September of 1940 was soooo cool. I had turned six in June and could finally go to school with my sisters....AND a baby brother was born into my family. I have to explain why that was so special. Mother had been told that she should not, under any circumstances, have another baby because her weak and enlarged heart was not able to go through the riggers of childbirth without seriously jeopardizing her life. She had accepted the doctor's counsel until she had a dream in which she saw a baby boy that she knew was to be part of our family. She could even describe him. You have to know that my mother was a very spiritual person whose faith had kept her alive time and time again when the doctors said she wouldn't make it. She so wanted to live long enough to see her children raised, and that was ten years longer than the doctors had given her. She talked to my dad and together they decided that if a son was meant to be part of the family, that God would see to it that all went well. And it did. My brother John Duane (J.D. as we called him) arrived on September 16, the first sibling born in a hospital. The rest of us were born at home. It was so much fun to have a baby in the house especially since we girls had so much a part of his care.
My school, Sherman Elementary, might be described as an old country school. It had a small footprint but was three stories high. The bottom floor, which was really a half basement, housed the kindergarten and first grades. Second, third and fourth grades were on the second floor, and fifth and sixth grades on the top. It was cool to be way up there because you got to exit via the fire scape on the outside of the building. The playground seemed quite large to me, but the best part of it was the grove of scrub oak that occupied one corner of the grounds. Paths had been worn all through the grove so it was like a maze in which to get "lost". We loved playing in the "Oaks" as we called them. There was also a tennis court at the rear of the playground which I'm sure was not built for the school, but we were allowed to play on it. The playground had the usual swings and slides, but my favorite was the "giants". I'm sure that since my time they have been declared unsafe...probably down right dangerous...because I have never seen them on modern playgrounds. So I'll try to describe them and how they worked.
A tall metal pole was secured in the ground. At the top of the pole was a rotating wheel to which was attached six to eight long chains that reached down to about five feet above the ground. At the end of the chain was a bar, actually two bars to accommodate children of different heights. Children would hold on to the bar with one hand and begin running, all in the same direction, until they were going fast enough to be able to grab the bar with both hands and keep moving without leg power. To make it go around faster we would kick our legs in a circular motion as we flew in the air. We could go pretty high and pretty fast! THEN if you wanted to go really, really, high and fast, you would cross your chain and handle over the chain of the person behind you. That way you would not only have your own leg power to get going, but you would have an extra pull from the one in front of you. We could soar ten to fifteen feet off the ground. Did anyone ever slip off and fall? Oh yeah! Did they get hurt? Oh yeah! But that didn't stop us and interestingly enough it didn't stop the principal from letting us continue to play on it. I never fell, but I had constant blisters on my hands from holding on so tight.
This was my first school which I attended up to the sixth grade. Yes, we did more than just play on that neat playground. Tomorrow I'll tell you about the classrooms, what we learned, and how we were taught. My first memorable spiritual experience occurred here at school during my first year. That will come tomorrow, too. So "tune in".
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
A Home of Our Own At Last
We had lived in Grandma Knapp's crowded basement apartment for the first four years of my life. Grandma refused to take any rent so my parents were able to save money to purchase a home. And Dad felt that we girls were now old enough (8, 7, and 5) to pick up some of the load that Grandma and Aunt Dorothy were carrying. Thinking that it would be more economical to build their own home, an acre of property was bought way out in the "boonies", or at least it seemed so to us. Actually, it was on the eastern outskirts of Salt Lake City known as East Mill Creek. But back then it was considered out in the country. There weren't too many people there on our street, Claybourne Ave. which was at about 23rd E. and 27th So. I remember the Ehler's, who were still in the process of building, the Beck's who had the only two story house on the street, the Lamo's, a Norwegian family who ran a chicken farm, the Vernon's who had a small farm with cows, the Hodges', an older couple with no children, and the Mes's , an older Dutchman married to a very sweet German lady named Mimi. She was like a grandma to us. This may sound like a lot of people for a rural street, but it was a long street.
Work on the new house began. It was a small house...two bedrooms (we three girls shared a room), a living room, small kitchen, a dining area between the living room and kitchen, and one small bathroom. Actually, homes back then only had one bathroom, at least all of the ones I was aware of. The great concept of having more than one bathroom in homes was yet to come. The house was covered with white wood siding, unusual at that time when most houses in Utah were made of brick, which I'm sure was more expensive. The floors in the house were all hardwood. I remember that well because every week we had to get down on our hands and knees to wax and polish them while Mom supervised. A full basement provided a place for us to play during the winter months...minus the space needed for the big coal furnace and stoker that held the coal, and the space needed for the wringer washer and double wash tubs to do the rinsing and bluing. (I'll explain later what it was like doing laundry back then.) There was a detached one-car garage to the side and rear of the house. That was all we needed because we never had more than one car. The acre of land was divided diagonally by a cement irrigation ditch, the upper or east side of the ditch was the beginning slope of a hill that bordered our property. The west side of the diagonal was flat, suitable for growing a garden.
