A collection of my favorite childhood memories preserved for my children and for others. http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/memories/ en-us Homeschool Blogger Sun, 7 Oct 2007 19:29:00 -0500 Sun, 7 Oct 2007 19:29:00 -0500 We sat at our desks, nervous as any first day of school.  Second grade, third school.  I was the "new girl."  I'd be the new girl most of my life but it always felt like it started here even though it technically started in kindergarten when we moved from Fillmore to the Estes Ranch in Moorpark.   The door opened.  We waited expectantly as a long thin shadow crossed the threshold.  It was an illusion.  Though thin, the woman who entered was not tall at all.  She was tiny.  White hair.  She walked down the aisle nearest the door, up the next aisle, down the third, and then up the last row finishing behind the desk.  She was dwarfed by it from my vantage point.  The appearance of frailty was deceptive.    She looked each one of us in the eye.  I know it because when it was my turn I realized that she was seeing all of us.  Not just our faces but who we were behind those faces.  She had an uncanny way of knowing by our faces what we were thinking.  After she scanned each face as though she could read our  minds, she slowly opened the bottom left drawer of her desk.  (it was to our right if that matters!)  She reached in and pulled something from it.  We waited eagerly.   WHAM!  She slammed a belt down on the desk with force no one would have guessed that she could possibly possess.  It was fascinating and momentarily terrifying.  The feeling left a few minutes later but not before she said clearly and in a strong voice with an even stronger accent, "And I'm noht afhrraid (afraid)  ta juse (use) it."   Then, as though she hadn't just ensured the complete compliance and respect of every student in that class with a smidge of the fear of God and Mrs. Elkins on the side, she replaced the belt from whence it came and we never saw it again.  Other classes didn't have a strong woman like Mrs. Elkins.  When their students got restless or stepped out of line, they were sent to the office where a large paddle hung on the wall.    Every student at the school knew that to attend, you had to give permission for the teachers and principal to administer corporal punishment.  If you went to the office, the principal drilled a new hole in the paddle and gave you a firm whack reminding you as you blinked back tears never to cause him to put two in there with your name on it.  I never had to go.  None of our class did and Mrs. Elkins never used her belt.  She didn't need to.  We knew she meant business and she inspired a love and loyalty that would have hurt us to betray.  We simply didnt' do it.   We read from McGuffey's First, Second, and Third Readers in that class.  I learned   "Now the day is over Night is drawing nigh. Shadows of the evening Steal across the sky. Now the darkness gathers. Stars begin to peep. Birds and beasts and flowers, Soon will be asleep.    ~  Baring-Gould   We read Harcourt Brace readers too.  I loved the story of Hot and Cold from One Mouth.   An old children's story tells of a traveler lost in a vast forest one winter's night. He stumbles into a widow's hut and begs for a bowl of soup by her fire. The woman says, "Yes." He stands blowing on his hand while she ladles the soup. "What are you doing?" she asks. "Why, my hands are cold. I'm warming them with my breath." She eyes him suspiciously as she hands him his soup. He sits down with the bowl, and blows across the spoon before he puts it in his mouth. "Now what are you doing," she cries. He glances up, surprised, and says, politely, "The soup is so wonderfully hot. I simply mean to cool it before I try to swallow it." The woman seizes a fire-iron and shouts, "Get out! Get out of my house! I'll have no sorcerer who can blow both hot and cold under my roof!"   We did fractions in Mrs. Elkin's room.  I learned that 1/8 is smaller than 1/4.  I learned that 1/4 is really 2/8 so if I have 1/4 and 1/8 I really have 3/8.  I didn't know my multiplication tables (well I didn't know above the fives) but I knew the basics of fractions.  Then again, it was easy.  That's how dad taught me to tell time.    I learned how to spell possessive (I thought it was the most beautiful word in the world), arithmetic (a rat in the house might eat the ice cream.), and Mississippi.  I learned to call a public restroom a "lavatory" and how to write in cursive.   She introduced us to Narnia.  Oh nothing sounds as absolutely wonderful as The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe read by a little old woman with a slovak accent.  We trembled for Lucy, cheered for Mr. Tumnus, and wept for Mr. Tumnus.  We laughed at the Beavers, and shuddered at the wolves.  Turkish Delight was like the deadly fruit of Eden.  We didn't want a thing to do with it when she brought some to class for us.  We laughed at St. Nicholas and trembled with awe at Aslan.  Mrs. Elkins choked a bit when she read about the white witch plunging the knife into the majestic king of Narnia.  I saw her wipe a tear.  I now realize it was more than just the death of a beloved character.   She taught us to count in Estonian.   0 null 1 üks 2 kaks 3 kolm 4 neli 5 viis 6 kuus 7 seitse 8 kaheksa 9 üheksa 10 kümme However, I think my fondest memory is that of the story of her family's flight from Estonia.  As a child, I assumed that she was fleeing Nazi occupation.  Now I realize that it was more likely Soviet communism.  There was a border near a river close by where her family lived.  She told of being a young girl (I never knew if she meant little girl like under ten or teenager) and how her family determined to escape.  