there (my one and only time and it was a peer-pressure thing) when the young and vivacious wife of a prominent lawyer actually got on top of a table and danced, in a twirly skirt. Have I told this story before? I do remember that I had seen my cousin, the Sheriff at that time, eating dinner with friends, but evidently he and party had left before this "scandalous act" took place. Nothing in the newspapers the next day, so I am supposing that this show-stopper was either not that unusual or not that well received. So, there you have it! In re-reading my notes so that this reporting will be complete, I must note that the very first thing we did after registering at Super Eight was to get into the Saturn, exit onto Seventh Street, proceed in a westerly direction, turn right at the First Presbyterian Church on Chestnut Street and drive slowly down the lately-renovated main street of town to the Atlantic Chamber of Commerce (the old railroad depot) at the end of those city blocks, then turn around to slowly trace our car tracks up the street that I had trodden on foot so many years ago...to school, to the Tyler Coca Cola plant, to the Whitney Bank, to shop at, among many, the J.C. Penneys, Spurgeons, Hoffman's Hardware, The Vogue, Bullocks and Abe Baker's Super Market, to the homes of friends who did not have that extreme privilege of living in Buck Town. Through misty eyes, I remembered it all...
A single-sentence inquiry early in the year 2001 to a young man, then living in Wasilla, Alaska, about a possible Derry "connection" has led to an exchange of paragraphs, letters, face-to-face conversations and, now, a book on the Family that binds us together. Yes, I am talking about D. "Doc" Derry, currently a resident of Atlantic, and without whom my three kids would not know the historical background of this very unique family. "Doc" has dedicated his life to digging into the Derry past and what a story he has to tell...in fact, "Letters from Aunt Ethel" will soon be in print, with pictures. Doc is also working on a second book while working full time at Heritage House...an amazing man! (And before "Doc" knew he was going to be a "subject" in this Blog, he nicely included on the cover a picture of a young Betty, age 19 or 20, next to one of Mt. Rushmore...they haven't aged a bit!)
In an e-mail exchange we promised to get together in August to learn more about Rhoda Derry, "Doc's" great-great aunt, and to introduce Mary to her cousin, several times removed. We met up with "Doc" and his love, Jeri, following our Omaha trip just described, at the China Buffet just down from Hy-Vee...we learned in detail about "A. Manual Bookbinder" (his sympathetic story is now on CD and once was played on YouTube) and about Rhoda, a tragic figure whose life of despair serves as an inspiration long after her demise. Brandon Camprecht, a young film producer/director in Peoria, Illinois, is now completing filming a story about her confinement as a mental patient in an Illinois facility and where "Bookbinder" played an important role in the telling of this poignant story. These are "bittersweet memories" as "Doc" likes to describe the life and times of his Aunt Rhoda who is not likely to be forgotten by those who have come after her.
And...neither will you "Doc!" Mary says her dad, Del, and "Doc" share a family resemblance around the eyes. "Doc's" family line and ours are well documented online through MyHeritage.com (family members are invited to join, just ask) but it is that personal connection on Friday, August 27, that will always remind me of how much we owe to one very personable young man who now carries on the family name of Derry (after 62 years following our departure) in "Sonny's" and my hometown....providential?
"As you have loved us, we love you..."
For whatever psychological reason I know not, I have never really felt a "pull" to visit the gravesites of cherished family members on any of the many trips we have made to Atlantic. Why was it so terribly important that all of our plans were made around visiting the five cemeteries this trip? On August 16th, I had no answer. On August 30th, I did. Delivered on the delicate wings of two very beautiful black butterflies...
With nieces Sherry at the wheel and Mary riding shotgun this time, we spent the morning and afternoon visiting the five cemeteries, and doing the odd jobs that my sister, Trudy, and her two kids, Peggy and Bus, would do prior to every holiday...pull weeds around the tombstones, leave flowers and in brother Kenny and Betty's case...leave Twinkies! I covered up Kenny's wrapped Twinkie with grass, and Peggy came along and uncovered the sugary delight..."It's for the birds, dummy!" "Oh, right! I knew that!" My thought was that the birds might think this was a scavenger hunt...I don't think Peg bought that for a minute. This was all new to me, remember. That bit of levity was parlayed into a most delightful and meaningful time of being with those "who had loved all of us" in that small party so well. And, so it went as we completed our mission at both sections of the Oakwood Cemetery near Lewis, at the Marne Cemetery, at the Flint Cemetery near Griswold, the Atlantic Cemetery, and finally the Wiota Cemetery where Del's parents rest side by side.
For reasons known only to herself, Del's Mom did not want a marker or headstone. Del and Mary had returned to Atlantic for her funeral, but in all the commotion, Mary could not remember the name of the cemetery, and I had not read the obituary for many years. Turning to Linda of the Carnegie Library we found that she was buried next to Harvey in the Wiota Cemetery and were given explicit directions on how to find her gravesite. Go to the east fence, walk down 21 rows and there would be her place. Not that easy...each one of our party taking off in every direction, looking carefully at every headstone (not knowing hers was unmarked at that time) we searched. This is what Mary Ray wrote in an e-mail to me just recently: "This is where the butterfly found Delbert's mother's grave and gently led Mary to her grandmother's and grandfather's graves. It is where we stomped through high grass and weeds."
I was farthest away from the girls when I heard someone cry out, "Here it is!" "Here" being Harvey's headstone. No sign of Mom's, and we knew not where to look from there on. Seemingly out of nowhere and attempting to fly into the brisk wind, came the first simply huge black butterfly, hovering over the space next to the tombstone. Not believing what we were witnessing, Mary took several pictures as the feeling began to sink in that where the butterfly was so determined to settle upon was sacred ground, Mom's gravesite. We left Wiota Cemetery with more determination than ever that our future Tattoos would be butterflies...black for me.
Oh, the second butterfly? The next morning I came out of the exit door of the Super Eight to store some stuff in the Saturn prior to being picked up by The Ensemble and heading for Omaha. As I opened the back passenger door, I heard a very slight "bump", looked down on the pavement and saw another most beautiful black butterfly which somehow had become entangled with a bit of black mass and could no longer fly. I hastened back to our room and told Mary and Peggy of what had just happened and Mary, with a box in her hand, gently scooped up this second buttefly. Yes, the butterfly did expire during the night and yes, it is now safely stored in Mary's curio that contains her treasures. A hard fact, we saw no other black butterflies before or after this occasion.
I am still pondering this as I write about this unbelievable experience: If this second butterfly was also the first butterfly, and we are talking two different makes of cars here, and if we left the first butterfly in Wiota and we are now in Atlantic, a few miles away...how is that possible? OR...in another scenario where this is a case of "two distinct and separate" butterflies, what force of nature led this second butterfly to become attached to the Saturn for us to discover? The parking lot was filled with every make of car at that time of the morning and yet...the Saturn? Confirmation of what transpired at the Wiota Cemetery? Some things are not meant to be understood completely but accepted in Faith and that is good enough for me...
Having flunked "Farewell 101" lo' these many years, the test of saying "Good-by" to the Cranston Clan in Atlantic and Des Moines was one I had, again, few hopes of "passing"....but if it took meeting at Perkins on our last Sunday evening (6 p.m. and be there) following our Class Reunion in Atlantic and a buffet breakfast at Prairie Meadow in Altoona on Monday (the 30th) and a last lunch at The Machine Shed at noon to boost my grade, then so be it! There is just something about "The Cranston Ambiance" that exudes over any "happy meal" we share, whether it be for "food for thought" or "soul food." We all played our roles to perfection and if anybody deserves an "A" for Comportment, I am your girl. The welcomed hugs, kisses and "So Long!" sent us on our way to the Des Moines Airport in time to catch our evening flight...comforted by the fact that our California family would be waiting.
The return trip home to California would have been uneventful except for the very thorough security search given to me free gratis at the Des Moines Airport. Had they heard we were denuding the landscapes of Iowa of rocks? I was given the most thorough of searches by the most courteous of guards...is my name on some sort of register that comes up each time I fly? In a joking remark to another fellow passenger, I said I got everything done but a massage. At which time, my new best friend came over and gently rubbed my right shoulder; and I said, "Thank you!" and exited laughing...
To all the friends and family we have left behind in Atlantic and Des Moines, please know that Mary and I will treasure all the moments you shared with us ... "As you have loved us, we love you!" 'Til we meet again!
Mary and I began our plans for our August trip to Iowa way back in November of 2009 when she remarked, off-handedly over Turkey and the Trimmings at the Brea home of son Denny and wife, Trish, that she would like to once again visit Iowa. With her busy schedule, how would that be possible? What I thought was a guest's heavy hand on his fork and knife at the dinner table was actually an Earthquake of great proportion but 300 miles from us and so we felt only that back-and-forth movement which is discombobulating when it comes to spearing a piece of turkey and other goodies! That was my second surprise! We would make it happen!
We chose August 16-August 30 which, just so happened, would include the date of the AHS Class Reunion for the years 0-1956, though this was unknown to us until March when the date was set in cement. Chalk this up to one of the four in the first paragraph. See where I am going with this?
The 1943 Class Reunion held in 2008 was supposed to be my last Reunion, ever, as I was getting too upset, or excited, over all that body searching that seems of late to be zeroing in on us innocent-looking (wherein the danger sometimes lurks) grandmotherly types. I called a halt to traveling alone after the 2008 trip and was happy with that decision, no matter how much Dale Anderson, Class President, would beg or beseech...Nope! But, oh, how I loved Class Reunions, getting together with those guys and gals of yesteryear...
Mary's desire to visit Atlantic for a two-week period was a most-excellent reason to ticket Allegiant Air as our airline of choice (straight through to Des Moines) immediately before minds were changed. Never have those months passed so quickly ... the fact that there would be people (and a horse named "Jesse") in Des Moines and Atlantic just as eager to see us as we were to see them was heartwarming. Mary, Denny and Dana had accompanied me to Iowa in 2008 but had only five days to spend there, not nearly enough time to revisit family and friends and places they came to love during our family vacations.
Mary and I were determined to visit the five scattered cemeteries, lay flowers on each and every loved one's gravesite; tour the famous Hitchcock House in nearby Lewis, partake of refreshments at the Tea House in Audubon, consider possibility of getting a Tattoo in Omaha, meet up with Del's "removed" cousin, "Doc" Derry to hear more about his Aunt Rhoda's poignant story and the Documentary being filmed of her bittersweet life and, of course, sample as much food as possible at the Pizza Ranch, the China Buffet, The Downtowner, Hy-Vee and The Burger King, going back twice or thrice as the taste buds demanded. Nieces Sherry Cranston and Mary Barnholdt Ray quickly scheduled their hospital work days to have Wednesday, Thursday and Friday free to transport us in the four directions...it is nice to have professional medical people in the family and not have to worry about "billing" should the need arise. Randi and Liz Cranston, daughters of Sherry, went along for the ride and what fun those two young ladies proved to be, bubbly personalities at full tilt. Nick Kern, Liz's fiance, was our male escort to the Tea House in Audubon as well as a welcome dinner guest other times..and I am sure he is still wondering: "How in the heck did I manage to inherit this family?" (Again, refer to that first sentence, Nick! You're a perfect fit!)
Now about that All-Class Reunion up to and including the class of 1956!
More than 175 graduates of AHS were in attendance at the August 29th festivities with the oldest a lovely 98-years-young lady who drove herself to the Atlantic Community Center. How's that for intestinal fortitude? The Class of 1947 hostessed the event, The Downtowner catered the delicious lunch (ham balls or chicken with a nice sauce, delicious buttery small potatoes flavored like no other I have ever tasted, a vegetable that was not "forgettable" but one that I can't remember right now, rolls, beverages and dessert, a generous slice of cake and don't ask me what color! The Committee and its Chairman, Donnas Helbourg, deserve kudos for a Reunion that will be remembered for a long, long time...the Class of 1943 was represented by Janice Clithero Williams, Howard Paulson, Wayne Ullerich and myself out of our class of 101 strong back then. It was great seeing some of those guys and dolls who had traversed the halls of the old (WPA-built) High School before us, and to once again, reacquaint ourselves with the "youngun's" who sat in the very same seats we did so very long ago. I brought home two souvenirs of the event... black and gold pens...one that will forever remind me of that very special day and one sent on to the Topeka, Kansas home of Dale. Go Trojans!
For all the 23 years I lived in Atlantic and just down the road from The Hitchcock House in Lewis, I had heard about its history as being a part of the Underground Railroad transporting fugitive slaves from the Kansas Territory with the help of Reverend George Hitchcock, a Congregational minister during the mid-1800s time frame. The House was abandoned during the 1960s and deteriorated to a very sad state of affairs. But...you should see her now! Grants from organizations and with the help of a group of dedicated citizens from the area, the house is now restored as it was thought to have been in those early days. Tours are given, and we were not about to head back to California without seeing this House which is now a nationally recognized site (2001) on the National Park Service Underground Railroad Network to Freedom and which is one of only 2,500 historic properties in the United States to be designated (2006) as a National Historic Landmark by the Secretary of the U.S. Department of the Interior, its highest honor.
I have always been intrigued by the often-told stories of workmen uncomfortably seeing/feeling "presences" around and about the House as it was being restored. Mark Crum repeated a story over a lunch at The Machine Shed where a relative had, indeed, witnessed such an occasion. Mary and I believed him! It was not what you might call a "busy" day when we paid a call to the premises. Others of our party had seen the House (I in 2008 with the Class of 1943) and it just happened that there was a guide who was willing to show Mary the House as a party of one. My daughter took tens of pictures which she would not have been able to do if there were others taking the Tour...policy and such. It was an experience that Mary is not likely to forget for a long, long time...and she has the pictures to prove it. Rather, on the digital Memory Card. For on the Memory Card were shadows of four or five people, some standing, some sitting, as if they were "at home at another time, some light and some dark in skin color." Could it possibly be? When Mary returned to her home and posted the pictures to the computer, the figures did not develop as such which is what we were hoping would happen. It's hard to convince the occasional non-believer what we were trying to show them on the digital camera. And, we don't try. Question... Are we, on a daily basis, surrounded by "friendly spirits"? I vote "Yes"...It was not my "imagination" that recognized a little girl in a dress of that period, an older woman seated in a chair with hands folded as if in repose, and of others. Mary has the Memory Card to back up our claims, you have only to ask! "Out of this world" ... hands down.
A funny thing happened to The Trio after our Sloppy Joe dinner at Alan and Molly Cranston's home in Marne. We had enjoyed good food, good company, a tour of the Masonic Lodge of which Alan is a "head honcho," meeting Gilbert, the family cat of immense proportions and beauty, a warm and balmy evening spent in this small community of 149 home-loving citizens, all good stuff for thinking about come winter time.
It was all going rather well for us...no need yet to call out for The Guardian Angels...HOWEVER, the evening was not over yet, by any means! When it came time to leave and while driving cautiously out the driveway, we noticed a car was coming up the road. Peggy stopped to let the car pass, and then proceeded to continue backing while turning the wheel of the Saturn to get us into the direction to go back to Atlantic. With no street lights shining down upon us and with the dark of night upon us, and evidently the Guardian Angels at that moment were eating Sloppy Joe leftovers in Molly's kitchen, the car somehow managed to find itself in a slightly tilted position on the bank of a ditch that had the night before been saturated with rain, therefore, it was slippery. I first realized we might be in for a bit of excitement when I found myself "tilted, too"...leaning way too far back in the front seat was my first clue. The two Marys (the other Mary being my sister-in-law and widow of my brother Ben, also of Marne) were also leaning thataway. Peggy had hold of the wheel which kept her from sliding into my space. We were at such a tilt that if anyone had slid or tilted further than they had, the car would have, no rocket science here, flipped over with us inside and possibly rolled. Into the fence of the baseball field on the other side of the street. Ok, I will give this one to "The Luck of the Irish" grouping. Of course, we giggled a tad nervously, for fear of any movement, but it was kinda funny in a way that only three sober Irish scrubwomen would fully understand....