We were excited about moving into that house the summer of 1939. It seemed like we had so much room to move around compared to our cramped little apartment. And all the open fields of green lucerne growing, meadow larks singing, grasshoppers jumping, horned toads scampering, and wild flowers (Sego Lillies, Indian Paintbrush and Goldenrod) growing made this a children's paradise. But then my new perfect little world crumbled. Having just turned five years old, I was excitedly looking forward to attending kindergarten in the fall. The school that I would have been attending was over a mile away, and I had no way to get there except by walking. And that my mother would not allow, not only because there were no sidewalks, but because I would have to be walking alone because my sisters would be going to school at a different time. And kindergarten was not mandatory back then. I was crushed! But I soon found a friend, Ruthie Lamo, to play with, and that helped the lonely days home alone.
Dad soon began working on the yard. The flat area on the west side of the house was soon planted with fruit trees and a vegetable garden which could be watered by damming the the irrigation ditch that ran through our property. The water would be directed through small ditches along the rows veggies and trees. The property owners were assigned times that they could use the water. Sometimes the assigned times would be in the middle of the night, so that was the time Dad would have to get up and water. Since there was always water in the main ditch, we would tie small tin cans to a string and wrap the string around a stick and pretend to fish in the ditch. We would also catch bottles full of grasshoppers, chase horned toads (sometimes we even caught them), and roam the hill above us to pick the wild flowers. We didn't need toys or television to keep us busy and happy.
The upper side of the property was soon prepared to house animals (pigs, lambs, rabbits, and chickens) to provide meat and eggs for the family. Dad built the rabbit hutches, a shed for the pigs, and later a small barn when we acquired two goats. We were never allowed to make pets of the animals because they were for food, and Dad knew it would be hard on us when they had to be slaughtered. It was hard not to become attached because we had to take care of them. We had to pick the wild lucerne to feed the rabbits, (baby bunnies are so cute) bottle feed the orphaned lambs that we got from my Mom's uncle who raised sheep in Manti. We loved that...watching the lambs guzzle milk from those nippled bottles (baby lambs are so cute).We never got too attached to the pigs because Dad took care of them, collecting the discarded food from a Walgreen's Drug Store that had a lunch counter (we called it "slop") to feed them. I don't think I could ever gotten attached to them, anyway. As you can see, we were very frugal back then. Dad even bartered with the neighbor who had cows to get our milk. He would do the night milking in exchange for milk. Later when we got the goats, we had to drink goat's milk. NASTY!!! We rarely bought meat. Dad would kill the rabbits and chickens to eat (rabbit was our traditional Sunday dinner. I liked it); the lambs and pigs were slaughtered, butchered and wrapped by a professional. The prepared meat was then stored in a rented frozen food locker at the Hygeia Ice Plant in Sugarhouse. Home freezers did not exist.
In the vegetable garden we raised potatoes, carrots, green peas, beans, radishes, onions, tomatoes, and corn. It was our job to weed a row of vegetables each day while they were growing. They were VERY long rows!..or at least they seemed so to us. The half acre of garden produced enough vegetables to last us most of the winter. Potatoes and carrots were stored in a root cellar under the garage. It was just a large hole dug in the dirt and supported by wood beams. There was a wood trap door on the floor of the garage that led into the cellar. A wood ladder allowed you to go down to the bottom. Oh how we hated going down into the cool, dark place to retrieve vegetables for Mom when needed. And it was always us girls who had to do it. There were cobwebs and spiders down there that scared us to death. The peas were shelled and the beans and corn were prepared, put in containers, and stored in our rented frozen food locker. When our fruit trees began to bear, the fruit was bottled. My sisters and I spent many hours helping mom can peaches, pears, apricots, and tomatoes. We were truly self sufficient except for bread and other bakery products. Mom could not knead bread so it was purchased at the bakery. It helped when later on both of my sisters and myself worked at a bakery and were able to get discounts.
About a year after we moved in, Dad cemented the driveway and the back patio which provided us a wonderful place to roller skate. We loved to rollerskate. Skates were very different than what you have today...no roller blades attached to shoes, no wheels attached to any shoe in any configuration. Our skates had to be attached to our shoes using a special "key" to adjust the length and the tightness that the side grips gripped the toe of your shoe. A strap that went around the ankle secured the back side of the skate. We were always losing the "key" which made it impossible to secure our skates onto our shoes. And they weren't easily replaced. I remember spending hours and hours looking for a skate key so we could skate.
