New Dryer Means More Work First
New clothes dryer installed, old one out. Don did a lot of work getting that tiny laundry room cleared of years of "stuff." The floor space had been compromised for years as "where should we put it stuff" lined the walls, 2 or three items deep. Cleaned, vacuumed, dusted, carpet spots cleaned. When It was time to bring "stuff" back to put it away I wanted less! So we started clearing shelves and cleaning cupboards. I'm sure it hadn't been thoroughly done for the 24+ years we've been here. Oldest "find" was a spray can of Fuller Brush furniture polish, purchased when I sold those products door to door the summer of 1966. Figured I hadn't used it in the last few decades, so from the second step up of my step stool I tossed it towards the wastebasket about 3 feet from me. Score. But, the edge of the bottom if the can gouged a divot in the wall and the lid went I know not where, as Don found it later and tossed it. Makes the place more lived it don't you think? Gouges in the walls. There were so many spray bottles and cans of all kinds of cleaners stashed in there. Five, yes five, spray cans of static guard! If it is where I can't see it, I must need another can! Haven't used any of them in years, either! Some stuff pitched, some Don took to that bottomless pit under the house that probably has more 47 year old stuff!, some to the garage to freeze over the winter! Now there are a couple shelves 1/2 full! Floor space all over! I'm sure there is a lot more "stuff" waiting their turn to line the walls, but not today. Did get to wash and dry a load of towels and the buzzer could be heard way across the house and into the office/computer room to let me know it was time to take a screen break!
Thursday, July 24, 2014
Wednesday, July 2, 2014
Things That Are and Things That Were, by Connie Patridge
A family with three children will soon move out of our neighborhood. They will be sorely missed. They are great neighbors. The Dad helps when we need more muscle power. The Mom takes surplus plants so I don't have to throw them away. She and I have good visits about school as she has volunteered countless hours to her children's school. It keeps me in the loop as to what is going on in the schools. The three children, ages from Junior High to about third are great kids; often playing outside, never causing any problems. They also play with the three children across the cul-de-sac. All six going back and forth. I love watching them enjoy the safe childhood of neighborly sharing. Just this afternoon I was hotly panting on the back porch after gardening in the heat and humidity and I could hear children's voices. I saw a parade of bikes and children heading out from behind the van next door. First the oldest girl on her bike, about 5th grade. Then one of the middle boys on a smaller bike, about second grade. Then the next oldest girl about 3rd grade, followed by a boy about first grade. But where was the littlest boy, not old enough for school? Finally, so short his head didn't appear in the window of the van they were passing, was the littlest boy, peddling like crazy, on his tricycle, to keep up with the parade.
The family who is moving has the anticipation of changes. Those of us left behind have the knowledge that we will miss them. As they prepare to move they may look forward to a new house, new neighborhood to explore, new friendships, new schools, new church, new job. Scary, but a looking toward the future. The other family with three children will not have those anticipations, even if the anticipations are a little scary. Yes, those of us left behind have other friends, just not as handy and within shouting distance. It will seem empty here in our circle.
This changing schools can be very scary. I had to do that twice and both times were very stressful, even though they were looked forward to. I can't say I was sad to leave the old schools behind, but the changes to the new and bigger schools were scary and overwhelming.
My first change was between kindergarten and first grade. Kindergarten had been in a one room school house where my mom taught forty children, ten of us in kindergarten. Post WWII babies were filling the beginning classes in all the schools. My new first grade school would have a classroom and different teacher for each grade. On the first day of school, it was time for the first bathroom break. I hadn't been shown around the school and had no idea where to go. I was in the first row and we lined up and like a lamb, I followed the leader. Way down the long hall, down two flights of stairs into the rather dark basement hallway. Then an about-face into the even darker bathroom hallway. I just followed the leaders, followed the leaders. Boys. I had no idea what those boys were doing hovering against the wall but I knew a stall with a door when I saw it I headed in and closed the door. By this time a hue and cry had been raised by the boys and I was ready to do my business, with the door securely closed. I was soon escorted to the other side of the building where the girls' line had formed. At home we only had an outhouse, and while the one room school had separate boys' and girls' buildings, no one had told me what to expect, where to go, and I just did the best I could. I am sure I was the talk of the class and more after that. Humiliating.