Alan, the Grand Tyler of all 30,000 Iowa Masons in 322 Lodges the year 2001-2002, now a volunteer everyman for Heritage House, the Hospital, Gilbert's seatmate, and Molly's handsome 72-year-old husband...tonight would become legendary! Just like Superman in the comics, Alan held the car upright with both hands, with ONE when he opened the door for us on the right-hand side, as we exited so gingerly. Never have I wished I weighed less than at that moment! Once all of us were safely out of the car, it was a question of what way would be the safest way to remove the car from the side of the ditch. Remember it was slippery and the car could have dislodged at any moment. Molly suggested that Alan run over to the nearest and only bar in town to get help from those (see Plan B) who were visiting the friendliest place in town...they could easily have lifted or moved the car with little or no effort OR, here's another thought Molly came up with, call a friend with a John Deere Tractor. She's so darn cute! Plan B was to entice the entire Motorcycle Club to do The Deed!
A wise thinker always, Alan figured out just how to do it, using Einstein's Theory and Newton's Law of Gravity and common sense, and brought the Saturn back safe and sound to where we were standing at the side of the road...we were in a fit of laughter by this time as all was well...for the moment! We gathered up the Guardian Angels and off we went, down that lonely country road that leads to Atlantic and the Super Eight; and now you are reading about it in this Blog, and Alan and Molly will probably get a great big chuckle out of this experience as they relive it when I send them an e-mail telling them...it is written! I think of this occasion as payback time for when Mom, Dad and I were his big brother, Dick, and his "guardians" during World War II when his Dad was in Italy in a foxhole. Molly, with your gentle and sweet soul and Alan, with your great big dark brown eyes that sparkle with "life!" ... how I love you! And, oh yes, Gilbert...you ARE precious! Meowww!
The first woman I saw sporting a pair of pierced earrings was a darling little old lady by the name of Fanny who lived one short block from my house, heading east on Third Street. (No, not Fanny Brice but of that era.) The minute I saw those sparkling baubles sitting so daintily on those two little old earlobes, I swore I would one day sport pierced ears ... if I could ever muster up enough courage to actually withstand all that piercing pain! That day came, but in a most unprofessional way and in the unprofessional hands of "Sonny". (I must confess here that I have never called Del "Sonny" in conversation with others or to his face and why I am doing it now in this Blog, I can't explain...is there a psychologist in the house?)
We had only recently moved to Pasadena, dinner was over and the dishes washed, we had no television but did have a small radio and pretty much had seen all the movies being shown that week. Bored! One of the fascinating aspects that drew me to Del prior to our marriage was his one pierced ear which, as a sailor during WWII, he gave himself. Courage personified! Looking at that now-healed-over wound, I remarked I had always wanted pierced ears. "I can do that!" ... those words from "Sonny's" mouth prompted quick action. He quickly gathered up all his medical needs: a raw potato, a sharp and sterilized needle and a piece of straw, probably unsterilized because it is highly flammable around flames. With more determination than courage, I displayed one hour later: one small hole and one small straw, to be twirled every 15 minutes and soaked with rubbing alcohol at said intervals, in each dainty earlobe. I had reached Womanhood! I hesitate but must say that these wounds were slow in healing, and I was getting impatient. Straw does not sparkle, looks ugly, and my one broom was looking rather sparse and straw-bare. Time to take action!
Downtown Pasadena was not that far in walking distance from our apartment and so, one fine morning, I took $10.00 out of my purse, plunked it down on the counter of the jewelry store near Lake and Colorado, and walked out of the store with my first pair of earrings, 14 kt. gold studs (today's market value - $100.00) and I still have them as we speak. My ears healed immediately, and now I wear 14 kt. gold earrings for medicinal purposes and do not feel one bit guilty...thank you, Fanny!
Now Mary Barnholdt Ray must have inherited the same "vanity" affliction a lot of the Cranston Women have...we don't like pain, but will suffer the moment if it takes a "little" courage and the result looks mighty fine when observed by the naked eye. In her case...a Tattoo! This was the Plan: The women folk would pile into her car on Friday, head for the Tattoo Parlor in Omaha, get that butterfly embossed on her curvaceous lower leg, hit the Antique Store across the street, lunch at Harrah's and do a bit of gambling on the now-anchored Boat that used to travel up and down the muddy and mighty Missouri. No room for Plan B...and it all worked out so well. The one most disappointed was daughter, Mary, who was hoping for an open appointment. For reasons I will explain later, we will both be getting butterflies sometime soon...ours will be black with highlights. Some of the money left at Prairie Meadow was recouped at Harrah's...all even and that means I "won" in gambling language. Mary's Tattoo is now completely healed and is envied by those of us who are mustering up enough courage and moola to enhance body parts rarely seen by others. I am going for the ankle...
If these writings are the ingredients for a Recipe on "How to Have a Very Excellent Time With Family and Friends"...and I do believe that it is a "dash of this and a dash of that" that make the tried-and-true ordinary vacation extra-ordinary...then the special condiments for this vacation time are places, people and properties heretofore not included and if left out, said Recipe would turn out just a tad short of being "yummy" for the reader. We can't have that!
For instance...meeting up with "Shorty" Parrott and ex-Sheriff Bob Vogesser at Hy-Vees during our Bill Auerbach episode. Brothers of childhood friends, their stories and laughter added flavor to the tales that were being spread around fast and furiously, some true, others?...who knows! I'm betting "true" as there are no secrets from the past in a small town the size of ours; maybe some embellishment, of course, but all in great fun. My brother, Perle, would have loved this as he could "embellish" with the best of 'em! At the Class Reunion, we reconnected with Ardythe Anderson Hanson of Altoona (the cute cheerleader I was telling you about?) and Robert (Ozzie) Paul who, at the age of 86, drove all the way from Michigan alone to attend the Reunion. Ozzie was at one time a "near relative," his sister having been married to said Perle in their early twenties. The "topping" came in the form of a still-beautiful woman of 90 years of age who approached my table with a gleam in her eye and a smile on her face that forecast I was in for a "I don't believe it!" kind of moment. For sure! When she announced as her first name "Ethel" I knew it was the gorgeous gal that Perle introduced to our family when I was all of 10-11 years of age, and whom I had not seen since their relationship ended after about two years when her family moved. Ethel Sorensen (a widow now with family) was one of those early friends who took me under "her wings," in a most nurturing of ways: how to apply Tangee lipstick with a liner brush, how to put more bounce in my curly locks, tips on how to grow out of my tomboyish stage into more of a ladylike pre-teen...I adored Ethel for her wisdom and friendship when it wasn't really necessary. Well, for me it was! Perle was her first love, she told Mary and me at the Reunion, and I kinda think she still thinks of my brother as I do...with tender affection.
The whole town of Walnut was on our "must visit" list as all of that small town has been turned over to Antiques and is world-renowned for its treasures. Mary found several while Peggy and I waited in the Saturn and nibbled on the best home-made pecan rolls ever tasted from the bakery on the corner where we parked. Back in Atlantic on another day, we paid a quick trip to the super big Walmart which is just across the street from Super Eight to pick up some personal necessities..okay, snacks...and to Oinkers, more commonly known as The Pines, where they serve the cutest piggy-shaped pork chops on a French Roll that is out of this world when topped with their special barbecue sauce. Peggy took several bottles of that back to Des Moines, and I wished I had some in my refrigerator right now....good!
I remember The Pines in a more vivid way...when it was kinda okay for the teenagers to visit The Pines in the early 1940's for dancing (no imbibing)...I happened to be there (my one and only time and it was a peer-pressure thing) when the young and vivacious wife of a prominent lawyer actually got on top of a table and danced, in a twirly skirt. Have I told this story before? I do remember that I had seen my cousin, the Sheriff at that time, eating dinner with friends, but evidently he and party had left before this "scandalous act" took place. Nothing in the newspapers the next day, so I am supposing that this show-stopper was either not that unusual or not that well received. So, there you have it! In re-reading my notes so that this reporting will be complete, I must note that the very first thing we did after registering at Super Eight was to get into the Saturn, exit onto Seventh Street, proceed in a westerly direction, turn right at the First Presbyterian Church on Chestnut Street and drive slowly down the lately-renovated main street of town to the Atlantic Chamber of Commerce (the old railroad depot) at the end of those city blocks, then turn around to slowly trace our car tracks up the street that I had trodden on foot so many years ago...to school, to the Tyler Coca Cola plant, to the Whitney Bank, to shop at, among many, the J.C. Penneys, Spurgeons, Hoffman's Hardware, The Vogue, Bullocks and Abe Baker's Super Market, to the homes of friends who did not have that extreme privilege of living in Buck Town. Through misty eyes, I remembered it all...
A single-sentence inquiry early in the year 2001 to a young man, then living in Wasilla, Alaska, about a possible Derry "connection" has led to an exchange of paragraphs, letters, face-to-face conversations and, now, a book on the Family that binds us together. Yes, I am talking about D. "Doc" Derry, currently a resident of Atlantic, and without whom my three kids would not know the historical background of this very unique family. "Doc" has dedicated his life to digging into the Derry past and what a story he has to tell...in fact, "Letters from Aunt Ethel" will soon be in print, with pictures. Doc is also working on a second book while working full time at Heritage House...an amazing man! (And before "Doc" knew he was going to be a "subject" in this Blog, he nicely included on the cover a picture of a young Betty, age 19 or 20, next to one of Mt. Rushmore...they haven't aged a bit!)
In an e-mail exchange we promised to get together in August to learn more about Rhoda Derry, "Doc's" great-great aunt, and to introduce Mary to her cousin, several times removed. We met up with "Doc" and his love, Jeri, following our Omaha trip just described, at the China Buffet just down from Hy-Vee...we learned in detail about "A. Manual Bookbinder" (his sympathetic story is now on CD and once was played on YouTube) and about Rhoda, a tragic figure whose life of despair serves as an inspiration long after her demise. Brandon Camprecht, a young film producer/director in Peoria, Illinois, is now completing filming a story about her confinement as a mental patient in an Illinois facility and where "Bookbinder" played an important role in the telling of this poignant story. These are "bittersweet memories" as "Doc" likes to describe the life and times of his Aunt Rhoda who is not likely to be forgotten by those who have come after her.
And...neither will you "Doc!" Mary says her dad, Del, and "Doc" share a family resemblance around the eyes. "Doc's" family line and ours are well documented online through MyHeritage.com (family members are invited to join, just ask) but it is that personal connection on Friday, August 27, that will always remind me of how much we owe to one very personable young man who now carries on the family name of Derry (after 62 years following our departure) in "Sonny's" and my hometown....providential?
"As you have loved us, we love you..."
For whatever psychological reason I know not, I have never really felt a "pull" to visit the gravesites of cherished family members on any of the many trips we have made to Atlantic. Why was it so terribly important that all of our plans were made around visiting the five cemeteries this trip? On August 16th, I had no answer. On August 30th, I did. Delivered on the delicate wings of two very beautiful black butterflies...
With nieces Sherry at the wheel and Mary riding shotgun this time, we spent the morning and afternoon visiting the five cemeteries, and doing the odd jobs that my sister, Trudy, and her two kids, Peggy and Bus, would do prior to every holiday...pull weeds around the tombstones, leave flowers and in brother Kenny and Betty's case...leave Twinkies! I covered up Kenny's wrapped Twinkie with grass, and Peggy came along and uncovered the sugary delight..."It's for the birds, dummy!" "Oh, right! I knew that!" My thought was that the birds might think this was a scavenger hunt...I don't think Peg bought that for a minute. This was all new to me, remember. That bit of levity was parlayed into a most delightful and meaningful time of being with those "who had loved all of us" in that small party so well. And, so it went as we completed our mission at both sections of the Oakwood Cemetery near Lewis, at the Marne Cemetery, at the Flint Cemetery near Griswold, the Atlantic Cemetery, and finally the Wiota Cemetery where Del's parents rest side by side.
For reasons known only to herself, Del's Mom did not want a marker or headstone. Del and Mary had returned to Atlantic for her funeral, but in all the commotion, Mary could not remember the name of the cemetery, and I had not read the obituary for many years. Turning to Linda of the Carnegie Library we found that she was buried next to Harvey in the Wiota Cemetery and were given explicit directions on how to find her gravesite. Go to the east fence, walk down 21 rows and there would be her place. Not that easy...each one of our party taking off in every direction, looking carefully at every headstone (not knowing hers was unmarked at that time) we searched. This is what Mary Ray wrote in an e-mail to me just recently: "This is where the butterfly found Delbert's mother's grave and gently led Mary to her grandmother's and grandfather's graves. It is where we stomped through high grass and weeds."
I was farthest away from the girls when I heard someone cry out, "Here it is!" "Here" being Harvey's headstone. No sign of Mom's, and we knew not where to look from there on. Seemingly out of nowhere and attempting to fly into the brisk wind, came the first simply huge black butterfly, hovering over the space next to the tombstone. Not believing what we were witnessing, Mary took several pictures as the feeling began to sink in that where the butterfly was so determined to settle upon was sacred ground, Mom's gravesite. We left Wiota Cemetery with more determination than ever that our future Tattoos would be butterflies...black for me.
Oh, the second butterfly? The next morning I came out of the exit door of the Super Eight to store some stuff in the Saturn prior to being picked up by The Ensemble and heading for Omaha. As I opened the back passenger door, I heard a very slight "bump", looked down on the pavement and saw another most beautiful black butterfly which somehow had become entangled with a bit of black mass and could no longer fly. I hastened back to our room and told Mary and Peggy of what had just happened and Mary, with a box in her hand, gently scooped up this second buttefly. Yes, the butterfly did expire during the night and yes, it is now safely stored in Mary's curio that contains her treasures. A hard fact, we saw no other black butterflies before or after this occasion.
I am still pondering this as I write about this unbelievable experience: If this second butterfly was also the first butterfly, and we are talking two different makes of cars here, and if we left the first butterfly in Wiota and we are now in Atlantic, a few miles away...how is that possible? OR...in another scenario where this is a case of "two distinct and separate" butterflies, what force of nature led this second butterfly to become attached to the Saturn for us to discover? The parking lot was filled with every make of car at that time of the morning and yet...the Saturn? Confirmation of what transpired at the Wiota Cemetery? Some things are not meant to be understood completely but accepted in Faith and that is good enough for me...
Having flunked "Farewell 101" lo' these many years, the test of saying "Good-by" to the Cranston Clan in Atlantic and Des Moines was one I had, again, few hopes of "passing"....but if it took meeting at Perkins on our last Sunday evening (6 p.m. and be there) following our Class Reunion in Atlantic and a buffet breakfast at Prairie Meadow in Altoona on Monday (the 30th) and a last lunch at The Machine Shed at noon to boost my grade, then so be it! There is just something about "The Cranston Ambiance" that exudes over any "happy meal" we share, whether it be for "food for thought" or "soul food." We all played our roles to perfection and if anybody deserves an "A" for Comportment, I am your girl. The welcomed hugs, kisses and "So Long!" sent us on our way to the Des Moines Airport in time to catch our evening flight...comforted by the fact that our California family would be waiting.