This is the first home that I remember well. There are some wonderful memories there and in the home we later built next door. Between these two homes were spent all my growing up years. Some of those memories to come later.
Work on the new house began. It was a small house...two bedrooms (we three girls shared a room), a living room, small kitchen, a dining area between the living room and kitchen, and one small bathroom. Actually, homes back then only had one bathroom, at least all of the ones I was aware of. The great concept of having more than one bathroom in homes was yet to come. The house was covered with white wood siding, unusual at that time when most houses in Utah were made of brick, which I'm sure was more expensive. The floors in the house were all hardwood. I remember that well because every week we had to get down on our hands and knees to wax and polish them while Mom supervised. A full basement provided a place for us to play during the winter months...minus the space needed for the big coal furnace and stoker that held the coal, and the space needed for the wringer washer and double wash tubs to do the rinsing and bluing. (I'll explain later what it was like doing laundry back then.) There was a detached one-car garage to the side and rear of the house. That was all we needed because we never had more than one car. The acre of land was divided diagonally by a cement irrigation ditch, the upper or east side of the ditch was the beginning slope of a hill that bordered our property. The west side of the diagonal was flat, suitable for growing a garden.
We were excited about moving into that house the summer of 1939. It seemed like we had so much room to move around compared to our cramped little apartment. And all the open fields of green lucerne growing, meadow larks singing, grasshoppers jumping, horned toads scampering, and wild flowers (Sego Lillies, Indian Paintbrush and Goldenrod) growing made this a children's paradise. But then my new perfect little world crumbled. Having just turned five years old, I was excitedly looking forward to attending kindergarten in the fall. The school that I would have been attending was over a mile away, and I had no way to get there except by walking. And that my mother would not allow, not only because there were no sidewalks, but because I would have to be walking alone because my sisters would be going to school at a different time. And kindergarten was not mandatory back then. I was crushed! But I soon found a friend, Ruthie Lamo, to play with, and that helped the lonely days home alone.
Dad soon began working on the yard. The flat area on the west side of the house was soon planted with fruit trees and a vegetable garden which could be watered by damming the the irrigation ditch that ran through our property. The water would be directed through small ditches along the rows veggies and trees. The property owners were assigned times that they could use the water. Sometimes the assigned times would be in the middle of the night, so that was the time Dad would have to get up and water. Since there was always water in the main ditch, we would tie small tin cans to a string and wrap the string around a stick and pretend to fish in the ditch. We would also catch bottles full of grasshoppers, chase horned toads (sometimes we even caught them), and roam the hill above us to pick the wild flowers. We didn't need toys or television to keep us busy and happy.
The upper side of the property was soon prepared to house animals (pigs, lambs, rabbits, and chickens) to provide meat and eggs for the family. Dad built the rabbit hutches, a shed for the pigs, and later a small barn when we acquired two goats. We were never allowed to make pets of the animals because they were for food, and Dad knew it would be hard on us when they had to be slaughtered. It was hard not to become attached because we had to take care of them. We had to pick the wild lucerne to feed the rabbits, (baby bunnies are so cute) bottle feed the orphaned lambs that we got from my Mom's uncle who raised sheep in Manti. We loved that...watching the lambs guzzle milk from those nippled bottles (baby lambs are so cute).We never got too attached to the pigs because Dad took care of them, collecting the discarded food from a Walgreen's Drug Store that had a lunch counter (we called it "slop") to feed them. I don't think I could ever gotten attached to them, anyway. As you can see, we were very frugal back then. Dad even bartered with the neighbor who had cows to get our milk. He would do the night milking in exchange for milk. Later when we got the goats, we had to drink goat's milk. NASTY!!! We rarely bought meat. Dad would kill the rabbits and chickens to eat (rabbit was our traditional Sunday dinner. I liked it); the lambs and pigs were slaughtered, butchered and wrapped by a professional. The prepared meat was then stored in a rented frozen food locker at the Hygeia Ice Plant in Sugarhouse. Home freezers did not exist.
In the vegetable garden we raised potatoes, carrots, green peas, beans, radishes, onions, tomatoes, and corn. It was our job to weed a row of vegetables each day while they were growing. They were VERY long rows!..or at least they seemed so to us. The half acre of garden produced enough vegetables to last us most of the winter. Potatoes and carrots were stored in a root cellar under the garage. It was just a large hole dug in the dirt and supported by wood beams. There was a wood trap door on the floor of the garage that led into the cellar. A wood ladder allowed you to go down to the bottom. Oh how we hated going down into the cool, dark place to retrieve vegetables for Mom when needed. And it was always us girls who had to do it. There were cobwebs and spiders down there that scared us to death. The peas were shelled and the beans and corn were prepared, put in containers, and stored in our rented frozen food locker. When our fruit trees began to bear, the fruit was bottled. My sisters and I spent many hours helping mom can peaches, pears, apricots, and tomatoes. We were truly self sufficient except for bread and other bakery products. Mom could not knead bread so it was purchased at the bakery. It helped when later on both of my sisters and myself worked at a bakery and were able to get discounts.