Another problem was the alphabet. The teacher kept talking about it all the time and I didn't have a clue what it was. I was worried because I knew this was important. When I started first grade, I was already an advanced reader, but this word alphabet was not in my vocabulary. Finally, enough was said that I knew alphabet meant the ABC's. Whew! That was a relief.
I loved the reading workbook we had. The first words were "look" and "come," which I already knew, but loved printing and seeing in the big letters on the page with colored boxes, dotted lines and pictures.
But not all was paradise as there still weren't enough books for me to read for pleasure. There was only one shelf of books, about 3 feet wide and not full. I soon had them all read once and was rereading them. I had NO books to read at home. I always think this was very strange in the home of a teacher, but that is the way it was. Mom never threw anything away and I can assure you there were NO books age appropriate and not many otherwise in our house. As I got older and requested books started to arrive. My favorite being a thick book of fairy tales that were read and reread for many years. As the years went on requests for Cherry Ames, Trixie Beldon, and the Black Stallion were filled. There was a book store in town and I remember being in it to get the names of the books I wanted to put on my list. But I am getting way ahead of the story here. Back to that one meager shelf of books in first grade. I asked to take a book home to read and was soundly turned down. The problem was taken up at home and this was the ONLY time I remember my parents stepping in to take up a problem with a teacher. I remember standing by that bookshelf with the teacher on one side and the folks on the other and by the end of the encounter I was able to take a book home to read.
Another time in first grade there was a terrible incident. At the time it was happening I knew, with a six year old's sense of justice, that what was happening was very wrong. I don't know of a time I felt sorrier for another child in my whole life. A little boy who struggled in school, was not popular, and was chubby, you know, the three strikes and you are out syndrome, had wet himself in school. That horrible, no good, very bad teacher made him get in front of the class and tell us all what a bad thing he had done. I remember he embarrassingly laughed some and was reprimanded by the teacher and told it was not funny. Think how horrible it was for him, how nervous he was, how embarrassed. How could she do that?
Hot lunches were served at this new school. I don't remember being a picky eater but sauerkraut was beyond my imagination as being a thing one actually swallowed. The rule was, you had to take everything and you had to clean your plate before you could go out to noon recess. I could not do it. I sat there through all the elementary children coming and leaving, then the junior high, then the high school. The ladies were cleaning up the kitchen and my recess was over and class was to start. I finally got the last morsel down. Picked up my tray to take it away and started towards the door. Up came the sauerkraut. They never made me eat it again in all the years through ninth grade. Another food I can not imagine swallowing was cooked, slimy, bitter, drippy spinach. I guess they believed me on that one as I don't remember having to eat it.
Over all though, the move was a good one. More children, more classes like music and gym. But changing schools can be rough.
The next move was to start tenth grade. There had been a bitter fight in the school district between families who wanted to stay small and join another small school district and those families who wanted to join the much bigger district where there were as many as one hundred in a grade. My family wanted to go to the bigger district, where they had attended, so therefore, did I. Eighth grade graduation had included sixteen in my class. By the next fall there were only twelve of us in ninth grade as three had gone to the bigger school on their own and one had dropped out, or behind. Algebra wasn't offered, had to take general math. Biology wasn't offered, had to take general science. Those advance classes were offered onlly on an every other year basis. The were very few electives, like typing and maybe home economics for the girls and shop for the boys. It was a tense year because all the students knew what side of the fence my family was on concerning school reorganization, and yet I was still there.
Finally, for the rest of high school I was able to go to the bigger school. One year my folks established residency by staying at Grandma's house four nights a week. I was able to take biology and algebra, but with mostly freshman, putting me a year behind in the college prep strand and later, electives. The new school already had someone playing bass clarinet, which was what had been available at my old school, so I had to switch to what was available in the new school, the baritone sax. I tried out for vocal and was lucky to get into everything I wanted, but I was behind in the director's great vocal training and when events came up the other students had a year of experience I did not have, and I did not know what was going on. I do not remember it being a problem socially, I would never be a butterfly anywhere, I just needed time to catch up with the program!