The return trip home to California would have been uneventful except for the very thorough security search given to me free gratis at the Des Moines Airport. Had they heard we were denuding the landscapes of Iowa of rocks? I was given the most thorough of searches by the most courteous of guards...is my name on some sort of register that comes up each time I fly? In a joking remark to another fellow passenger, I said I got everything done but a massage. At which time, my new best friend came over and gently rubbed my right shoulder; and I said, "Thank you!" and exited laughing...
To all the friends and family we have left behind in Atlantic and Des Moines, please know that Mary and I will treasure all the moments you shared with us ... "As you have loved us, we love you!" 'Til we meet again!
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
'ONCE IN A BLUE MOON....PART II"
Methinks I had better cover one of the aforementioned segments "We Do Restaurants, too!" lest "youthinks" (literary license applied here) we Cranston Women are "licentious," at least not more than necessary! Of course, I was hoping that Title would grab your attention, you would find it just a wee bit clever (coming from the mind and heart of one more a "prude" than a liberal-leaning female), and wanting to put aside the dishes and taking out the garbage and the cat/dog, settling into a comfortable mode and reading a bit more about the madcap adventures of Peggy, Mary and Moi...
If you've read this far, then "I gotcha!" Thanks for hanging around!
"Eating out" was a luxury not often entertained by Cranston family members and, in fact, was not even a thought or desire as we had the best cook in Atlantic on an everyday basis! In fact, and this is the honest-to-goodness truth, I thought that Jim Braman (our Prudential Insurance agent) was a relative of sorts in that he would come calling at our back door, politely enter and sit himself down at the kitchen table most every Monday noon for a lunch of Navy Bean Soup and Hot Rolls Out of the Oven, or Chicken and Dumplings, or Macaroni and Cheese. We kids would run home from school for our lunch, and there he would be. Had to be Monday! Sometimes he would collect the dimes that Mom had saved to pay the premium, sometimes not, those days being in between payment dates. This went on for years, long enough that when Mom told me he was the "insurance man" and not a nephew of hers, I was really disappointed, Jim being a great guy and all that. "Stunned" is another word I could use here, as funny as the situation seems to me today. Anyway, this is just to indicate to you that Mom was a good cook, loved to see her family (sometimes 15 strong) gather around the large kitchen table and let the "fish stories, whoppers and exaggerations begin!" (As life sometimes happens...Mrs. James Braman later became my Home Economics Teacher during the Seventh and Eighth Grades and even praised my White Sauce to Mom...top that if you can!)
But, in looking back, that was WORK for Mom so when Mary and I were laying down Ground Rules for this trip, we wanted our women folk to be able to sit down with us from the moment we connected for breakfast, lunch or dinner. No cooking allowed!
Eating Out would be the order of the day for the two weeks and what fun and how delicious it turned out to be. Rules were broken just twice and under delightful circumstances. Molly and Alan invited the Trio and my brother Ben's widow (another Mary) to share Sloppy Joe's at their Marne home one evening (and you will definitely hear more about this) and Peggy's son, Mickey, and his wife and daughter, Pat and Cathy, prepared a delicious casserole with all the trimmings while we were in Des Moines. Cheryl and Stephen Stefani (my niece courtesy of my brother, Dutch) brought a salad of immense proportions to the table, and we went home stuffed, happy in the thought that we were able to carry on this time-honored Cranston tradition...gathering of loved ones around a table loaded with vittles that nourished the hearts and the souls of every invitee!
You've heard about our dining at The Machine Shed with the Nielsens and Jane Buck of Des Moines residencies. During that first week in Des Moines, we visited Perkins in Des Moines with Wayne and Norma Knight, nephew courtesy of sister Leona, and his wife; in fact, several times, the first being the Monday evening we arrived, with Kathy Crum (Mark's wife), Peggy, and Tommy showing up after the racing debut of "Jesse" at Prairie Meadows. Perkins became our unofficial meeting place as it was convenient to the Econo-Lodge, the prices were affordable and the food delicious.
A bit of wine-tasting added a elevated note to the foursome-party that Cheryl and Stephen hosted for Mary and me at the exclusive Wakonda Country Club. I, for the most part, watched the ladies sip a little, smack their lips a little, and pretend to be blase....they were adorable! Stephen and I studied the menu, patiently waiting for our wine tasters to decide what wine went well with their chosen Entrees, and encouraged our waitress to regale us with funny tales and one-liners, our own comedienne! Thanks, Cheryl and Stephen, I do believe I could get used to that lifestyle!
Okay...back to reality! Kathy introduced us to our first Mongolian Meal at a neat place called HoHuts. Unusual in that each diner selects the meat, vegetables, sauces she wants to include in her meal...one price covers all. Once the ingredients are selected from individual bars, the diner takes the tray to a central cooking location where the dishes are prepared at that moment. Fun to watch and great to devour. As our good fortune would have it that day, our waitress was the spitting image of Chelsea Clinton but I would say, in all kindness, prettier. You will see her in pictures to be posted later, I promise. It would be a challenge to lunch and sup with everyone in Des Moines but we were definitely up for it! Kathy and Mark's daughter, Gina, (a 9 to 5 working gal) scheduled work hours to join us at The Red Lobster as it was through her I discovered the Coconut Shrimp taste bud so long dormant and, later at the El Rodeo where the "south of the border" taste came through just fine and dandy...ole! Definitely competition for likewise fare served at Casa del Rey in Temple City and a favorite haunt of the family for over 40 years.
We lost little time in hitting Applebee's with Keith and his sister, Rosalyn Cranston, progeny of my brother, Kenny, and his wife, Betty, the Saturday before we headed for Atlantic. Around that table gathered Mom and Dad's grandchildren, Keith and Rosalyn, great-grandchildren. Krista Stewart Hill, and Kim Stewart Von Ahsen and her husband, Barry, and Krista's son, Matthew (g-g-gr) and his wife, Libby, with their brand new baby daughter, Zoe Jane, the sixth generation (beginning with Mayme and George for purposes of telling this story.) What a blessing! Thanks, Keith, for hosting this "affair of the heart!" And...it was great seeing the "nests" where "you lay your heads down to sleep at night!" Lovely, both...
Not missing a "burp or a belch," during our week in the Capitol City of Ioway, we gathered up calories at The Red Lobster with servings of Coconut Shrimp and a Virgin Strawberry Margharita, the easy-atmosphered El Rodeo for Mexican, Prairie Meadow for Biscuits and Gravy and other all-you-can-eat delicacies, and the Iowa State Fair for a Barbecued Pork Sandwich and Funnel Cake, downing the latter in the rain and on the run for the car! (Who's salivating now?) Along the way, we were given tours of the several areas including the Salisbury House, the Capitol, the heart of downtown, a huge lawn full of modern artwork, past Drake University...all the good stuff the Chamber of Commerce wants visitors to see, and we did! Thanks to our tour guides...Kathy and Mark, Cheryl and Stephen, Tommy and the indefatigable Peggy....just great! Even saw where the Cubbies play! And, remnants of the flooded areas of the previous weeks. Memories flooded back, too, as these old eyes saw, for perhaps the last time, remnants of places and things once seen through the eyes of a country gal so very long ago.
I love the whole concept of the motels across America serving continental breakfasts for their hungry travelers. Hot coffee or tea, Belgium Waffles, juices of every kind, fresh rolls, fruit, cereals and friendly faces from every part of the world seated at the next table....the ambiance made paying off the Credit Card the next month worth while! And we haven't even begun to list all...that small village down the road apiece - Atlantic - holds culinary treasures not there when I was a kid during those days when "Eating Out" was for those with "fat wallets" or for those whose Moms' expertise was "golfing/bowling with the girls!" (That is not a "snide" remark, dear reader, I,too, am guilty as charged ca 2010!)
Just before the rains came down on the Iowa State Fair and before we grabbed our Funnel Cakes and scrammed the fairgrounds, Mark, Peggy, Mary and I walked to where we had made plans to meet up with my niece, Liz Cranston, and her boyfriend, Nick Kern, of whom you will hear more later. Plans were tentative and we did not meet the kids at the Bill Riley Talent Show, but I did meet Bill Riley, Jr., the talented son of a dear Atlantic friend, Helen Anne Hanson Riley, and her radio personality husband, Bill Riley, an original. Both are deceased but, with Bill, Jr. at the helm, the Talent Show goes on each year at the Fair and kids from all over Iowa travel to the Fair to be part of the Talent Show...great talent has come out of there! Every Mom and Dad will tell you that!
As we strolled to the stage area, a handsome young man walked across our path a few feet ahead and Peggy pointed him out as "Bill Riley!" Part of me wanted to hasten up to him and introduce myself as a long ago friend of his Mom's...the more sensible part of me said...don't! Whenever have I heeded that advice? Well, always, really, and missed out on a lot of "adventures"...but not this time. He, by then, had disappeared into his RV "home" and, yes, I did, I asked one of his crew as they exited the RV if Bill would be available to speak with me for just a moment, I was a friend of his Mom's. Bill, bless his heart, stepped out of the RV, listened to my unrehearsed words of what a sweet, gentle and warm young woman his mother was when I knew her, as a secretary at Metropolitan Life Insurance Company, in Atlantic, and prior to her marriage to his Dad, an up-and-coming announcer for radio station WHO, yes, where "Dutch" Reagan used to work! This was only my third Iowa State Fair to attend in all my years and how "coincidental" is it that one of the bigger items on my personal Bucket List has now been realized, quite by accident and, yet, "planned" in every sense of the word. My Guardian Angel has a tendency to add "zest" to my rather ordinary and mundane life style, but I am fast learning to take whatever she sends my way and simply say..."Thank you!" What a Dame!
Lunch break...back at 1 o'clock!
So began our sentimental journey to Atlantic, Iowa!
Look at any map of Iowa, find Cass County and there you will find my hometown, the one with the "star" in front of its name...the county seat! Not the first choice by the founding fathers but certainly the best. That Whitney guy had his hands in every pot, called the shots as the county and small town grew with the help of some of his friends...I'll name just one: Thomas Meredith, Dad's cousin via the Marsh family, and father of E.T. Meredith, Des Moines magazine publisher and Secretary of Agriculture during World War I. That "E" stands for "Edwin," the middle name of my brother Perle, for Perle's kids who probably haven't a clue why he was named that at birth. Kenneth Owen, another brother, was named for the second Meredith brother, Owen, and that is the history behind his name. That will be news to Kenny's progeny, too! (Legend has it that I was named for the doll that was kinda popular at the time, the "Betty Lou" doll; that I have known a long time but too modest to share until now.) Modesty is out the window where this Blog is concerned...
Anyway....heading home via Highway 71 on Sunday, August 22, at approximately 1:30 p.m. got us to the Super Eight a bit early...like a day! Someone had forgotten to make the changes that Peggy had called in two months before, but not a problem. While the housekeepers scurried around freshening up two rooms for us, we headed for Kentucky Fried Chicken on west Seventh Street for a quick bite to tide us over until the dinner hour, the mashed potatoes and gravy squelched my hunger pains, momentarily, but a more crispy chicken breast, now that they need to work on! Back to the Motel, settled in and unpacked a bit, and now time to look around for a more substantial meal. Running down the list of possibilities the Motel made available to us, we chose the Chinese Buffet close to the Hy-Vee...truly satisfying. A good selection, nicely seasoned and we ate our money's worth. We would be back.
Later, as I lay down my head on the Motel's recently-fluffed pillows and began mulling over "stuff," I, in my reverie, came to realize and appreciate more fully why it was "ordained" that I leave Atlantic for California as a young bride in 1948, as much as it "played the devil" with my heart and mind to leave Mom, my family, my friends and my great job as (The Boss) Carl N. Kennedy's secretary at Metro Life. Why? In the beginning, it was to support my young husband who was searching for more than what a small town could afford him in the way of employment, a "whither thou goest" sort of thing. In that lovely motel room in the town I love so much, it became crystal clear: I had been "pushed out of the nest" I certainly would not have left on my own to "complete or live-out" MY life in all the challenging days/years ahead, to put into play the life lessons and common-sense wisdom the oh-so-wise people of my beloved village had given me so freely as a kid growing up, assuredly secured/blessed in their belief that Del and I would "have a great future" in that far-west land more "than a little over the rainbow" and just as assuredly, secured/blessed in the on-going invitation to visit for "there is no place like home and that the coffee pot is always perking!" (And, someday, do a bit of Blogging about life in sunny Southern California, where Leonardo DeCaprio may show up any given Thursday at Action Lanes to watch his "surrogate grandfather" hit the lanes alongside my team...)
To be given yet another opportunity in the few days ahead to revisit childhood friends, the clan of nieces and nephews (as 82-year-old Wayne, with that devilish-sly grin of his, said so succinctly over brunch "You do know you are the oldest member of the family now!") that was ready and willing to spend a week with Peggy, Mary and me...be our chauffeurs as we drove around Cass County, being such an important part of the things you will soon read about....it was almost "too good to be true." The only loved one missing was "Sadie" ... my "Toto".
May I suggest a white wine for your next course? Hope you return in time for dessert!
"Friendship, friendship...what a perfect blendship..."
My friends have popped up in my life, sometimes in the most unlikely of circumstances, others have been "there" since early childhood and who are so now established in my life, and those of my three kids, that no visit home is complete until we have made connection once more. I doubt that many females could or would count the cute little gal who married a "beau" a very best friend all those years since high school. I do! Janice Clithero Williams, devoted wife of 60 years of Robert Harry (Bob) Williams is that one for me. Jan, who today suffers from Macular Degeneration, was our Official Sight-See-er as Peggy navigated the streets of Atlantic searching for the homes of the founding fathers and homes of some of our classmates. Right on the button every time! I love Jan in the very same way I care for Bob who today is living in the Atlantic Rehabilitation Center on 29th Street as a result of a stroke and aphasia. A little apprehensive, we were not sure if he would know us. This was one of those good days that Bob sometimes has, he recognized Peggy and me immediately and got reacquainted with Mary whom he last saw as a young girl. He and Jan were together, that very day, on their 60th Wedding Anniversary, shared a kiss as suggested and photographed by Mary. I have never been happier for two more wonderful human beings! I like to think I had a hand in their happiness; and if not that, my heart...
Now, Bill Auerbach is something else! A character we make certain we have breakfast with at Hy-Vee each and every trip. Bill and I began Kindergarten together at Grant School; and as Bill explained it all to Peggy and Mary, he ended up two years behind me and even volunteered the reason why....(Now, I had heard this story many times before from my Mom and Bill's Mom when younger but, for the most part, pooh-hooed it) it seems that Bill missed a couple of lessons in Reading and Writing and Arithmetic because he "stared at the back of Betty's curly blonde locks way too much" in class, and, for his own edification, the wise teachers deigned it best to have Billy re-do Kindergarten! (I know, unbelievable, huh? but was this my first attempt at "if you have it, flaunt it even it you don't have a clue as to what you are flaunting?") Teacher Pearl Dahlberg smiled about that incident for many years to come, I hear, but, nevertheless, thought it best that this was the proper action to take. (I know I was responsible for one year, but who was the beauty that caught Bill's eye the second year he was detained?) I will take full responsibility if you say so, Bill! And, yes, Bill is married to his lovely Martha who may or may not know of his shady past!