About a year after we moved in, Dad cemented the driveway and the back patio which provided us a wonderful place to roller skate. We loved to rollerskate. Skates were very different than what you have today...no roller blades attached to shoes, no wheels attached to any shoe in any configuration. Our skates had to be attached to our shoes using a special "key" to adjust the length and the tightness that the side grips gripped the toe of your shoe. A strap that went around the ankle secured the back side of the skate. We were always losing the "key" which made it impossible to secure our skates onto our shoes. And they weren't easily replaced. I remember spending hours and hours looking for a skate key so we could skate.
This is the first home that I remember well. There are some wonderful memories there and in the home we later built next door. Between these two homes were spent all my growing up years. Some of those memories to come later.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Now You Know Who To Blame!
From as early as I can remember until my mid twenties I itched, and sneezed a lot. And I could never breathe through my nose. You guessed it...I was plagued with allergies. All my siblings were as well. Claire just had hay fever, Georgia had serious asthma, even as a baby, AND she had eczema, and as for me I had hay fever and eczema. The front of my elbows, my wrists, behind my knees, and sometimes the back of my neck. And oh how it could itch. My mom and my dad were always telling me to quit scratching, but tell me, especially if you've ever had a case of hives, an allergic rash, or even the chickenpox, how you cannot help but scratch. I know I couldn't and didn't, as hard as I tried. I really wanted to be obedient to my parents. Sometimes I would scratch (my parents called it "digging") until I would bleed. It felt SO good! I would scratch a lot at night while I slept and my sheets would be covered with blood in the morning. When I was in my teens and had learned to control the scratching during the day (I would just rub), I had my mom tie my hands together at night so I couln't scratch. It's not too comfortable to sleep that way, but it was worth it not to wake up bloodied in the morning. You ask, wasn't there something thay could be put on the skin to help the itching? There wasn't much other back then but baking soda or calomine lotion. Neither helped that much or that long.
One time when I was about twelve years old, my whole face swelled and turned bright red. If you held your hand a few inches from my face you could feel heat radiating. I was miserable. Obviously I had had an allergic reaction to something. We didn't go to the doctor much when I was young, but this time I was taken. The doctor told us of somthing brand new that was still being tested, but was supposed to be helpful in treating allergies. That something was Cortisone. It only came in tablet form to be ingested, but the doctor recommended trying to mash the tablets to a fine powder and dissolve them in a neutral cream which could be purchased in the drug store, and then spread it on the skin. I was ready to try ANYTHING and so was my mom.
The redness and heat of my face soon went away but a a waxy crust formed making it difficult for me to talk or smile without it feeling like my whole face would crack. Sleeping at night was like lying on a pillow covered with cracker crumbs. AWFUL! I remember my mom trying to make me feel positive about this whole experience by telling me that when it was all over, I would have all brand new beautiful skin on my face...skin that most girls would die for. I told her she'd better be right. There just had to be something good come from all this. With the help of prayer, priesthood blessings, and Cortisone, the old hard skin flaked away, and TA Da,there was my new beautiful skin.(It didn't last long as I entered those "wonderful" years of puberty."
My eczema was somewhat better as I grew older, but I would still have frequent outbreaks even after I was married. I will always be grateful for Dunford Bakery in Salt Lake for hiring me knowing my problem. I worked for them several years while I was in high school, and when I would have a breakout and I was scheduled to work, they would let me work in the back filling cookie orders, and putting cookies on trays for the display cabinets. Or if there were not cookies baked that day, the would find something for me to. Eczema is not contagious, but it's not something customers want to see when being waited on. So if you ever drive down 21st So. into Sugarhouse, stop by and patronize Dunford's. That is the one I worked at for about three years.
Now about that stuffy nose. I never remember being able to breathe through my nose until I was twenty-two or three. Again, my parents would always tell me as a little girl to close my mouth when I breathed. I just couldn't understand how to do that. If I tried to close my mouth, I couldn't breathe at all. Practice didn't help much either as I tried to get enough air by just opening my mouth a crack. I wondered hjow other people could do it without opening their mouths at all. It was a while before I realized that you should be able to breathe through your nose, but I sure couldn't. I'm sure at some time my folks had to realize that something was wrong...something more than just allergies... but nothing was said or done. And I wasn't one to complain. I'm sure there just wasn't the money to take me to a specialist. Going through the dating years was kind of tough, however. Have you ever tried to kiss a date good-night when you can't breathe? Covering up your eczema with ong sleeves is one thing, but a stuffed-up nose is just a lttle much.