They had a plan and though the plan was simple, it was deadly.  Near twilight one night, the family would meet at a certain grove of trees.  From there they'd move along the border to where they knew the shallowest part of the river was, hoping that there would be a way for the men to walk across in places holding children over their heads.    They had orders.  Once they started across the barbed wire, they were to run.  They must run and no matter what happens around them, never stop until they're on the other side of the river.  Don't let anything slow them down.  I remember the trembling in her voice as she told about the escape.  The family cut the barbed wire.  They raced across "no man's land" to the shore of the river.  The guards shouted.  The dogs were let loose.  Gunfire was everywhere.  A spotlight waved across the short field to the shore of the river.  People around her dropped.  Aunts, uncles, and a little cousin.    Most who made it across were young.  Mid thirties or younger.  One elderly grandmother made it as well as a few middle aged men.  I didn't understand as she told the story what she was tryign to convey without putting too heavy a burden on our little hearts.  The elderly sacrificed themselves for the younger stronger members of the family.  They allowed the dogs to grab their legs and threw themselves in to the path of gunfire to give the rest of the family a chance at a new life.  This is such a beautiful thing to me that it hurts to type it.  I never loved her more than when she told about greeting the rest of her family on the other side of that river.  One third of their extensive family was absent.  They waited for twelve hours but no more came.   We all dreaded the last day of school.  We were eager learners, looking forward to her lessons and her stories.  Three months of no school seemed endless.  What we didn't know was that it wasn't a three month parting.  We'd never see her again.  The next year we entered the classroom eager for a continuation and found a round pleasant German hausfrau looking woman.  Mrs. Rothlesburger.  She was a dear soul but we were sad and confused.   At home, my parents told me what happened.  Apparently, some of the parents were appalled at her display of authority in the beginning of the year.  They couldn't fire her, she hadn't broken her contract.  The school didn't want to anyway.  However, in a private school, those who pay for the education determine much of the policy and several of the parents insisted she not return.  They didn't renew her contract.   She went to teach at a nearby Catholic school and I know my parents deliberated as to whether or not I should attend.  Eventually, they decided against it.  At eight, I was at too impressionable to understand the difference between what I was taught at home and school.  My loyalties would have been divided.  The beauty of the ceremonies and symbolism of the Catholic church would have appealed to my sense of romance.  I was a little too much like Anne Shirley for my own good.  They made the right decision but I still wish I could have had another year with her.   Mrs. Elkins... if I could only see her once more.  Hear her voice... count to ten...  uks... kaks...   http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/memories/404590/ Sun, 7 Oct 2007 19:29:00 -0500 http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/memories/404590/ In some families, the magic number is 3.  You know, "I'm going to count to three!!!!  One----- two---- two and a half--- two and ... THREE"  That would never work in our house.  In our house it would have been more like.  "Do it.   Negative one.. BUSTED!"    However, we had a "Magic Number" too, or rather, mom did.  Sometime around the age of twelve or so onward, mom did it the first time.  I have no idea what prompted it.  Maybe I spilled something on an day that was already a "Jonah Day".  Maybe I was skirting the line of being out of line.  Maybe mom had PMS or maybe I did.  Whatever it was, I didn't do anything wrong per se, but mom wanted to point out that she was annoyed.  Now later, it wasn't always me.  It could be the loud music next door, the car acting up, or a cold.  Therefore, it is always possible that the first time wasn't my fault either.  I like to cling to that.   Regardless of the reason, something happened, and I heard the boom lowered for the first time.  "You're grounded until you're thirty-seven."  Okkkkaaayyy.  I know I looked at her weird.  I bet her eyes twinkled.  Just saying it put her in a better mood.  Mom has marvelous twinkly eyes when tickled.    After that, it happened semi-regularly.  I forgot to get a homework slip signed, needed a ride to something at church, or asked for sourdough toast after dinner.  Didn't matter what it was, mom's eyes would twinkle- or if in a rare bad mood, snap- and she'd say, "You are grounded until you're thirty-seven."  If I was Gracie Allen I would have filled it in for her after the second or third time  "...till you're thirty-seven, yeah."  I wasn't Gracie Allen and knew I'd be in for real trouble if I dared to do such a thing.   It became a tradition.  The last time I remember her saying it was when I was in labor.   As Polly helped me into the car, mom leaned in and said with that trademarked glint in her eye, "If you have that baby before you get to the hospital I'll ground you 'till you're thirty-seven."   I turned thirty-seven this year.  I feel free!  I'm finally an adult.  I know the law said I was at eighteen.  Logic says I was when I got married or had a child or two, or four, or eight, or nine.... but how can you truly be an adult if you're still on restriction?  I say you can't.    Mom... guess what?  I'm not grounded anymore.  