As Mary was taking pictures of Bill and me "snuggling on the booth at Hy-Vee in front of ten or twenty onlookers" I realized that, once again, what a "perfect blendship" Bill and I have shared all these years. How very lucky can one girl be...Bill and Bob and when I hear "were there others besotted with my curly blonde locks?," I will certainly let you know.
During those formative years when I hastened out the back door of 210 Birch to join a roomful of classmates at Grant and Jackson Schools, I had not a clue there was a really handsome young lad by the name of Delbert "Sonny" Derry living near the outskirts of Atlantic in the "wannabe town of Grove City, Iowa." (And, as my good fortune would have it..."the really handsome father of Dennis Dwight, Mary Elizabeth and Dana Jo" in their hometown of Arcadia, California.) As he often proudly told our kids, it was through more than one snowstorm, rain or hailstorm, that he rode his faithful pony one country mile to attend his one-room country school to join his classmates, among them one Clifford Berry who remained "Sonny's" best friend until the day he passed, even though separated in 1996 by nearly 2,000 miles. Cliff and his so-lovely wife, Leah Mae, became my fast friends just prior to our marriage in 1946; it was with them that we spent our last evening in Atlantic prior to our moving to California in 1948. And gave into their safekeeping all of our vinyl records as a memento of our love and affection. If there had been more room in the trunk of our 1938 Chevy Coupe, they would have been transported along with a few treasured wedding gifts; I like to think that as Cliff and Leah Mae listened to the 1940's music of that young Italian heartthrob Frank Sinatra, Perry Como and the Big Band sounds of Kay Kyser, Glenn Miller (an Iowa boy), Henry Busse, Lawrence Welk, Les Brown...so many more... they remembered the precious moments we shared as young newlyweds.
Johnie Ruhr, I do believe the most joyful man I have ever met outside of my own immediate family, was also a lifelong friend of Del's and became my friend when he began to date, and married, one of my dearest friends ever, Nelda, a co-worker at Metropolitan Life. Sharing meals, riding around the small town and countryside in summertime and winter, and all the stuff (the movies, Maid-Rites, the county fairs, the auctions, shoveling snow) that goes into the making of good times in a small town, cemented our friendship with nary a "crack" in its foundation at ANY time.
Serious health problems prevented The Trio from spending as much time as we wanted with Cliff and Leah Mae but we did meet for lunch at the Farmers' Kitchen and again later to say our goodbyes before heading back to Des Moines. At a soul-satisfying dinner for ten at Pizza Ranch with Nelda and daughter, Lori (with our looking forward to meeting up later with Nelda and Johnie at the Class Reunion), Nelda mentioned that Johnie was at the Auction in an off-hand manner and Mary immediately pounced on that word: Auction! Off that party of eight went (we lost Nelda and Lori at that point because this was old stuff to them) and in walking through the crowd to find a seat, guess who stood directly in front of me...of course, Johnie! ... smiling broadly for he saw us coming toward him, waiting with outstretched arms into which I happily went, letting the crowd wonder about "that woman" in that 92-year-old man's arms! It turned out to be a lovely evening...Mary won the bid on those Norman Rockwell plates I was telling you about earlier, with help from Niece Sherry who knows a thing or two about Auctions, too. And I basked in the knowledge that "old friendships" just get sweeter and more precious as the years roll by and that God has, indeed, blessed "Sonny," me and our three kids in the most abundant of ways with Cliff and Leah Mae and Johnie and Nelda as "forever" friends...
The Saga Continues....
I know of very few people of my "ilk and age" who have come to consider the mighty computer a worthwhile piece of equipment, whether it be to play Solitaire, buy stuff on EBay or exchange personal picadillos with complete strangers on a somewhat daily basis. The telephone, the typewriter, the talk over the fence filled the needs of My Suspicious Generation quite well until I was "forced" to learn the intricasies of the computer for my position at my place of employment when I was all of 68 years of age. Unsure of just how correct this contraption might be, I kept two sets of bookkeeping books, just in case. I was "sold" on its merits when at the end of the year, the computer's "magic" and my "hardwork" tallied. (Please...I know what you are thinking!)
Upon retirement and with my own personal computer set up in our Den, it was a new discovery everyday; and with the help of my own young computer genius, Jeff Gladu, to guide me in how to download, cut and paste and then, Blog, I was ready to enter the Facebook phase of my life. My family's history (the Cranston side and the Derry side) has been neatly categorized and documented for the benefit of generations to come...my real work is done, for the moment.
Enter Facebook: I thought what a neat way to communicate with family and friends though I had been warned by others of my "ilk and age" that certain dangers lurked and to be careful, meaning that the Lonnie McAlister that I had traveled all the way in 1948 to California to possibly meet, heaven forbid, might not be the same Lonnie McAlister of possible Facebook membership. I would take my chances and ask for references. (Lonnie McAlister is the young actor who starred in that World War II epic "Stage Door Canteen." and has yet to "Friend" me at this point in time.)
Those I did find, besides the nieces, nephews, cousins, etc., were men and women of much later generations but all of whom had Iowa and/or Atlantic connections. Pure bliss! Talking and comparing notes about Atlantic, the people who played such an important in all of our lives growing up....whether it be in the 1930's or the 1980's...it doesn't get much better than that when television viewing is "sex, gore and mayhem" and it is much too early to turn back the covers for a pre-winter-night's sleep.
This trip, in which I am in the middle of telling you about, was an occasion to meet up with three or four Facebook Friends, one of whom was Jennie Schwartz of Atlantic. In the rush of last minute detailing, I neglected to get a telephone number to finalize our tentative breakfast meeting at Hy-Vee while we were in Atlantic. And, in the rush of going hither and yon, we ate unscheduled times at the Hy-Vee...so there was no foreseeable way Jennie and I would have our face-to-face meeting. Enter the Guardian Angels contingent, bent on seeing that no one goes home disappointed or hungry...
On the last Saturday of our Atlantic phase, we had packages to ship home (Norman Rockwell plates, Dorothy Lynch dressing, rocks..) so wandered over to the Post Office in Hy-Vee. Timing is everything. We chatted with the Post Office clerks, sent our packages on their way, looked over the fresh supply of donuts and breakfast rolls, and soon exited as we were to pick up Jan for lunch at the Downtowner at noon sharp. Talking on the cell phone to Jan, bootscooting along to keep up with Mary and Peggy I looked up and around to see that I was not going to bring down a shelf of foodstuffs along the way, and saw this cute and spritely-looking redhead coming towards me. This stranger got my complete attention when she called out "Are you Betty?" My heart and head went into overdrive..."Are you Jennie?" "Yes, I thought that might be you because of your hair style!" Lawdy, lawdy, lawdy...first it's my short stature and rounded figure and now it's my hair style. What ever happened to that birthmark on my chin that is usually my distinguishing feature? I know...Cover Girl Cover Up. Ending my call to Jan, plans were made right then and there for Jennie to join us at the Downtowner for lunch, chicken salad for me, and more pictures for Facebook Albums. This persistent young lady told us later that she had gone to Hy-Vee's every day scouting the place for the likes of me, and I love knowing that! Jennie is typical of the men and women I now call friends with whom I chat on a regular basis ... for my kids' and neighbors' benefit, I will continue to measure my thoughts and "curb" my words with my new friends as time and my new "compulsive disorder" permit. Facebook conversations are addictive...witty, satirical, impudent, crass, brash, maddening, challenging, mind-changing, opinionated, parochial, provocative, provincial and, for the most part, smack of superior intelligence. May I add I have learned a few new curse words, too? Or, am I merely "re-learning" shocking words from the assorted schoolgrounds of so long ago....? Add "educational" to the above list! *+#X@$@%^&*!
More to follow! Charles Smith of Newcastle, Wyoming, and a classmate, in an e-mail, wonders where did all those calories go that we collected in Des Moines...cute, Chas! The Waistland, Chas!
If you've read this far, then "I gotcha!" Thanks for hanging around!
"Eating out" was a luxury not often entertained by Cranston family members and, in fact, was not even a thought or desire as we had the best cook in Atlantic on an everyday basis! In fact, and this is the honest-to-goodness truth, I thought that Jim Braman (our Prudential Insurance agent) was a relative of sorts in that he would come calling at our back door, politely enter and sit himself down at the kitchen table most every Monday noon for a lunch of Navy Bean Soup and Hot Rolls Out of the Oven, or Chicken and Dumplings, or Macaroni and Cheese. We kids would run home from school for our lunch, and there he would be. Had to be Monday! Sometimes he would collect the dimes that Mom had saved to pay the premium, sometimes not, those days being in between payment dates. This went on for years, long enough that when Mom told me he was the "insurance man" and not a nephew of hers, I was really disappointed, Jim being a great guy and all that. "Stunned" is another word I could use here, as funny as the situation seems to me today. Anyway, this is just to indicate to you that Mom was a good cook, loved to see her family (sometimes 15 strong) gather around the large kitchen table and let the "fish stories, whoppers and exaggerations begin!" (As life sometimes happens...Mrs. James Braman later became my Home Economics Teacher during the Seventh and Eighth Grades and even praised my White Sauce to Mom...top that if you can!)
But, in looking back, that was WORK for Mom so when Mary and I were laying down Ground Rules for this trip, we wanted our women folk to be able to sit down with us from the moment we connected for breakfast, lunch or dinner. No cooking allowed!
Eating Out would be the order of the day for the two weeks and what fun and how delicious it turned out to be. Rules were broken just twice and under delightful circumstances. Molly and Alan invited the Trio and my brother Ben's widow (another Mary) to share Sloppy Joe's at their Marne home one evening (and you will definitely hear more about this) and Peggy's son, Mickey, and his wife and daughter, Pat and Cathy, prepared a delicious casserole with all the trimmings while we were in Des Moines. Cheryl and Stephen Stefani (my niece courtesy of my brother, Dutch) brought a salad of immense proportions to the table, and we went home stuffed, happy in the thought that we were able to carry on this time-honored Cranston tradition...gathering of loved ones around a table loaded with vittles that nourished the hearts and the souls of every invitee!
You've heard about our dining at The Machine Shed with the Nielsens and Jane Buck of Des Moines residencies. During that first week in Des Moines, we visited Perkins in Des Moines with Wayne and Norma Knight, nephew courtesy of sister Leona, and his wife; in fact, several times, the first being the Monday evening we arrived, with Kathy Crum (Mark's wife), Peggy, and Tommy showing up after the racing debut of "Jesse" at Prairie Meadows. Perkins became our unofficial meeting place as it was convenient to the Econo-Lodge, the prices were affordable and the food delicious.
A bit of wine-tasting added a elevated note to the foursome-party that Cheryl and Stephen hosted for Mary and me at the exclusive Wakonda Country Club. I, for the most part, watched the ladies sip a little, smack their lips a little, and pretend to be blase....they were adorable! Stephen and I studied the menu, patiently waiting for our wine tasters to decide what wine went well with their chosen Entrees, and encouraged our waitress to regale us with funny tales and one-liners, our own comedienne! Thanks, Cheryl and Stephen, I do believe I could get used to that lifestyle!
Okay...back to reality! Kathy introduced us to our first Mongolian Meal at a neat place called HoHuts. Unusual in that each diner selects the meat, vegetables, sauces she wants to include in her meal...one price covers all. Once the ingredients are selected from individual bars, the diner takes the tray to a central cooking location where the dishes are prepared at that moment. Fun to watch and great to devour. As our good fortune would have it that day, our waitress was the spitting image of Chelsea Clinton but I would say, in all kindness, prettier. You will see her in pictures to be posted later, I promise. It would be a challenge to lunch and sup with everyone in Des Moines but we were definitely up for it! Kathy and Mark's daughter, Gina, (a 9 to 5 working gal) scheduled work hours to join us at The Red Lobster as it was through her I discovered the Coconut Shrimp taste bud so long dormant and, later at the El Rodeo where the "south of the border" taste came through just fine and dandy...ole! Definitely competition for likewise fare served at Casa del Rey in Temple City and a favorite haunt of the family for over 40 years.
We lost little time in hitting Applebee's with Keith and his sister, Rosalyn Cranston, progeny of my brother, Kenny, and his wife, Betty, the Saturday before we headed for Atlantic. Around that table gathered Mom and Dad's grandchildren, Keith and Rosalyn, great-grandchildren. Krista Stewart Hill, and Kim Stewart Von Ahsen and her husband, Barry, and Krista's son, Matthew (g-g-gr) and his wife, Libby, with their brand new baby daughter, Zoe Jane, the sixth generation (beginning with Mayme and George for purposes of telling this story.) What a blessing! Thanks, Keith, for hosting this "affair of the heart!" And...it was great seeing the "nests" where "you lay your heads down to sleep at night!" Lovely, both...
Not missing a "burp or a belch," during our week in the Capitol City of Ioway, we gathered up calories at The Red Lobster with servings of Coconut Shrimp and a Virgin Strawberry Margharita, the easy-atmosphered El Rodeo for Mexican, Prairie Meadow for Biscuits and Gravy and other all-you-can-eat delicacies, and the Iowa State Fair for a Barbecued Pork Sandwich and Funnel Cake, downing the latter in the rain and on the run for the car! (Who's salivating now?) Along the way, we were given tours of the several areas including the Salisbury House, the Capitol, the heart of downtown, a huge lawn full of modern artwork, past Drake University...all the good stuff the Chamber of Commerce wants visitors to see, and we did! Thanks to our tour guides...Kathy and Mark, Cheryl and Stephen, Tommy and the indefatigable Peggy....just great! Even saw where the Cubbies play! And, remnants of the flooded areas of the previous weeks. Memories flooded back, too, as these old eyes saw, for perhaps the last time, remnants of places and things once seen through the eyes of a country gal so very long ago.
I love the whole concept of the motels across America serving continental breakfasts for their hungry travelers. Hot coffee or tea, Belgium Waffles, juices of every kind, fresh rolls, fruit, cereals and friendly faces from every part of the world seated at the next table....the ambiance made paying off the Credit Card the next month worth while! And we haven't even begun to list all...that small village down the road apiece - Atlantic - holds culinary treasures not there when I was a kid during those days when "Eating Out" was for those with "fat wallets" or for those whose Moms' expertise was "golfing/bowling with the girls!" (That is not a "snide" remark, dear reader, I,too, am guilty as charged ca 2010!)
Just before the rains came down on the Iowa State Fair and before we grabbed our Funnel Cakes and scrammed the fairgrounds, Mark, Peggy, Mary and I walked to where we had made plans to meet up with my niece, Liz Cranston, and her boyfriend, Nick Kern, of whom you will hear more later. Plans were tentative and we did not meet the kids at the Bill Riley Talent Show, but I did meet Bill Riley, Jr., the talented son of a dear Atlantic friend, Helen Anne Hanson Riley, and her radio personality husband, Bill Riley, an original. Both are deceased but, with Bill, Jr. at the helm, the Talent Show goes on each year at the Fair and kids from all over Iowa travel to the Fair to be part of the Talent Show...great talent has come out of there! Every Mom and Dad will tell you that!