It wasn't until I married Grandpa that I went to a nose specialist. We didn't have money either because he was in school and I was a stay-at-home mom. But he insisted. The doctor said that not only was my nose broken at some time causing some of my problem, but that I had the largest polyps growing in both nostrils that he had ever seen. He removed the polyps and restructured my nose, and for the first time I could breathe. I will never forget how it felt having air go through my nose. It felt like they had drilled two large holes in my head and air was gushing in. It was wonderful!
By my mid twenties and after several major outbreaks that landed me in the hospital, I finally outgrew the the eczema. Even the scars that developed from all the scratching disappeared. And I can breathe with my mouth closed unless I have a cold or a bad case of hayfever, neither of which is too often. HOWEVER, in my mid forties I had my very first ever asthma attack. Oh, well, That was a whole lot better than itchy skin and not being able to have a nice long kiss from your Grandpa.
So all of you who inherited allergies, you know who to blame...Grandma
One time when I was about twelve years old, my whole face swelled and turned bright red. If you held your hand a few inches from my face you could feel heat radiating. I was miserable. Obviously I had had an allergic reaction to something. We didn't go to the doctor much when I was young, but this time I was taken. The doctor told us of somthing brand new that was still being tested, but was supposed to be helpful in treating allergies. That something was Cortisone. It only came in tablet form to be ingested, but the doctor recommended trying to mash the tablets to a fine powder and dissolve them in a neutral cream which could be purchased in the drug store, and then spread it on the skin. I was ready to try ANYTHING and so was my mom.
The redness and heat of my face soon went away but a a waxy crust formed making it difficult for me to talk or smile without it feeling like my whole face would crack. Sleeping at night was like lying on a pillow covered with cracker crumbs. AWFUL! I remember my mom trying to make me feel positive about this whole experience by telling me that when it was all over, I would have all brand new beautiful skin on my face...skin that most girls would die for. I told her she'd better be right. There just had to be something good come from all this. With the help of prayer, priesthood blessings, and Cortisone, the old hard skin flaked away, and TA Da,there was my new beautiful skin.(It didn't last long as I entered those "wonderful" years of puberty."
My eczema was somewhat better as I grew older, but I would still have frequent outbreaks even after I was married. I will always be grateful for Dunford Bakery in Salt Lake for hiring me knowing my problem. I worked for them several years while I was in high school, and when I would have a breakout and I was scheduled to work, they would let me work in the back filling cookie orders, and putting cookies on trays for the display cabinets. Or if there were not cookies baked that day, the would find something for me to. Eczema is not contagious, but it's not something customers want to see when being waited on. So if you ever drive down 21st So. into Sugarhouse, stop by and patronize Dunford's. That is the one I worked at for about three years.
Now about that stuffy nose. I never remember being able to breathe through my nose until I was twenty-two or three. Again, my parents would always tell me as a little girl to close my mouth when I breathed. I just couldn't understand how to do that. If I tried to close my mouth, I couldn't breathe at all. Practice didn't help much either as I tried to get enough air by just opening my mouth a crack. I wondered hjow other people could do it without opening their mouths at all. It was a while before I realized that you should be able to breathe through your nose, but I sure couldn't. I'm sure at some time my folks had to realize that something was wrong...something more than just allergies... but nothing was said or done. And I wasn't one to complain. I'm sure there just wasn't the money to take me to a specialist. Going through the dating years was kind of tough, however. Have you ever tried to kiss a date good-night when you can't breathe? Covering up your eczema with ong sleeves is one thing, but a stuffed-up nose is just a lttle much.
It wasn't until I married Grandpa that I went to a nose specialist. We didn't have money either because he was in school and I was a stay-at-home mom. But he insisted. The doctor said that not only was my nose broken at some time causing some of my problem, but that I had the largest polyps growing in both nostrils that he had ever seen. He removed the polyps and restructured my nose, and for the first time I could breathe. I will never forget how it felt having air go through my nose. It felt like they had drilled two large holes in my head and air was gushing in. It was wonderful!
By my mid twenties and after several major outbreaks that landed me in the hospital, I finally outgrew the the eczema. Even the scars that developed from all the scratching disappeared. And I can breathe with my mouth closed unless I have a cold or a bad case of hayfever, neither of which is too often. HOWEVER, in my mid forties I had my very first ever asthma attack. Oh, well, That was a whole lot better than itchy skin and not being able to have a nice long kiss from your Grandpa.