The last two years my parents decided to pay tuition, and stay living on the farm. We moved into a brand new high school building in the middle of my junior year and tuition increased. They paid more for tuition for high school than they did for my college expenses! I had a tuition scholarship for college, but there was still the cost of room and board, books and expenses. But they were cheaper than high school!
Different schools are life long effecting changes. Any move is. So when I know my great neighbors are moving I am reminded of the changes they all face, but also know I will miss them here. I will miss seeing those three youngsters growing taller; walking down the street to get on the bus and coming home in the afternoon; seeing them play on trikes, then bikes, then scooters; watching the interaction between families. I'll have to find another source to let me know what is happening in the neighborhood school. We'll have to find another set of strong, younger muscles when we have to move something heavy. I wish them well, but well, I wish they could stay!
The family who is moving has the anticipation of changes. Those of us left behind have the knowledge that we will miss them. As they prepare to move they may look forward to a new house, new neighborhood to explore, new friendships, new schools, new church, new job. Scary, but a looking toward the future. The other family with three children will not have those anticipations, even if the anticipations are a little scary. Yes, those of us left behind have other friends, just not as handy and within shouting distance. It will seem empty here in our circle.
This changing schools can be very scary. I had to do that twice and both times were very stressful, even though they were looked forward to. I can't say I was sad to leave the old schools behind, but the changes to the new and bigger schools were scary and overwhelming.
My first change was between kindergarten and first grade. Kindergarten had been in a one room school house where my mom taught forty children, ten of us in kindergarten. Post WWII babies were filling the beginning classes in all the schools. My new first grade school would have a classroom and different teacher for each grade. On the first day of school, it was time for the first bathroom break. I hadn't been shown around the school and had no idea where to go. I was in the first row and we lined up and like a lamb, I followed the leader. Way down the long hall, down two flights of stairs into the rather dark basement hallway. Then an about-face into the even darker bathroom hallway. I just followed the leaders, followed the leaders. Boys. I had no idea what those boys were doing hovering against the wall but I knew a stall with a door when I saw it I headed in and closed the door. By this time a hue and cry had been raised by the boys and I was ready to do my business, with the door securely closed. I was soon escorted to the other side of the building where the girls' line had formed. At home we only had an outhouse, and while the one room school had separate boys' and girls' buildings, no one had told me what to expect, where to go, and I just did the best I could. I am sure I was the talk of the class and more after that. Humiliating.
Another problem was the alphabet. The teacher kept talking about it all the time and I didn't have a clue what it was. I was worried because I knew this was important. When I started first grade, I was already an advanced reader, but this word alphabet was not in my vocabulary. Finally, enough was said that I knew alphabet meant the ABC's. Whew! That was a relief.
I loved the reading workbook we had. The first words were "look" and "come," which I already knew, but loved printing and seeing in the big letters on the page with colored boxes, dotted lines and pictures.
But not all was paradise as there still weren't enough books for me to read for pleasure. There was only one shelf of books, about 3 feet wide and not full. I soon had them all read once and was rereading them. I had NO books to read at home. I always think this was very strange in the home of a teacher, but that is the way it was. Mom never threw anything away and I can assure you there were NO books age appropriate and not many otherwise in our house. As I got older and requested books started to arrive. My favorite being a thick book of fairy tales that were read and reread for many years. As the years went on requests for Cherry Ames, Trixie Beldon, and the Black Stallion were filled. There was a book store in town and I remember being in it to get the names of the books I wanted to put on my list. But I am getting way ahead of the story here. Back to that one meager shelf of books in first grade. I asked to take a book home to read and was soundly turned down. The problem was taken up at home and this was the ONLY time I remember my parents stepping in to take up a problem with a teacher. I remember standing by that bookshelf with the teacher on one side and the folks on the other and by the end of the encounter I was able to take a book home to read.