As we strolled to the stage area, a handsome young man walked across our path a few feet ahead and Peggy pointed him out as "Bill Riley!" Part of me wanted to hasten up to him and introduce myself as a long ago friend of his Mom's...the more sensible part of me said...don't! Whenever have I heeded that advice? Well, always, really, and missed out on a lot of "adventures"...but not this time. He, by then, had disappeared into his RV "home" and, yes, I did, I asked one of his crew as they exited the RV if Bill would be available to speak with me for just a moment, I was a friend of his Mom's. Bill, bless his heart, stepped out of the RV, listened to my unrehearsed words of what a sweet, gentle and warm young woman his mother was when I knew her, as a secretary at Metropolitan Life Insurance Company, in Atlantic, and prior to her marriage to his Dad, an up-and-coming announcer for radio station WHO, yes, where "Dutch" Reagan used to work! This was only my third Iowa State Fair to attend in all my years and how "coincidental" is it that one of the bigger items on my personal Bucket List has now been realized, quite by accident and, yet, "planned" in every sense of the word. My Guardian Angel has a tendency to add "zest" to my rather ordinary and mundane life style, but I am fast learning to take whatever she sends my way and simply say..."Thank you!" What a Dame!
Lunch break...back at 1 o'clock!
So began our sentimental journey to Atlantic, Iowa!
Look at any map of Iowa, find Cass County and there you will find my hometown, the one with the "star" in front of its name...the county seat! Not the first choice by the founding fathers but certainly the best. That Whitney guy had his hands in every pot, called the shots as the county and small town grew with the help of some of his friends...I'll name just one: Thomas Meredith, Dad's cousin via the Marsh family, and father of E.T. Meredith, Des Moines magazine publisher and Secretary of Agriculture during World War I. That "E" stands for "Edwin," the middle name of my brother Perle, for Perle's kids who probably haven't a clue why he was named that at birth. Kenneth Owen, another brother, was named for the second Meredith brother, Owen, and that is the history behind his name. That will be news to Kenny's progeny, too! (Legend has it that I was named for the doll that was kinda popular at the time, the "Betty Lou" doll; that I have known a long time but too modest to share until now.) Modesty is out the window where this Blog is concerned...
Anyway....heading home via Highway 71 on Sunday, August 22, at approximately 1:30 p.m. got us to the Super Eight a bit early...like a day! Someone had forgotten to make the changes that Peggy had called in two months before, but not a problem. While the housekeepers scurried around freshening up two rooms for us, we headed for Kentucky Fried Chicken on west Seventh Street for a quick bite to tide us over until the dinner hour, the mashed potatoes and gravy squelched my hunger pains, momentarily, but a more crispy chicken breast, now that they need to work on! Back to the Motel, settled in and unpacked a bit, and now time to look around for a more substantial meal. Running down the list of possibilities the Motel made available to us, we chose the Chinese Buffet close to the Hy-Vee...truly satisfying. A good selection, nicely seasoned and we ate our money's worth. We would be back.
Later, as I lay down my head on the Motel's recently-fluffed pillows and began mulling over "stuff," I, in my reverie, came to realize and appreciate more fully why it was "ordained" that I leave Atlantic for California as a young bride in 1948, as much as it "played the devil" with my heart and mind to leave Mom, my family, my friends and my great job as (The Boss) Carl N. Kennedy's secretary at Metro Life. Why? In the beginning, it was to support my young husband who was searching for more than what a small town could afford him in the way of employment, a "whither thou goest" sort of thing. In that lovely motel room in the town I love so much, it became crystal clear: I had been "pushed out of the nest" I certainly would not have left on my own to "complete or live-out" MY life in all the challenging days/years ahead, to put into play the life lessons and common-sense wisdom the oh-so-wise people of my beloved village had given me so freely as a kid growing up, assuredly secured/blessed in their belief that Del and I would "have a great future" in that far-west land more "than a little over the rainbow" and just as assuredly, secured/blessed in the on-going invitation to visit for "there is no place like home and that the coffee pot is always perking!" (And, someday, do a bit of Blogging about life in sunny Southern California, where Leonardo DeCaprio may show up any given Thursday at Action Lanes to watch his "surrogate grandfather" hit the lanes alongside my team...)
To be given yet another opportunity in the few days ahead to revisit childhood friends, the clan of nieces and nephews (as 82-year-old Wayne, with that devilish-sly grin of his, said so succinctly over brunch "You do know you are the oldest member of the family now!") that was ready and willing to spend a week with Peggy, Mary and me...be our chauffeurs as we drove around Cass County, being such an important part of the things you will soon read about....it was almost "too good to be true." The only loved one missing was "Sadie" ... my "Toto".
May I suggest a white wine for your next course? Hope you return in time for dessert!
"Friendship, friendship...what a perfect blendship..."
My friends have popped up in my life, sometimes in the most unlikely of circumstances, others have been "there" since early childhood and who are so now established in my life, and those of my three kids, that no visit home is complete until we have made connection once more. I doubt that many females could or would count the cute little gal who married a "beau" a very best friend all those years since high school. I do! Janice Clithero Williams, devoted wife of 60 years of Robert Harry (Bob) Williams is that one for me. Jan, who today suffers from Macular Degeneration, was our Official Sight-See-er as Peggy navigated the streets of Atlantic searching for the homes of the founding fathers and homes of some of our classmates. Right on the button every time! I love Jan in the very same way I care for Bob who today is living in the Atlantic Rehabilitation Center on 29th Street as a result of a stroke and aphasia. A little apprehensive, we were not sure if he would know us. This was one of those good days that Bob sometimes has, he recognized Peggy and me immediately and got reacquainted with Mary whom he last saw as a young girl. He and Jan were together, that very day, on their 60th Wedding Anniversary, shared a kiss as suggested and photographed by Mary. I have never been happier for two more wonderful human beings! I like to think I had a hand in their happiness; and if not that, my heart...
Now, Bill Auerbach is something else! A character we make certain we have breakfast with at Hy-Vee each and every trip. Bill and I began Kindergarten together at Grant School; and as Bill explained it all to Peggy and Mary, he ended up two years behind me and even volunteered the reason why....(Now, I had heard this story many times before from my Mom and Bill's Mom when younger but, for the most part, pooh-hooed it) it seems that Bill missed a couple of lessons in Reading and Writing and Arithmetic because he "stared at the back of Betty's curly blonde locks way too much" in class, and, for his own edification, the wise teachers deigned it best to have Billy re-do Kindergarten! (I know, unbelievable, huh? but was this my first attempt at "if you have it, flaunt it even it you don't have a clue as to what you are flaunting?") Teacher Pearl Dahlberg smiled about that incident for many years to come, I hear, but, nevertheless, thought it best that this was the proper action to take. (I know I was responsible for one year, but who was the beauty that caught Bill's eye the second year he was detained?) I will take full responsibility if you say so, Bill! And, yes, Bill is married to his lovely Martha who may or may not know of his shady past!
As Mary was taking pictures of Bill and me "snuggling on the booth at Hy-Vee in front of ten or twenty onlookers" I realized that, once again, what a "perfect blendship" Bill and I have shared all these years. How very lucky can one girl be...Bill and Bob and when I hear "were there others besotted with my curly blonde locks?," I will certainly let you know.
During those formative years when I hastened out the back door of 210 Birch to join a roomful of classmates at Grant and Jackson Schools, I had not a clue there was a really handsome young lad by the name of Delbert "Sonny" Derry living near the outskirts of Atlantic in the "wannabe town of Grove City, Iowa." (And, as my good fortune would have it..."the really handsome father of Dennis Dwight, Mary Elizabeth and Dana Jo" in their hometown of Arcadia, California.) As he often proudly told our kids, it was through more than one snowstorm, rain or hailstorm, that he rode his faithful pony one country mile to attend his one-room country school to join his classmates, among them one Clifford Berry who remained "Sonny's" best friend until the day he passed, even though separated in 1996 by nearly 2,000 miles. Cliff and his so-lovely wife, Leah Mae, became my fast friends just prior to our marriage in 1946; it was with them that we spent our last evening in Atlantic prior to our moving to California in 1948. And gave into their safekeeping all of our vinyl records as a memento of our love and affection. If there had been more room in the trunk of our 1938 Chevy Coupe, they would have been transported along with a few treasured wedding gifts; I like to think that as Cliff and Leah Mae listened to the 1940's music of that young Italian heartthrob Frank Sinatra, Perry Como and the Big Band sounds of Kay Kyser, Glenn Miller (an Iowa boy), Henry Busse, Lawrence Welk, Les Brown...so many more... they remembered the precious moments we shared as young newlyweds.
Johnie Ruhr, I do believe the most joyful man I have ever met outside of my own immediate family, was also a lifelong friend of Del's and became my friend when he began to date, and married, one of my dearest friends ever, Nelda, a co-worker at Metropolitan Life. Sharing meals, riding around the small town and countryside in summertime and winter, and all the stuff (the movies, Maid-Rites, the county fairs, the auctions, shoveling snow) that goes into the making of good times in a small town, cemented our friendship with nary a "crack" in its foundation at ANY time.
Serious health problems prevented The Trio from spending as much time as we wanted with Cliff and Leah Mae but we did meet for lunch at the Farmers' Kitchen and again later to say our goodbyes before heading back to Des Moines. At a soul-satisfying dinner for ten at Pizza Ranch with Nelda and daughter, Lori (with our looking forward to meeting up later with Nelda and Johnie at the Class Reunion), Nelda mentioned that Johnie was at the Auction in an off-hand manner and Mary immediately pounced on that word: Auction! Off that party of eight went (we lost Nelda and Lori at that point because this was old stuff to them) and in walking through the crowd to find a seat, guess who stood directly in front of me...of course, Johnie! ... smiling broadly for he saw us coming toward him, waiting with outstretched arms into which I happily went, letting the crowd wonder about "that woman" in that 92-year-old man's arms! It turned out to be a lovely evening...Mary won the bid on those Norman Rockwell plates I was telling you about earlier, with help from Niece Sherry who knows a thing or two about Auctions, too. And I basked in the knowledge that "old friendships" just get sweeter and more precious as the years roll by and that God has, indeed, blessed "Sonny," me and our three kids in the most abundant of ways with Cliff and Leah Mae and Johnie and Nelda as "forever" friends...
The Saga Continues....
I know of very few people of my "ilk and age" who have come to consider the mighty computer a worthwhile piece of equipment, whether it be to play Solitaire, buy stuff on EBay or exchange personal picadillos with complete strangers on a somewhat daily basis. The telephone, the typewriter, the talk over the fence filled the needs of My Suspicious Generation quite well until I was "forced" to learn the intricasies of the computer for my position at my place of employment when I was all of 68 years of age. Unsure of just how correct this contraption might be, I kept two sets of bookkeeping books, just in case. I was "sold" on its merits when at the end of the year, the computer's "magic" and my "hardwork" tallied. (Please...I know what you are thinking!)
Upon retirement and with my own personal computer set up in our Den, it was a new discovery everyday; and with the help of my own young computer genius, Jeff Gladu, to guide me in how to download, cut and paste and then, Blog, I was ready to enter the Facebook phase of my life. My family's history (the Cranston side and the Derry side) has been neatly categorized and documented for the benefit of generations to come...my real work is done, for the moment.
Enter Facebook: I thought what a neat way to communicate with family and friends though I had been warned by others of my "ilk and age" that certain dangers lurked and to be careful, meaning that the Lonnie McAlister that I had traveled all the way in 1948 to California to possibly meet, heaven forbid, might not be the same Lonnie McAlister of possible Facebook membership. I would take my chances and ask for references. (Lonnie McAlister is the young actor who starred in that World War II epic "Stage Door Canteen." and has yet to "Friend" me at this point in time.)
Those I did find, besides the nieces, nephews, cousins, etc., were men and women of much later generations but all of whom had Iowa and/or Atlantic connections. Pure bliss! Talking and comparing notes about Atlantic, the people who played such an important in all of our lives growing up....whether it be in the 1930's or the 1980's...it doesn't get much better than that when television viewing is "sex, gore and mayhem" and it is much too early to turn back the covers for a pre-winter-night's sleep.
This trip, in which I am in the middle of telling you about, was an occasion to meet up with three or four Facebook Friends, one of whom was Jennie Schwartz of Atlantic. In the rush of last minute detailing, I neglected to get a telephone number to finalize our tentative breakfast meeting at Hy-Vee while we were in Atlantic. And, in the rush of going hither and yon, we ate unscheduled times at the Hy-Vee...so there was no foreseeable way Jennie and I would have our face-to-face meeting. Enter the Guardian Angels contingent, bent on seeing that no one goes home disappointed or hungry...
On the last Saturday of our Atlantic phase, we had packages to ship home (Norman Rockwell plates, Dorothy Lynch dressing, rocks..) so wandered over to the Post Office in Hy-Vee. Timing is everything. We chatted with the Post Office clerks, sent our packages on their way, looked over the fresh supply of donuts and breakfast rolls, and soon exited as we were to pick up Jan for lunch at the Downtowner at noon sharp. Talking on the cell phone to Jan, bootscooting along to keep up with Mary and Peggy I looked up and around to see that I was not going to bring down a shelf of foodstuffs along the way, and saw this cute and spritely-looking redhead coming towards me. This stranger got my complete attention when she called out "Are you Betty?" My heart and head went into overdrive..."Are you Jennie?" "Yes, I thought that might be you because of your hair style!" Lawdy, lawdy, lawdy...first it's my short stature and rounded figure and now it's my hair style. What ever happened to that birthmark on my chin that is usually my distinguishing feature? I know...Cover Girl Cover Up. Ending my call to Jan, plans were made right then and there for Jennie to join us at the Downtowner for lunch, chicken salad for me, and more pictures for Facebook Albums. This persistent young lady told us later that she had gone to Hy-Vee's every day scouting the place for the likes of me, and I love knowing that! Jennie is typical of the men and women I now call friends with whom I chat on a regular basis ... for my kids' and neighbors' benefit, I will continue to measure my thoughts and "curb" my words with my new friends as time and my new "compulsive disorder" permit. Facebook conversations are addictive...witty, satirical, impudent, crass, brash, maddening, challenging, mind-changing, opinionated, parochial, provocative, provincial and, for the most part, smack of superior intelligence. May I add I have learned a few new curse words, too? Or, am I merely "re-learning" shocking words from the assorted schoolgrounds of so long ago....? Add "educational" to the above list! *+#X@$@%^&*!
More to follow! Charles Smith of Newcastle, Wyoming, and a classmate, in an e-mail, wonders where did all those calories go that we collected in Des Moines...cute, Chas! The Waistland, Chas!
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
ONCE IN A BLUE MOON....FAMILY, FRIENDS AND THE FREEDOM ROCK!
Of one thing (well, maybe two) I am certain: Mrs. Elmer (Grace) Busse, my Junior and Senior years Journalism teacher at good old AHS, would have little or no empathy for the lost time contemplating subject matter, the missed snack times and the furrowed brows that have gone into deciding how to begin this Blog entry. (Way back in 1943, deadlines were met and the presses were timely rolled at C. S. Relyea Printing Company if the 800 plus students enrolled in the combined Junior High and High School, sitting on top of the hill in the most southern part of our quaint village, were to heartily ingest the latest student body news and guffaw over the jokes plagiarized from a nearby community's school newspaper. Time was of the essence, and Grace was one with whom you did no horsing around!) A tough taskmistress, this effort would have been on Mrs. Busse's desk and you would have read it two weeks ago by her honored work standards. So very full of ourselves in those days, just to see our "very own words" in the hands of those preteen and teen readers gave a boost to the combined heart, soul and mind (spelled "ego") of The Needle staff, who, for the most part, would probably not set words to print, ever again, except for the Family Christmas Letter. Today the 1943 issues of our school newspaper are probably yellowed with age and the print faded but... not the memories of beating the deadline, reading the newspaper fresh off the press and, yeah, getting an "A" on the Report Card! (Yes, I still write a Christmas Letter even if they are scorned in some circles!)