So all of you who inherited allergies, you know who to blame...Grandma
Friday, March 23, 2007
So You Think You Had Fun
I was never bored living at Grandma's house. I loved being so close to my grandma! I loved my grandma! I could always sneak up the basement steps that led to "her house"...even without my mother's permission...passing the shelves of home canned fruits that that framed the staircase. And Grandma always seemed glad to see me although I'm sure that at times I was a nuisance and interupted her daily activities. I also learned to love my Aunt Dorothy who, as a teenager living at home, doted over us three girls. She was a great help to Mom by becoming our oft-times babysitter so Mom could get the rest she needed. Our close relationship with her continued on through our adult years.
One of my favorite past times while living at Grandma's was collecting seeds from the flowers that grew in her yard. I would spend hours opening the seed pods of the "Four O'Clocks" (I'm sure they had a botanical name that I didn't know) that lined the front lawn. They were small pink flowers that only bloomed in the late afternoon...hence "four o'clocks". The black seeds inside the pods were large, about the size of peppercorns. I would collect small sacks of them to give to Grandma, who always acted excited to get them. I'm sure she threw most of them away, but she surely made me feel like I was doing something really important.
Then there were the games. Oh, how I loved playing those games with the neighborhood kids who would get together almost every afternoon. I was kind of young to be playing with my older sisters and their older friends who probably viewed me as a little pest. But I'm sure it was my mom who insisted that my sisters entertain me so she could get some rest. She needed a lot of that. Anyway, the games we played were "I Draw a Magic Frying Pan", "I Have a Little Doggie" and my favorite, "Run Sheepy Run". I think I liked it best because it was more of a BIG kids game. I'll try to describe that, but it is kind of complicated. Here goes. All those playing were divided into two teams (sheep). Each group of sheep appointed a captain (sheepherder) whose job it was to hide all his sheep together where the other team would have a hard time finding them. This could be anywhere in the neighborhood. While hiding his sheep, the captain would take them in a round about, zig zag. circular, back and forth pattern before taking them to the final hiding place. This is because when he returned to the other team whose job it was to find the sheep, he was required to draw a map where he had taken them. This was usually done with a stick in the dirt. The captain would draw all the different directions he had taken them to make it more difficult for his sheep to be found. When he finished drawing the map he would put an X at the spot where they were hidden and say "And this is where my sheepy lie." The search team would then begin looking for the sheep with the captain of the sheep joining them. If the sheep were found, it was a race to see who could get "home" first, the sheep or the other team. However, if the captain felt that the searching team was far enough away from his hiding sheep that they could all get home safe without being found, he would yell, "Run Sheepy Run", and that was the signal for all the sheep to run as fast as they could to "home". Of course that shout signaled the other team to run, too, and the race was on. Which ever team got home first got to be the one to hide. Confusing??? When I get to see you all again I'll try to explain it better, or maybe we'll just have to play it at Lake Lopez this year. You can see why I was a real liability to the team I was on because I was too young to run very fast. And all the sheep had to beat all the members of the opposing team to win.
The other games I mentioned were more for the younger kids. I'll teach the little ones those games during "Grandma's tent time" this summer. Doesn't playing with a bunch of friends outside, running and yelling, sound a lot more fun than X boxes and other video games? I think most children miss out on a lot of fun because of the society in which we live today. It is so sad. We never had to worry about being abducted or being influenced by unsavory people. We knew everyone in the neighborhood and everyone looked out for each other...and their kids. We could just run, yell, and be kids. And childhood obesity was a real rarity. We never even had television until late in my teens. It hadn't been invented yet, and when it first came out only the rich could afford it. And in a way I'm glad for that. My sister bought my mom a television set after she graduated from high school and went to work. It was a real Godsend for her because she was homebound with not much she could do. She really enjoyed watching Art Linkletter and wrestling. That is so funny if you had known my "strait-arrow" mom.
As a young child I never felt cramped in that little basement apartment of Grandma's, nor did I feel unloved or deprived because of my Mom's illness. Those feelings would surface later as I grew older and had to take on more and more responsibilites. Those stories will come later.
So was my early childhood fun...and we did have fun!
One of my favorite past times while living at Grandma's was collecting seeds from the flowers that grew in her yard. I would spend hours opening the seed pods of the "Four O'Clocks" (I'm sure they had a botanical name that I didn't know) that lined the front lawn. They were small pink flowers that only bloomed in the late afternoon...hence "four o'clocks". The black seeds inside the pods were large, about the size of peppercorns. I would collect small sacks of them to give to Grandma, who always acted excited to get them. I'm sure she threw most of them away, but she surely made me feel like I was doing something really important.