Another time in first grade there was a terrible incident. At the time it was happening I knew, with a six year old's sense of justice, that what was happening was very wrong. I don't know of a time I felt sorrier for another child in my whole life. A little boy who struggled in school, was not popular, and was chubby, you know, the three strikes and you are out syndrome, had wet himself in school. That horrible, no good, very bad teacher made him get in front of the class and tell us all what a bad thing he had done. I remember he embarrassingly laughed some and was reprimanded by the teacher and told it was not funny. Think how horrible it was for him, how nervous he was, how embarrassed. How could she do that?
Hot lunches were served at this new school. I don't remember being a picky eater but sauerkraut was beyond my imagination as being a thing one actually swallowed. The rule was, you had to take everything and you had to clean your plate before you could go out to noon recess. I could not do it. I sat there through all the elementary children coming and leaving, then the junior high, then the high school. The ladies were cleaning up the kitchen and my recess was over and class was to start. I finally got the last morsel down. Picked up my tray to take it away and started towards the door. Up came the sauerkraut. They never made me eat it again in all the years through ninth grade. Another food I can not imagine swallowing was cooked, slimy, bitter, drippy spinach. I guess they believed me on that one as I don't remember having to eat it.
Over all though, the move was a good one. More children, more classes like music and gym. But changing schools can be rough.
The next move was to start tenth grade. There had been a bitter fight in the school district between families who wanted to stay small and join another small school district and those families who wanted to join the much bigger district where there were as many as one hundred in a grade. My family wanted to go to the bigger district, where they had attended, so therefore, did I. Eighth grade graduation had included sixteen in my class. By the next fall there were only twelve of us in ninth grade as three had gone to the bigger school on their own and one had dropped out, or behind. Algebra wasn't offered, had to take general math. Biology wasn't offered, had to take general science. Those advance classes were offered onlly on an every other year basis. The were very few electives, like typing and maybe home economics for the girls and shop for the boys. It was a tense year because all the students knew what side of the fence my family was on concerning school reorganization, and yet I was still there.
Finally, for the rest of high school I was able to go to the bigger school. One year my folks established residency by staying at Grandma's house four nights a week. I was able to take biology and algebra, but with mostly freshman, putting me a year behind in the college prep strand and later, electives. The new school already had someone playing bass clarinet, which was what had been available at my old school, so I had to switch to what was available in the new school, the baritone sax. I tried out for vocal and was lucky to get into everything I wanted, but I was behind in the director's great vocal training and when events came up the other students had a year of experience I did not have, and I did not know what was going on. I do not remember it being a problem socially, I would never be a butterfly anywhere, I just needed time to catch up with the program!
The last two years my parents decided to pay tuition, and stay living on the farm. We moved into a brand new high school building in the middle of my junior year and tuition increased. They paid more for tuition for high school than they did for my college expenses! I had a tuition scholarship for college, but there was still the cost of room and board, books and expenses. But they were cheaper than high school!
Different schools are life long effecting changes. Any move is. So when I know my great neighbors are moving I am reminded of the changes they all face, but also know I will miss them here. I will miss seeing those three youngsters growing taller; walking down the street to get on the bus and coming home in the afternoon; seeing them play on trikes, then bikes, then scooters; watching the interaction between families. I'll have to find another source to let me know what is happening in the neighborhood school. We'll have to find another set of strong, younger muscles when we have to move something heavy. I wish them well, but well, I wish they could stay!
Calling Me Home, by Julie Kibler
Thought provoking conflict of racial prejudices. Partly set in 1939 and
partly current. Isabelle, an aging White Texan with no family, asks her
Black friend Dorrie, who is also her long time hair-dresser, to drive
her to a funeral in Ohio. Along the way Isabelle tells her life's
story. While Dorrie is worried about current troubles with her son and
with her maybe boyfriend, back home. Isabelle had a love of her life,
but it was forbidden. She prepares to work around it and they have heartbreak after heartbreak. Dorrie is afraid to reach out to her current
boyfriend because she fears he will prove to be as unreliable as her
ex-husband and other men she has known. Have tissues ready for the last
few chapters. A 9 out of 10.
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