"Wool gatherings" ... one of the tenets of "good Journalism" is that the writer should include the WHO, WHAT, WHERE, WHEN, WHY AND HOW in the first paragraph. That's great for the Los Angeles Times and Politics Daily and was religiously put forth to Cub Reporters by Horace Greeley and those of his ilk, including William Randolph Hearst (Horace of the "Go west, young man (!) and help build a country!") and William who sort of had a crush on the movie honey, beautifully-coiffed Marion Davies, and disliked seeing her name linked with his in any paragraph in any newspaper. (And how did that work for you, William?) Any Blogger worth her "two cents" will flesh out the WWWWWH facts for about as long as it takes to prepare a decent pot roast surrounded by quartered onions, small Russet potatoes, bite-sized carrots covered with a nice brown sauce. And longer if there are Brownies for dessert topped with homemade ice cream. (I live in a dream world and "cook" is a four-letter word I seldom use these days...what does that say about me and Blogging? :)
Enough "wool gathering" ... but I have fractured one time-honored tenet with my opening paragraph...this story AIN'T about Mrs. Elmer (Grace) Busse, the sister-in-law of Henry Busse, the famed orchestra leader of the days prior to World War II. This Memoir is about "My Two Wild Weeks in Des Moines and Atlantic and The People Who Contributed to My Delinquency!" In all fairness, my darling daughter, Mary, (my chaperon for this trip) is to be considered "Innocent" unless proved "Guilty," and I wouldn't be surprised!
High on the list of "contributors" is one Jennie Schwartz of Atlantic and a newly-found Facebook Friend and who, very much in the manner of Grace, posted a message akin to something like: "I thought I would see a post by now!" So, dear Jennie, this one is for you, slightly past my original deadline.....I have found that "Life does have a way of happening!" but hope that you and the people who put such spice into my life while Mary and I spent two very awesome weeks in Ioway in August will read past the First Paragraph! The second tenet?...I can call Jennie "Linda" inadvertently once or twice in person but I had better darn well spell her name correctly when blogging about our unexpected meeting at Hy-Vee a few paragraphs from now. (Am I forgiven now, Jennie?)
(This trying to be a reputable Blogger is taxing! But, if someone was paying me "by the inch" the standard in the newspaper business, I could afford a Starbucks now and again, even if I don't care for the taste.)
I am sure that all of my erudite readers know the meaning of "Once in a blue moon." For the uninitiated, here is what Google says about this quaint phrase that has been around since 1528: The "blue moon" refers to the third full moon in a season with four full moons OR the second full moon of a calendar month. "Blue moons" will occur in 2011, 2014 and 2017. In other words, "blue moons" are rare and occur only every now and then. And here is where another confession is in order: Primarily an "observer of Homo sapiens in their natural habitats" as an innocent kid growing up in a small Iowa town and as an "innocent" old woman living in fast-paced Los Angeles County, I am daily surprised by the "blue moon" aspects of this stage-of-my-life existence. Facebook (for the introduction of endearing friends who have "clicked" their way into my heart) and Blogspot.com for the freedom to express that which has, in the main, been untapped for eight decades plus.
Those words ("blue moon," what else?) pretty much describe the August 16-August 30 time of our lives, and I am here to pretty much tell you all about it. From the moment our Allegiant Airlines plane settled safely down on the Des Moines runway until we packed our bags one more time for the trip back to California, it was "blue moon" time...rare! I have three pages of legal-sized paper filled with names of people we visited, lunched and supped with, gambled and gamboled with, who were cohorts in raiding and down-sizing several antique shops and frenzied bidding at the local auction...Mary purchased four prized Norman Rockwell plates for $15.00 - was she ever jazzed! (In California, one plate could go for $50-$100 and the buyer (yes, Mary) thinks she has struck pay dirt...and perhaps she has.) I, myself, picked up an old-fashioned washboard, in less-than-mint condition made for "silken undies and hankies," and a solid pewter elephant with the trunk waving in the air, the stance preferred by serious collectors. It stands among a small pile of rocks I purloined from the landscaped area of the Des Moines' Econo-Lodge, Atlantic's Super-Eight and from around the base of Greenfield's The Freedom Rock. A tribute to my thieving Scottish Reivers ancestors! I am looking forward to a box of sparkling black rocks "lifted" at the Des Moines Airport in today's mail: their discovery by airport security may have delayed our trip home for a long, long time...like 60 days!
(Editor's note: People have come to learn that there is a price to be paid when they "slum" with me...names will be mentioned and intimate details shared. Small price to pay for Blogspot.com Immortality, right? So pour yourself another cup of coffee and let's get this Saga on the road....hope you have a pleasant ride!)
The Machine Shed in Des Moines holds great significance for me, besides the good food. It was a favorite haunt of family members while my beloved sister, Trudy, was with us, and it remains so to this day. How very special it was for Mary and me, niece Peggy Kilroy and nephew Mark Crum to break bread with Thomas and Sharon Nielsen and Jane Buck of Facebook fame along with Thomas' Uncle and Aunt, Dale and LaVila Nielsen, at The Machine Shed one more time. Thanks to Thomas' thoughtful generosity, Mary and I enjoyed lemon meringue pie before hitting the hay after the party was over. The ever-clever Jane calls Thomas the "pie-piper!" A simple question put to Thomas several months prior to this occasion..."Do you know a LeRoy Nielsen, a former classmate of mine?"....was answered with a "Yes, he was my Uncle!" (I learned more about the young man I had my eye on in our Buck Town neighborhood and his destiny. You will hear more about LeRoy, too.) More coincidences: Sharon, Dale and LaVila know several Cranston family members through work and friendships. What amazing fun from beginning to end! The Machine Shed was left intact by our group in case anyone wants to know! Thanks, you guys! (Next time, Thomas, we'll use my credit card!) Jane and I have promised each other when next we meet, we will stay up a bit later (at least past 10:30 p.m.) stirring up a bit of "trubble" for the townspeople of Atlantic. And, just like any dedicated Farmville Farmer, I intend to cultivate these Facebook Friendships ... methinks the yields will be bountiful!
More to follow....Stuff 'n such you should learn of only from my fingertips....
"Ditched" featuring family "superman" Alan Cranston, directed by Molly Cranston
"Iowa State Fair" - One Item crossed off My Bucket List
"We Do Restaurants, Too!" by the Women in my family
"Bubba Sorenson's The Freedom Rock or It is Possible to Get Lost Between Greenfield and Atlantic!
"Tattoos and a Tea House" featuring The Ensemble
"Rhoda Derry" - a documentary being made in Illinois as we write, telling the heartbreaking story of Rhoda, a distant aunt of "Doc" Derry, one of the more intelligent beings to have left Wasilla, Alaska. "Doc"...you are a treasure!
"Getting to Know You!" featuring Jennie Schwartz - you won't believe all that went into this dittie!
"Class Reunion" featuring 175 AHS Alumni and food prepared by The Downtowner!
"Jesse" "Prairie Meadow" and "I won! I won!" or "Horsing Around in Altoona!"
"Boy Friends and Girl Friends" spotlighting those "Survivors" whom I love and who love me, unconditionally!
"The Tale of Two Black Butterflies" - worthy of another documentary! Locations: Wiota Cemetery and Atlantic's Super Eight...you are NOT going to believe this!
"Flowers for Our Loved Ones" - again, The Ensemble
"The Hitchcock House" in nearby Lewis. Haunted? or Spirit-filled? Mary's convinced!
"I Live in a 'Dream' World!" - Funding provided by Social Security and Reverse Mortgage (I hold back NOTHING in this Blog...)
"You Are My Sunshine!" and/or "Stormy Weather" as performed/chanted by Ric Hanson of KJAN
Romans 8:28 ... always end a Blog on a "high note!"
There's more but hope one or two of these have caught your attention! Stay tuned!
Continuing...
Those recalcitrant weather gods that have been loitering over the most important terrain in Iowa (that would be from Des Moines to Atlantic and surrounding territory) apparently took heed of the tongue-in-cheek posts that flew fast and furious between one Ric Hanson of Radio Station KJAN in Atlantic, and Moi in the month prior to our take-off date. Recalling, accurately, our clever conversation is past my abilities at this point but would recommend that you scroll back on either of our pages if only to ascertain what "power" Ric wields with those "weather gods" if not with the Weather Bureau. Thanks, Ric, for the "anti-rain dances and chants" and turning what would have been a soggy two-weeks' vacation into one in which every hair on our heads stayed fashionably coiffed for the entire time...only frizzled hair would have dampened our vacation and our spirits. Who wants to get reacquainted with "old boyfriends" with Little Orphan Annie hair? Certainly not my daughter's mother!
My Family members have a certain charm that I have never managed to assimilate into my whole being....they take charge! And what I really don't understand is: how do they know that what they do is exactly what I am hoping for?
Our combined "Bucket List" of things to do when we visit their midst is what I am talking about here. For instance:
Mark and Tom Crum, nephews courtesy of niece Peggy, own a horse called "Jesse", the proverbial "apple of their eyes," stabled and running at Prairie Meadow. Now horses are not my first choice in the "pet world" having been bumped off a nice little white pony owned by school chum, Don Berry, as a ten-year-old in front of Grant School. I was still a "cowgirl-beginner" and did not realize that a real cowgirl would insist upon a saddle...and boots...and to know not to let loose of the reins! That aside, I still wanted to meet "Jesse," now a member of the Family, and scout out Dewy, the jockey.
Mary loves horses and "Jesse" sensed that immediately, showing off by nodding his head when the boys would ask him questions. I swear I saw this same act on the stage of the auditorium of our high school back in 1938! True! And that horse could count up to ten by tapping the floor with his/her hooves! It almost brought me to tears when it came time for "Jesse" to say goodbye to Mary for the last time...the soulful look in her eyes was heart wrenching. "Jesse," subconsciously I'm sure, was thinking of the little filly waiting for him in Oklahoma, his winter home, when the race season ended but Mary fell for that "lost" look... hook, line and sinker! Men! You give them your heart, and they play on your heartstrings! Last time we heard from the boys, "Jesse" had come home a winner, stood in the Winner's Circle and had his picture taken with people he didn't even know..a Celebrity! We have pictures of him on his way to becoming a Celebrity in this Win, Place and Show Business...we can say we knew him when!
If you believe in Guardian Angels, this next story is for you. If you don't believe in Guardian Angels, then this story "isn't for you," but it will give you directions to Greenfield, Iowa, where there is a great big painted rock worthy of a great big "Thank You!" to one Raymond "Bubba" Sorenson, called "The Freedom Rock." Located off the beaten path if you're traveling from Des Moines to Atlantic and points west, "The Freedom Rock" is an inspiring piece of work by a talented and patriotic small town artist and worthy of your Googling for information telling you more about its inception and young Sorenson. (Eventually, there will be pictures posted on my Facebook Page of our entire two-weeks excursion into the bowels of Cass County, Iowa, but first things first!) I would hasten to add directions, but road construction/detour signs out of Greenfield confused us city-dwellers, and we ended up in Fontanelle and Bridgewater, eventually heading back to Greenfield. No townspeople in either town were outside to ask directions, but we did see a curtain or two being pulled back and that could be considered a "minor Adventure"... for them.
Personally, I believe in Guardian Angels and moreso after quietly pondering, somewhat later, an "Adventure" Peggy, Mary and I experienced after we left the green acres surrounding Greenfield, heading for Atlantic's Motel Super Eight on Seventh Street, our home for the next seven days. Peggy, who knew the area and has a 100% track driving record, was behind the wheel of her Saturn, Mary rode "shotgun" and I was safely buckled up in the back seat along with extra food, reading material and the makings for the Class of 1943 Center Piece for display and kudos at the August 29th AHS All-Class Reunion.
Our particular Guardian Angels riding on the hood of the Saturn - described next for the visually-impaired amongst ye - will, henceforth in my mind, be identified thusly: One forever-young female dressed in Croft and Barrow's latest fashion, should be featured on a forthcoming Kohl's mailer (30% coupon attached, of course) - That would be Peggy's Guardian Angel. Next - Mary's Guardian Angel will be easily recognized as "The Modern Grandmother" type whose all-encompassing love and affection is only over-shadowed by, oftentimes, a mirthful laugh that makes heads "whip around" to see what's so funny... Now, the third Guardian Angel is somewhat more complex to describe. I know for certain she is not a former "Hooters" girl. More like a "Grandma Moses with a coveting-Erma-Bombeck bent." An old typist...close enough!
Going towards Atlantic on the road leading out of Greenfield, the road comes to a "T" and Peggy dutifully eased the car to a complete stop. This is where our Three Guardian Angels did their best work ever: Out of nowhere, and I do mean nowhere for we all had looked left, right and left, came a semi-rig hauling at break-neck speed, just feet from the front bumper on the Saturn. Our reactions were: "Where did that come from? and "It just wasn't our time!" Scoff is you want, disparage if you will...The fact remains that Peggy still has her 100% record intact and that works for me, and this I will always believe, was aided and abetted by the ever-vigilant Three Guardians Angels, all of whom we kept pretty much busy the entire 24/7 two weeks time span!
"Wool gatherings" ... one of the tenets of "good Journalism" is that the writer should include the WHO, WHAT, WHERE, WHEN, WHY AND HOW in the first paragraph. That's great for the Los Angeles Times and Politics Daily and was religiously put forth to Cub Reporters by Horace Greeley and those of his ilk, including William Randolph Hearst (Horace of the "Go west, young man (!) and help build a country!") and William who sort of had a crush on the movie honey, beautifully-coiffed Marion Davies, and disliked seeing her name linked with his in any paragraph in any newspaper. (And how did that work for you, William?) Any Blogger worth her "two cents" will flesh out the WWWWWH facts for about as long as it takes to prepare a decent pot roast surrounded by quartered onions, small Russet potatoes, bite-sized carrots covered with a nice brown sauce. And longer if there are Brownies for dessert topped with homemade ice cream. (I live in a dream world and "cook" is a four-letter word I seldom use these days...what does that say about me and Blogging? :)
Enough "wool gathering" ... but I have fractured one time-honored tenet with my opening paragraph...this story AIN'T about Mrs. Elmer (Grace) Busse, the sister-in-law of Henry Busse, the famed orchestra leader of the days prior to World War II. This Memoir is about "My Two Wild Weeks in Des Moines and Atlantic and The People Who Contributed to My Delinquency!" In all fairness, my darling daughter, Mary, (my chaperon for this trip) is to be considered "Innocent" unless proved "Guilty," and I wouldn't be surprised!
High on the list of "contributors" is one Jennie Schwartz of Atlantic and a newly-found Facebook Friend and who, very much in the manner of Grace, posted a message akin to something like: "I thought I would see a post by now!" So, dear Jennie, this one is for you, slightly past my original deadline.....I have found that "Life does have a way of happening!" but hope that you and the people who put such spice into my life while Mary and I spent two very awesome weeks in Ioway in August will read past the First Paragraph! The second tenet?...I can call Jennie "Linda" inadvertently once or twice in person but I had better darn well spell her name correctly when blogging about our unexpected meeting at Hy-Vee a few paragraphs from now. (Am I forgiven now, Jennie?)