Then there were the games. Oh, how I loved playing those games with the neighborhood kids who would get together almost every afternoon. I was kind of young to be playing with my older sisters and their older friends who probably viewed me as a little pest. But I'm sure it was my mom who insisted that my sisters entertain me so she could get some rest. She needed a lot of that. Anyway, the games we played were "I Draw a Magic Frying Pan", "I Have a Little Doggie" and my favorite, "Run Sheepy Run". I think I liked it best because it was more of a BIG kids game. I'll try to describe that, but it is kind of complicated. Here goes. All those playing were divided into two teams (sheep). Each group of sheep appointed a captain (sheepherder) whose job it was to hide all his sheep together where the other team would have a hard time finding them. This could be anywhere in the neighborhood. While hiding his sheep, the captain would take them in a round about, zig zag. circular, back and forth pattern before taking them to the final hiding place. This is because when he returned to the other team whose job it was to find the sheep, he was required to draw a map where he had taken them. This was usually done with a stick in the dirt. The captain would draw all the different directions he had taken them to make it more difficult for his sheep to be found. When he finished drawing the map he would put an X at the spot where they were hidden and say "And this is where my sheepy lie." The search team would then begin looking for the sheep with the captain of the sheep joining them. If the sheep were found, it was a race to see who could get "home" first, the sheep or the other team. However, if the captain felt that the searching team was far enough away from his hiding sheep that they could all get home safe without being found, he would yell, "Run Sheepy Run", and that was the signal for all the sheep to run as fast as they could to "home". Of course that shout signaled the other team to run, too, and the race was on. Which ever team got home first got to be the one to hide. Confusing??? When I get to see you all again I'll try to explain it better, or maybe we'll just have to play it at Lake Lopez this year. You can see why I was a real liability to the team I was on because I was too young to run very fast. And all the sheep had to beat all the members of the opposing team to win.
The other games I mentioned were more for the younger kids. I'll teach the little ones those games during "Grandma's tent time" this summer. Doesn't playing with a bunch of friends outside, running and yelling, sound a lot more fun than X boxes and other video games? I think most children miss out on a lot of fun because of the society in which we live today. It is so sad. We never had to worry about being abducted or being influenced by unsavory people. We knew everyone in the neighborhood and everyone looked out for each other...and their kids. We could just run, yell, and be kids. And childhood obesity was a real rarity. We never even had television until late in my teens. It hadn't been invented yet, and when it first came out only the rich could afford it. And in a way I'm glad for that. My sister bought my mom a television set after she graduated from high school and went to work. It was a real Godsend for her because she was homebound with not much she could do. She really enjoyed watching Art Linkletter and wrestling. That is so funny if you had known my "strait-arrow" mom.
As a young child I never felt cramped in that little basement apartment of Grandma's, nor did I feel unloved or deprived because of my Mom's illness. Those feelings would surface later as I grew older and had to take on more and more responsibilites. Those stories will come later.
So was my early childhood fun...and we did have fun!
Thursday, March 22, 2007
and you wait...and wait...and wait
It's a hot summer day in Utah. And what would any normal three or four year old want to do? Right! Play in the sprinklers on Grandma's big back lawn. I'd better back up a bit and give you a little background as to why I'm at Grandma's.
Right after my parents were married, they moved into my Grandma Knapp's basement apartment. But they soon outgrew that little apartment when my two older sisters were born. They purchased their first home where two years later I was born. It was soon after that that my mother had a massive heart attack. Unable to take care of her young family we moved back to the little apartment where my grandma and Mom's teenage sister could help out. That is where I lived for the first five years of my life.
Now back to those hot summer days in Salt Lake. Like all children we loved to play in the water. But for us, this was the process: go into the basement laundry room, drag out the large laundry tubs to the back yard, fill up the tubs with water from the hose, and wait...and wait... and wait for the sun to heat up the water. We would stick our toes into the water every few minutes and assure our mom that it was warm enough. But usually it was well into late afternoon before she was satisfied that we wouldn't get pneumonia by playing in too cold of water.
While we played in the WARM water, Mom would lay out and sunbathe in her super modest bathing suit which was more like a short dress. But even as well covered as she was, there was no way she would lay out on the lawn exposed to the view of the neighbors. So we had a "sun tent" which was like a four-sided tent with no roof. She would set her chair in there, prop open the "door" side of the tent so she could watch us, and enjoy the sun.
Such was a typical hot day in my young life. And I guess my mom was right about the necessity of playing only in warm water, because I never did get pneumonia.
Right after my parents were married, they moved into my Grandma Knapp's basement apartment. But they soon outgrew that little apartment when my two older sisters were born. They purchased their first home where two years later I was born. It was soon after that that my mother had a massive heart attack. Unable to take care of her young family we moved back to the little apartment where my grandma and Mom's teenage sister could help out. That is where I lived for the first five years of my life.
