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
Saturday, October 30, 2010
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!
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