(This trying to be a reputable Blogger is taxing! But, if someone was paying me "by the inch" the standard in the newspaper business, I could afford a Starbucks now and again, even if I don't care for the taste.)
I am sure that all of my erudite readers know the meaning of "Once in a blue moon." For the uninitiated, here is what Google says about this quaint phrase that has been around since 1528: The "blue moon" refers to the third full moon in a season with four full moons OR the second full moon of a calendar month. "Blue moons" will occur in 2011, 2014 and 2017. In other words, "blue moons" are rare and occur only every now and then. And here is where another confession is in order: Primarily an "observer of Homo sapiens in their natural habitats" as an innocent kid growing up in a small Iowa town and as an "innocent" old woman living in fast-paced Los Angeles County, I am daily surprised by the "blue moon" aspects of this stage-of-my-life existence. Facebook (for the introduction of endearing friends who have "clicked" their way into my heart) and Blogspot.com for the freedom to express that which has, in the main, been untapped for eight decades plus.
Those words ("blue moon," what else?) pretty much describe the August 16-August 30 time of our lives, and I am here to pretty much tell you all about it. From the moment our Allegiant Airlines plane settled safely down on the Des Moines runway until we packed our bags one more time for the trip back to California, it was "blue moon" time...rare! I have three pages of legal-sized paper filled with names of people we visited, lunched and supped with, gambled and gamboled with, who were cohorts in raiding and down-sizing several antique shops and frenzied bidding at the local auction...Mary purchased four prized Norman Rockwell plates for $15.00 - was she ever jazzed! (In California, one plate could go for $50-$100 and the buyer (yes, Mary) thinks she has struck pay dirt...and perhaps she has.) I, myself, picked up an old-fashioned washboard, in less-than-mint condition made for "silken undies and hankies," and a solid pewter elephant with the trunk waving in the air, the stance preferred by serious collectors. It stands among a small pile of rocks I purloined from the landscaped area of the Des Moines' Econo-Lodge, Atlantic's Super-Eight and from around the base of Greenfield's The Freedom Rock. A tribute to my thieving Scottish Reivers ancestors! I am looking forward to a box of sparkling black rocks "lifted" at the Des Moines Airport in today's mail: their discovery by airport security may have delayed our trip home for a long, long time...like 60 days!
(Editor's note: People have come to learn that there is a price to be paid when they "slum" with me...names will be mentioned and intimate details shared. Small price to pay for Blogspot.com Immortality, right? So pour yourself another cup of coffee and let's get this Saga on the road....hope you have a pleasant ride!)
The Machine Shed in Des Moines holds great significance for me, besides the good food. It was a favorite haunt of family members while my beloved sister, Trudy, was with us, and it remains so to this day. How very special it was for Mary and me, niece Peggy Kilroy and nephew Mark Crum to break bread with Thomas and Sharon Nielsen and Jane Buck of Facebook fame along with Thomas' Uncle and Aunt, Dale and LaVila Nielsen, at The Machine Shed one more time. Thanks to Thomas' thoughtful generosity, Mary and I enjoyed lemon meringue pie before hitting the hay after the party was over. The ever-clever Jane calls Thomas the "pie-piper!" A simple question put to Thomas several months prior to this occasion..."Do you know a LeRoy Nielsen, a former classmate of mine?"....was answered with a "Yes, he was my Uncle!" (I learned more about the young man I had my eye on in our Buck Town neighborhood and his destiny. You will hear more about LeRoy, too.) More coincidences: Sharon, Dale and LaVila know several Cranston family members through work and friendships. What amazing fun from beginning to end! The Machine Shed was left intact by our group in case anyone wants to know! Thanks, you guys! (Next time, Thomas, we'll use my credit card!) Jane and I have promised each other when next we meet, we will stay up a bit later (at least past 10:30 p.m.) stirring up a bit of "trubble" for the townspeople of Atlantic. And, just like any dedicated Farmville Farmer, I intend to cultivate these Facebook Friendships ... methinks the yields will be bountiful!
More to follow....Stuff 'n such you should learn of only from my fingertips....
"Ditched" featuring family "superman" Alan Cranston, directed by Molly Cranston
"Iowa State Fair" - One Item crossed off My Bucket List
"We Do Restaurants, Too!" by the Women in my family
"Bubba Sorenson's The Freedom Rock or It is Possible to Get Lost Between Greenfield and Atlantic!
"Tattoos and a Tea House" featuring The Ensemble
"Rhoda Derry" - a documentary being made in Illinois as we write, telling the heartbreaking story of Rhoda, a distant aunt of "Doc" Derry, one of the more intelligent beings to have left Wasilla, Alaska. "Doc"...you are a treasure!
"Getting to Know You!" featuring Jennie Schwartz - you won't believe all that went into this dittie!
"Class Reunion" featuring 175 AHS Alumni and food prepared by The Downtowner!
"Jesse" "Prairie Meadow" and "I won! I won!" or "Horsing Around in Altoona!"
"Boy Friends and Girl Friends" spotlighting those "Survivors" whom I love and who love me, unconditionally!
"The Tale of Two Black Butterflies" - worthy of another documentary! Locations: Wiota Cemetery and Atlantic's Super Eight...you are NOT going to believe this!
"Flowers for Our Loved Ones" - again, The Ensemble
"The Hitchcock House" in nearby Lewis. Haunted? or Spirit-filled? Mary's convinced!
"I Live in a 'Dream' World!" - Funding provided by Social Security and Reverse Mortgage (I hold back NOTHING in this Blog...)
"You Are My Sunshine!" and/or "Stormy Weather" as performed/chanted by Ric Hanson of KJAN
Romans 8:28 ... always end a Blog on a "high note!"
There's more but hope one or two of these have caught your attention! Stay tuned!
Continuing...
Those recalcitrant weather gods that have been loitering over the most important terrain in Iowa (that would be from Des Moines to Atlantic and surrounding territory) apparently took heed of the tongue-in-cheek posts that flew fast and furious between one Ric Hanson of Radio Station KJAN in Atlantic, and Moi in the month prior to our take-off date. Recalling, accurately, our clever conversation is past my abilities at this point but would recommend that you scroll back on either of our pages if only to ascertain what "power" Ric wields with those "weather gods" if not with the Weather Bureau. Thanks, Ric, for the "anti-rain dances and chants" and turning what would have been a soggy two-weeks' vacation into one in which every hair on our heads stayed fashionably coiffed for the entire time...only frizzled hair would have dampened our vacation and our spirits. Who wants to get reacquainted with "old boyfriends" with Little Orphan Annie hair? Certainly not my daughter's mother!
My Family members have a certain charm that I have never managed to assimilate into my whole being....they take charge! And what I really don't understand is: how do they know that what they do is exactly what I am hoping for?
Our combined "Bucket List" of things to do when we visit their midst is what I am talking about here. For instance:
Mark and Tom Crum, nephews courtesy of niece Peggy, own a horse called "Jesse", the proverbial "apple of their eyes," stabled and running at Prairie Meadow. Now horses are not my first choice in the "pet world" having been bumped off a nice little white pony owned by school chum, Don Berry, as a ten-year-old in front of Grant School. I was still a "cowgirl-beginner" and did not realize that a real cowgirl would insist upon a saddle...and boots...and to know not to let loose of the reins! That aside, I still wanted to meet "Jesse," now a member of the Family, and scout out Dewy, the jockey.
Mary loves horses and "Jesse" sensed that immediately, showing off by nodding his head when the boys would ask him questions. I swear I saw this same act on the stage of the auditorium of our high school back in 1938! True! And that horse could count up to ten by tapping the floor with his/her hooves! It almost brought me to tears when it came time for "Jesse" to say goodbye to Mary for the last time...the soulful look in her eyes was heart wrenching. "Jesse," subconsciously I'm sure, was thinking of the little filly waiting for him in Oklahoma, his winter home, when the race season ended but Mary fell for that "lost" look... hook, line and sinker! Men! You give them your heart, and they play on your heartstrings! Last time we heard from the boys, "Jesse" had come home a winner, stood in the Winner's Circle and had his picture taken with people he didn't even know..a Celebrity! We have pictures of him on his way to becoming a Celebrity in this Win, Place and Show Business...we can say we knew him when!
If you believe in Guardian Angels, this next story is for you. If you don't believe in Guardian Angels, then this story "isn't for you," but it will give you directions to Greenfield, Iowa, where there is a great big painted rock worthy of a great big "Thank You!" to one Raymond "Bubba" Sorenson, called "The Freedom Rock." Located off the beaten path if you're traveling from Des Moines to Atlantic and points west, "The Freedom Rock" is an inspiring piece of work by a talented and patriotic small town artist and worthy of your Googling for information telling you more about its inception and young Sorenson. (Eventually, there will be pictures posted on my Facebook Page of our entire two-weeks excursion into the bowels of Cass County, Iowa, but first things first!) I would hasten to add directions, but road construction/detour signs out of Greenfield confused us city-dwellers, and we ended up in Fontanelle and Bridgewater, eventually heading back to Greenfield. No townspeople in either town were outside to ask directions, but we did see a curtain or two being pulled back and that could be considered a "minor Adventure"... for them.
Personally, I believe in Guardian Angels and moreso after quietly pondering, somewhat later, an "Adventure" Peggy, Mary and I experienced after we left the green acres surrounding Greenfield, heading for Atlantic's Motel Super Eight on Seventh Street, our home for the next seven days. Peggy, who knew the area and has a 100% track driving record, was behind the wheel of her Saturn, Mary rode "shotgun" and I was safely buckled up in the back seat along with extra food, reading material and the makings for the Class of 1943 Center Piece for display and kudos at the August 29th AHS All-Class Reunion.
Our particular Guardian Angels riding on the hood of the Saturn - described next for the visually-impaired amongst ye - will, henceforth in my mind, be identified thusly: One forever-young female dressed in Croft and Barrow's latest fashion, should be featured on a forthcoming Kohl's mailer (30% coupon attached, of course) - That would be Peggy's Guardian Angel. Next - Mary's Guardian Angel will be easily recognized as "The Modern Grandmother" type whose all-encompassing love and affection is only over-shadowed by, oftentimes, a mirthful laugh that makes heads "whip around" to see what's so funny... Now, the third Guardian Angel is somewhat more complex to describe. I know for certain she is not a former "Hooters" girl. More like a "Grandma Moses with a coveting-Erma-Bombeck bent." An old typist...close enough!
Going towards Atlantic on the road leading out of Greenfield, the road comes to a "T" and Peggy dutifully eased the car to a complete stop. This is where our Three Guardian Angels did their best work ever: Out of nowhere, and I do mean nowhere for we all had looked left, right and left, came a semi-rig hauling at break-neck speed, just feet from the front bumper on the Saturn. Our reactions were: "Where did that come from? and "It just wasn't our time!" Scoff is you want, disparage if you will...The fact remains that Peggy still has her 100% record intact and that works for me, and this I will always believe, was aided and abetted by the ever-vigilant Three Guardians Angels, all of whom we kept pretty much busy the entire 24/7 two weeks time span!
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
The Milking of Cows: A Lesson in Biology, Math and Science
A Sunday drive to the farm of my Mom's sister and her husband was a trip that we, the younger of the "city slickers" living at 210 Birch, anticipated with mixed glee...I write that because they had an Outhouse: outside, outofsight!
Aunt Dora and Uncle Henry (Hank) Ruhwer owned the farm located not far from Fletcher Chapel on Highway 71 (that would be going south from Atlantic as the crow flies). Mom was the best cook in town and we never went "without", but Aunt Dora had owned a restaurant at one time (ok, it may have been a bar/restaurant) and the flavor of her "cuisine" dishes had a taste of exoticness that Mom's never achieved. Whether it was the Manischewitz or the house wine that Auntie used, I have no incriminating evidence, but I don't remember my Dad taking an afternoon "siesta" quite so quickly when he ate Mom's roast beef on a stay-at-home Sunday. Many a haystack was artfully destroyed by the Cranston Kiddies after one of Auntie's meals; but I know now that any wine that is used for cooking purposes "cooks out". I am telling you this in all honesty so that you will confirm (please!) that it was probably our youthful energy and not a "buzzed condition" that turned us loose to explore the kempt barnyards, clean out the likewise chicken coop, pitch some hay, slop the pigs and ride bareback on the pet pony. Uncle Hank and Aunt Dora (second time around) married late in life (they must have been all of 60-65!) so this kind of helpfulness must have warmed his heart having not been exposed to possibly-wined-and-dined children prior to this. Tell me I am right! Not a mutter as we literally destroyed one hay stack so neatly piled high, climbing to the top and sliding down. Beats sliding down Cedar Street on sleds when the City Council would block off that street for us Buck Town Kids on a given wintery day, tho' that was cool!
When I was invited to spend a week one summer when I was 12, they taught me how to play Pinochle by the light of a kerosene lamp and how to confront my fear of, perhaps, finding a snake in the pristine outdoor privy which stood so proudly at the end of a well-trodden path. A trip to "the farm" was an adventure to this kid who, as the baby of my large family, was pretty much a "tagalong" on those excursions to the Sunnyside swimming pool, to the movies, or to Shenandoah to pick up bushels and baskets of fruit for immediate canning. Even today, a feeling of being "special" overtakes my every sensibility as I think back to the loving "character" that was my Aunt Dora, and to Uncle Hank who just smiled a lot...he was one happy man. Some things I just know!
When I was a young stenographer at the Metropolitan Life Insurance Company (my first real employer after graduating) I was responsible for keeping records of all that were born, raised, sold or died as far as animals were concerned...and every ton of hay and bushels of feed and corn that were grown by the farmer and consumed by those animals or sold at market, making sure that the tenant's fair share was earned and received and that all reports were promptly forwarded to the Home Office in New York City. Of course, the real hands-on work was done by the 10 or so Field Representatives at our Branch Office. I (along with other stenos) just typed out the facts, in duplicate or triplicate, and forwarded the results to the NYC "city slickers." With all my visits to the Ruhwer Farm, you would think that by the time I was 18, I would know what "dropped" meant when it came to cows, right? Nope, not a clue. But, by the time I handed in my letter of resignation in January of 1948 to Carl N. Kennedy, the Branch Manager and for whom I then worked, I knew what that meant and a bit more about the delicate condition that every farm kid knows by the time they are three! Here is some more of what I learned:
The Milking of Cows...a Lesson in Biology, Math and Science (by Moi)
Before there can be milk, buttermilk, cheese, yogurt, sour cream and ice cream, a cow has to deliver (drop) her first calf. A girl is a heifer until she is two years of age, when her first calf is born. A boy is a bull. Only heifers grow up to be dairy cows with all the perks of clean stalls and warm four-pronged metal milking claws....careful there, pardner! Be reminded that not all farmers living near Atlantic, Iowa, have milking claws; and their daily schedule is defined by hand-milking those producers of all that good liquid stuff mentioned above.