Now back to those hot summer days in Salt Lake. Like all children we loved to play in the water. But for us, this was the process: go into the basement laundry room, drag out the large laundry tubs to the back yard, fill up the tubs with water from the hose, and wait...and wait... and wait for the sun to heat up the water. We would stick our toes into the water every few minutes and assure our mom that it was warm enough. But usually it was well into late afternoon before she was satisfied that we wouldn't get pneumonia by playing in too cold of water.
While we played in the WARM water, Mom would lay out and sunbathe in her super modest bathing suit which was more like a short dress. But even as well covered as she was, there was no way she would lay out on the lawn exposed to the view of the neighbors. So we had a "sun tent" which was like a four-sided tent with no roof. She would set her chair in there, prop open the "door" side of the tent so she could watch us, and enjoy the sun.
Such was a typical hot day in my young life. And I guess my mom was right about the necessity of playing only in warm water, because I never did get pneumonia.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
First vacation
First, I want to thank Carrie for setting up this blog for me. It was all her idea and her encouragement to get me started. To make it easier for me to know where to start, she suggested that I relate the story behind the picture of me standing in the ocean on the "cover"(I'm sure that's not what you call it in computer language, but I hope you know what I mean) of the blog.
Actually, this was the first vacation I ever had. While growing up we never had a family vacation for several reasons. First, Mother's health made it impossible for her to travel. Second, there was no such thing as a paid vacation for my dad since he worked for his father, and he would never even have thought of taking time off from work even if there had been paid time off. And third, there woudn't have been the money to go. Mom's medical bills were pretty high and there was no such thing as health insurance. So how did this vacation come about? It was thanks to my Uncle LeGrande (Dad's younger brother) and his wife Aunt Myrtle
(awful name, but great lady).
Uncle LeGrande, who also had worked for his father) got tired of the poor pay and no benefits and working for his dad just because it was expected of him. So he quit and moved to California. I was about sixteen years old, and my sister, Georgia had just graduated from high school. It didn't take much encouragement for us to hop on a bus and head for California when Aunt Myrt and Uncle LeGrande invited us to come and promised us to show us the town (Los Angeles.) And that they did! I saw the Pacific Ocean for the first time, went to Hollywood, Marineland (it no longer exists), and Capistrano (where the swallows return every year on the same day; we weren't there for the "return" but we surely saw a lot of too-friendly pigeons). I think they took us to every tourist attraction in the LA area. But one of the places that I remember the most was a cafeteria type restaurant the began with a "C". I can't remember the name. It was one of several in the LA area at the time, but I haven't seen any around since. What made it so special was that anyone who was hungry and couldn't afford to pay was given a free meal. Anyone could eat there, but the poor were given special privilege. I couldn't believe that there was anyone in a business that needed to make a profit would do that. Maybe that is why they no longer exist. But I have always thought to this day what a wonderful thing that was.
Uncle LeGrande and Aunt Myrtle always looked out for us, and did many other things for us. We were always welcome to come and stay with them, and they always came to our special events when Mom passed away. But this trip will always be remembered when I think of them.
Actually, this was the first vacation I ever had. While growing up we never had a family vacation for several reasons. First, Mother's health made it impossible for her to travel. Second, there was no such thing as a paid vacation for my dad since he worked for his father, and he would never even have thought of taking time off from work even if there had been paid time off. And third, there woudn't have been the money to go. Mom's medical bills were pretty high and there was no such thing as health insurance. So how did this vacation come about? It was thanks to my Uncle LeGrande (Dad's younger brother) and his wife Aunt Myrtle
(awful name, but great lady).
Uncle LeGrande, who also had worked for his father) got tired of the poor pay and no benefits and working for his dad just because it was expected of him. So he quit and moved to California. I was about sixteen years old, and my sister, Georgia had just graduated from high school. It didn't take much encouragement for us to hop on a bus and head for California when Aunt Myrt and Uncle LeGrande invited us to come and promised us to show us the town (Los Angeles.) And that they did! I saw the Pacific Ocean for the first time, went to Hollywood, Marineland (it no longer exists), and Capistrano (where the swallows return every year on the same day; we weren't there for the "return" but we surely saw a lot of too-friendly pigeons). I think they took us to every tourist attraction in the LA area. But one of the places that I remember the most was a cafeteria type restaurant the began with a "C". I can't remember the name. It was one of several in the LA area at the time, but I haven't seen any around since. What made it so special was that anyone who was hungry and couldn't afford to pay was given a free meal. Anyone could eat there, but the poor were given special privilege. I couldn't believe that there was anyone in a business that needed to make a profit would do that. Maybe that is why they no longer exist. But I have always thought to this day what a wonderful thing that was.
Uncle LeGrande and Aunt Myrtle always looked out for us, and did many other things for us. We were always welcome to come and stay with them, and they always came to our special events when Mom passed away. But this trip will always be remembered when I think of them.
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