After "dropping" a calf, a calf is milked twice a day, producing five to ten gallons of warm milk. A cow is "tight" or "bagged up" because her udder is filled with 30 to 70 pounds of raw milk (all you new mothers...quit your whining!). It takes about eight pounds of raw milk to make one gallon of pasteurized milk. A cow "makes" the most milk right after she has a calf...(the blushes that poured over me when Mr. Iftner related those little pieces of information! I was doing just fine typing that 295 report until he got "graphic.") (With a straight face.)
A dairy cow will consume 35 pounds of hay, 20 pounds of grain and drink 35 gallons of water a day. I am not pulling these figures out of the air, people, but if there is any doubt as to their authenticity, direct all questions to Wayne McFadden (a newly-discovered cousin via the Marsh Line) or your local KJAN radio announcer Ric Hanson, who is looking forward to that day without mayhem, mishaps or Moi? A slow-news day!
So there you have it...you've just learned a lesson in Animal Husbandry and a bit more about a city-woman with country-gal leanings, observing the farm life as a kid visiting her Aunt and Uncle on the farm to the young Class of 1943 girl graduate pounding on a beat-up Remington typewriter at Met. Life., just smiling a bit at what THOSE NYC "city slickers" were in for!
And I'm smiling just a tad as I think to myself: Could it be that all the Borton-Marsh-Cranston ancestors/farmers have "ganged up" to make doggone sure this countrygalturnedcitywoman remains rooted to the land they once plowed and planted? Wouldn't put it past that earliest "Reiving" Cranston Clan, for sure!
Aunt Dora and Uncle Henry (Hank) Ruhwer owned the farm located not far from Fletcher Chapel on Highway 71 (that would be going south from Atlantic as the crow flies). Mom was the best cook in town and we never went "without", but Aunt Dora had owned a restaurant at one time (ok, it may have been a bar/restaurant) and the flavor of her "cuisine" dishes had a taste of exoticness that Mom's never achieved. Whether it was the Manischewitz or the house wine that Auntie used, I have no incriminating evidence, but I don't remember my Dad taking an afternoon "siesta" quite so quickly when he ate Mom's roast beef on a stay-at-home Sunday. Many a haystack was artfully destroyed by the Cranston Kiddies after one of Auntie's meals; but I know now that any wine that is used for cooking purposes "cooks out". I am telling you this in all honesty so that you will confirm (please!) that it was probably our youthful energy and not a "buzzed condition" that turned us loose to explore the kempt barnyards, clean out the likewise chicken coop, pitch some hay, slop the pigs and ride bareback on the pet pony. Uncle Hank and Aunt Dora (second time around) married late in life (they must have been all of 60-65!) so this kind of helpfulness must have warmed his heart having not been exposed to possibly-wined-and-dined children prior to this. Tell me I am right! Not a mutter as we literally destroyed one hay stack so neatly piled high, climbing to the top and sliding down. Beats sliding down Cedar Street on sleds when the City Council would block off that street for us Buck Town Kids on a given wintery day, tho' that was cool!
When I was invited to spend a week one summer when I was 12, they taught me how to play Pinochle by the light of a kerosene lamp and how to confront my fear of, perhaps, finding a snake in the pristine outdoor privy which stood so proudly at the end of a well-trodden path. A trip to "the farm" was an adventure to this kid who, as the baby of my large family, was pretty much a "tagalong" on those excursions to the Sunnyside swimming pool, to the movies, or to Shenandoah to pick up bushels and baskets of fruit for immediate canning. Even today, a feeling of being "special" overtakes my every sensibility as I think back to the loving "character" that was my Aunt Dora, and to Uncle Hank who just smiled a lot...he was one happy man. Some things I just know!
When I was a young stenographer at the Metropolitan Life Insurance Company (my first real employer after graduating) I was responsible for keeping records of all that were born, raised, sold or died as far as animals were concerned...and every ton of hay and bushels of feed and corn that were grown by the farmer and consumed by those animals or sold at market, making sure that the tenant's fair share was earned and received and that all reports were promptly forwarded to the Home Office in New York City. Of course, the real hands-on work was done by the 10 or so Field Representatives at our Branch Office. I (along with other stenos) just typed out the facts, in duplicate or triplicate, and forwarded the results to the NYC "city slickers." With all my visits to the Ruhwer Farm, you would think that by the time I was 18, I would know what "dropped" meant when it came to cows, right? Nope, not a clue. But, by the time I handed in my letter of resignation in January of 1948 to Carl N. Kennedy, the Branch Manager and for whom I then worked, I knew what that meant and a bit more about the delicate condition that every farm kid knows by the time they are three! Here is some more of what I learned:
The Milking of Cows...a Lesson in Biology, Math and Science (by Moi)
Before there can be milk, buttermilk, cheese, yogurt, sour cream and ice cream, a cow has to deliver (drop) her first calf. A girl is a heifer until she is two years of age, when her first calf is born. A boy is a bull. Only heifers grow up to be dairy cows with all the perks of clean stalls and warm four-pronged metal milking claws....careful there, pardner! Be reminded that not all farmers living near Atlantic, Iowa, have milking claws; and their daily schedule is defined by hand-milking those producers of all that good liquid stuff mentioned above.
After "dropping" a calf, a calf is milked twice a day, producing five to ten gallons of warm milk. A cow is "tight" or "bagged up" because her udder is filled with 30 to 70 pounds of raw milk (all you new mothers...quit your whining!). It takes about eight pounds of raw milk to make one gallon of pasteurized milk. A cow "makes" the most milk right after she has a calf...(the blushes that poured over me when Mr. Iftner related those little pieces of information! I was doing just fine typing that 295 report until he got "graphic.") (With a straight face.)
A dairy cow will consume 35 pounds of hay, 20 pounds of grain and drink 35 gallons of water a day. I am not pulling these figures out of the air, people, but if there is any doubt as to their authenticity, direct all questions to Wayne McFadden (a newly-discovered cousin via the Marsh Line) or your local KJAN radio announcer Ric Hanson, who is looking forward to that day without mayhem, mishaps or Moi? A slow-news day!
So there you have it...you've just learned a lesson in Animal Husbandry and a bit more about a city-woman with country-gal leanings, observing the farm life as a kid visiting her Aunt and Uncle on the farm to the young Class of 1943 girl graduate pounding on a beat-up Remington typewriter at Met. Life., just smiling a bit at what THOSE NYC "city slickers" were in for!
And I'm smiling just a tad as I think to myself: Could it be that all the Borton-Marsh-Cranston ancestors/farmers have "ganged up" to make doggone sure this countrygalturnedcitywoman remains rooted to the land they once plowed and planted? Wouldn't put it past that earliest "Reiving" Cranston Clan, for sure!
Monday, July 26, 2010
"On the 29th of August, 2010..."
On the 29th day of August, 2010, an unknown number of graduates of the Atlantic High School, located in the Cass County seat town of Atlantic, Iowa, will gather to toast old friendships and old memories as reminisces are exchanged along with photos of the kids and subsequent generations of progeny. With reservations still "pouring in" (and how I am tempting the weather man on that one!)I am excitedly looking forward to greeting and hugging "old classmates" (and I am tempting scowls from Dale Anderson and Dorothy Schwartz and Dorothy Skow and Janice Clithero and Fred Vorrath and Wayne McFadden and Wayne Ullerich and Howard Paulson, and hopefully even more, with that aside!) and, as of this writing, have pretty much crossed off a long list of "to do" stuff prior to packing the one bag, taking Sadie to her "home away from home," locking the front door at 5529 and comfortably settling into the lush back seat of our GoShuttle private GoSedan, heading for the LAX airport and the Allegiant airplane that will wing daughter, Mary, and me to the smaller Des Moines airport on the 16th day of August, 2010. (I will go to any lengths to help our little "nervous nellie" enjoy her airplane ride, short of a Virgin Margarita!)
It will, also, be a day of "forgiveness, settling old scores, apologizing for some scurrilous past deeds, paying off monetary indebtedness, getting "tipsy"...taking the "girl/boy of your teen-age years' dreams" into your arms for one more dance! You know, "happily ever after" sort of stuff! Another scenario: For posterity's sake, what would be "better" than having one's name in the next day's issue of the Atlantic News Telegraph as being the instigator/and/or/hero of a rowdy situation while celebrating an All-Class Reunion? "Better" meaning "notorious!" "Worse," of course, would be seeing one's name on the Police Blotter, paying a stiff fine and slinking away in the dead of night!
No, No, No! Forget that second paragraph, folks, that only happens in the movies or in some Harlequin Romance Novel (which, incidentally, should NOT BE READ by anyone over 65 years of age and if you read Harlequin Romance Novels, you know EXACTLY why I write this!) Methinks I feel a "slow stampede to the Library" coming on! Upon rare occasion, I will take book in hand for "medicinal purposes"...jumpstarts the heart!
Anywaaaay, weather permitting, or better yet, in spite of the weather, the 29th of August, 2010, promises to be a day that will gladden many a heart of those "kids" who once strolled the halls of Atlantic High School, those "kids" being in the neighborhood of 70 years and growing. All of the responders/attenders have graduated from the High School that was an important WPA project completed just in time for the Class of 1943 to attend the complete six years since it also contained a Junior High School for Seventh and Eighth Graders. And, dear Reader, if there is any kind of shenanigans that takes place, I promise to Blog you! My Needle (school paper) experience will not go to waste. For once, mebbe, just mebbe, Mrs. Elmer Busse will smile my way! :)
But, mostly, Dale, Dorothy and Dorothy, Janice, Fred, et al... will remember those 1943 classmates who will not be in attendance this time but who have left an indelible imprint on my heart. We will call to mind and heart Richard (Dick) Pagel who served with Dale Anderson (Class President) and me (Class Treasurer-Secretary) as Vice President. Dick brought honor to AHS as a member of the Hawkeye Six Press Club 1943 First Team. (Those guys looked so cute in their sweaty uniforms at the end of a game!)
We will remember and smile at the unforgettable spontaneous antics of Richard (Dick) Johnson, Ronald Jones and Dale as members of The Dripolators; these three never failed to perform at the 1943 reunions, and we never failed to clap. (Dale, even then, had that intimidating eyebrow-lift thing he does so well even today. One of the reasons I cast my vote for him for President. Ok, this information does not translate as well as seeing the actual "lift!" Just take my word and that of his lovely wife, Ev...)
Even today, my heart is stilled when I remember Jaynee Cousins singing "Ave Maria" at one of our Christmas Assemblies. Her so-lovely voice is stilled today as she has the Julie Andrews problem with vocal nodes. I have only to close my eyes and her voice fills my soul....
So many kids, so many memories. The young girls who have been part of my life since Grant School in the early 1930's. June Wright, Shirley Woolsey, Twila Parrott from my end of town ... we were inseparable except on the days when three "was a crowd!"
"Four" was, of course, perfect.
Needless to say, the Class of 1943 has been diminished but only in numbers. What will never be diminished is the heart-and-soul of the Class of 1943, "The Best Ever" as Dale is wont to say, and we have the Banner to prove it. If I know Dale, he will have that Banner rolled up and ready to haul out on the 29th of August, 2010, at the Community Center in Atlantic, Iowa! In the meantime, I am going to practice on that "eye-lift" thing...better yet, I do a really good "Greet and Hug" bit that might need a little polishing.
I'll let you know how "that works for me!"
P.S. And now that I find I can tear myself away from Farmville on Facebook (tho' I do miss the lovely guys and dolls I have newly met there) without too much grief, I will be back another day to tell you more about Atlantic (my new friends call it "Atown" and that will take some getting used to, but I will) and that one-of-a-kind Class of 1943! (As far as I know, not a "jailbird" amongst us, but that can change on the 29th of August, 2010!)
It will, also, be a day of "forgiveness, settling old scores, apologizing for some scurrilous past deeds, paying off monetary indebtedness, getting "tipsy"...taking the "girl/boy of your teen-age years' dreams" into your arms for one more dance! You know, "happily ever after" sort of stuff! Another scenario: For posterity's sake, what would be "better" than having one's name in the next day's issue of the Atlantic News Telegraph as being the instigator/and/or/hero of a rowdy situation while celebrating an All-Class Reunion? "Better" meaning "notorious!" "Worse," of course, would be seeing one's name on the Police Blotter, paying a stiff fine and slinking away in the dead of night!
No, No, No! Forget that second paragraph, folks, that only happens in the movies or in some Harlequin Romance Novel (which, incidentally, should NOT BE READ by anyone over 65 years of age and if you read Harlequin Romance Novels, you know EXACTLY why I write this!) Methinks I feel a "slow stampede to the Library" coming on! Upon rare occasion, I will take book in hand for "medicinal purposes"...jumpstarts the heart!
Anywaaaay, weather permitting, or better yet, in spite of the weather, the 29th of August, 2010, promises to be a day that will gladden many a heart of those "kids" who once strolled the halls of Atlantic High School, those "kids" being in the neighborhood of 70 years and growing. All of the responders/attenders have graduated from the High School that was an important WPA project completed just in time for the Class of 1943 to attend the complete six years since it also contained a Junior High School for Seventh and Eighth Graders. And, dear Reader, if there is any kind of shenanigans that takes place, I promise to Blog you! My Needle (school paper) experience will not go to waste. For once, mebbe, just mebbe, Mrs. Elmer Busse will smile my way! :)
But, mostly, Dale, Dorothy and Dorothy, Janice, Fred, et al... will remember those 1943 classmates who will not be in attendance this time but who have left an indelible imprint on my heart. We will call to mind and heart Richard (Dick) Pagel who served with Dale Anderson (Class President) and me (Class Treasurer-Secretary) as Vice President. Dick brought honor to AHS as a member of the Hawkeye Six Press Club 1943 First Team. (Those guys looked so cute in their sweaty uniforms at the end of a game!)
We will remember and smile at the unforgettable spontaneous antics of Richard (Dick) Johnson, Ronald Jones and Dale as members of The Dripolators; these three never failed to perform at the 1943 reunions, and we never failed to clap. (Dale, even then, had that intimidating eyebrow-lift thing he does so well even today. One of the reasons I cast my vote for him for President. Ok, this information does not translate as well as seeing the actual "lift!" Just take my word and that of his lovely wife, Ev...)
Even today, my heart is stilled when I remember Jaynee Cousins singing "Ave Maria" at one of our Christmas Assemblies. Her so-lovely voice is stilled today as she has the Julie Andrews problem with vocal nodes. I have only to close my eyes and her voice fills my soul....
So many kids, so many memories. The young girls who have been part of my life since Grant School in the early 1930's. June Wright, Shirley Woolsey, Twila Parrott from my end of town ... we were inseparable except on the days when three "was a crowd!"
"Four" was, of course, perfect.
Needless to say, the Class of 1943 has been diminished but only in numbers. What will never be diminished is the heart-and-soul of the Class of 1943, "The Best Ever" as Dale is wont to say, and we have the Banner to prove it. If I know Dale, he will have that Banner rolled up and ready to haul out on the 29th of August, 2010, at the Community Center in Atlantic, Iowa! In the meantime, I am going to practice on that "eye-lift" thing...better yet, I do a really good "Greet and Hug" bit that might need a little polishing.
I'll let you know how "that works for me!"
P.S. And now that I find I can tear myself away from Farmville on Facebook (tho' I do miss the lovely guys and dolls I have newly met there) without too much grief, I will be back another day to tell you more about Atlantic (my new friends call it "Atown" and that will take some getting used to, but I will) and that one-of-a-kind Class of 1943! (As far as I know, not a "jailbird" amongst us, but that can change on the 29th of August, 2010!)
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