Do you regret not grounding me until I was thirty-eight?   http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/memories/401111/ Mon, 1 Oct 2007 21:17:00 -0500 http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/memories/401111/ I know know, if I ever knew, why Dad sent me to Loves Steakhouse that night.  Occasionally, dad would send me to Mc Donalds, just around the corner, for a meal.  It was rare but it happened.  However one evening, when I was nine, Dad sat me down at the table, taught me how to figure a 10% tip (it was the acceptable rate back then) and sent me off on my own with a 20 dollar bill for dinner.   In the restaurant, the waitress seemed a bit confused at a little girl ordering for herself.  I think I ordered a steak and a coke.  I'm not sure.  The bill was just over five dollars.  Actually, now that I think about it, I think it was about seven dollars.  I took a napkin, borrowed the waitress' pen, and started adding.  She watched me curiously.  I grew more and more flustered and eventually panicked.  I slapped the 20 dollar bill down on the counter with my check, and bolted for the door.   I'll never forget the look of incredulity on dad's face when I admitted there was no change.  "What did you order?"  I explained what happened.  There was a funny look around the corners of dad's mouth.  It was one of those times when a parent just has to remember that sometimes raising kids can be expensive.   However, several good things happened that night.  I learned how to order, how to take care of getting my own meal at a restaurant, and... before I went to bed that night, I had a firm understanding of how to calculate 10% tips on a meal.  Now if he had only mentioned that you tip places other than restaurants.  Cabbies for instance.   Several weeks or months later, I wanted to go to the little shopping center (it's now a huge mall) "The San Buenaventura Center".  Mom didn't feel like going and dad didn't either so he dropped me off at Thrifty in the center and told me to call him when I was done.  I wandered around for hours.  I went into Barker Brothers Furniture and imagined what each room of furniture would look like in OUR house.  I ate a beef stick "sucker" from Hickory Farms and drooled over the jewelry in the store cases.  Finally, I went into the Broadway, went upstairs, and wandered through the girll's clothing department until I found the "Hello Kitty" section.  It was just a clear acrylic tower filled with "My Twin Stars" and "Hello Kitty" stuff.  I loved that stuff.  I learned to read prices on the backs and rarely bought a thing.  It was way too expensive.   Eventually, I got tired or hungry or something so I called dad and told him I was ready.  Dad said he'd send a cab and the five dollars he'd given me was for my ride home.  I went inside, spent .25 of my own money on a mint chocolate chip ice cream cone, and waited for the cab.  He drove up before I was finished so I took a big bite and threw the rest away.  I think the driver was appreciative.  He asked about my shoping trip, told me how neat he thought it was that my dad let me ride in a cab, and generally kept me entertained until I got home.  I paid him, accepted my change, and raced inside to tell my dad.  When I handed dad the change though, he asked, "Did you handle the tip ok this time?"   Tip?  What tip?  The answer was clearly obvious without me speaking a word.  Dad raced out the door and down the street.  Apparently the cabbie was going slow, had taken his time before pulling away, or something because Dad managed to catch up with him and leave him a tip.  I bet that guy had a fun time telling that story when he got back to the station.  (Or whatever you call a congregation of taxi-cabs.)     http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/memories/400347/ Sun, 30 Sep 2007 18:47:00 -0500 http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/memories/400347/ No... not aggravat-ING.  Aggravation.  The game.  Uncle Oscar made us all boards at one point.  I wish I had one.  Any gathering at Grandma's was sure to include a game of Aggravation or three.  These games were long, loud, and fun.  The rattle of the dice, the clank of the marbles as they rolled across the dimples in the wood.   There were six or eight (depending on the board) "Homes" and we all had marbles on our homes.  We'd roll... the die dropped in a hole.  "Diaper Rash".  We'd roll again.   A six.  Wahoo!  On my hot-spot.   It's a six so I get to roll again.  Four. Two away from "Safety".   If you were fortunate, you'd roll "just right" and get to center and then right back down your side- skipping half the board.  Around the board we'd race.  Sending each other back to our "starting spots" and then finding ourselves back at square one as well.  We'd finally get to that final bar.  There are five marbles in our home.  We're nearly there with the last marble.  So is Uncle Oscar.  Mom isn't far behind.    Mom rolls three sixes in a row.  She can't advance but she can roll again.  Uncle Oscar gets a 1.  He only needs a three and he's in.  Dad rolls.  He gets a five.  Puts him within a "one" of his final spot.  I roll a six.  I roll again.  Two.  Drat.  Two more holes to go.   Uncle Oscar rolls.  It's a three.  He wins.  Oh well, Scarlett O'Hara was right.  "Tomorrow is another day."     http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/memories/400318/ Sun, 30 Sep 2007 18:07:00 -0500 http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/memories/400318/ Some traditions, we don't realize were traditions until we look back.  Weeks spent at Grandma's house.  A perfect example.  I honestly don't remember where mom and dad went.  I know once they went to Vegas and I flew from there to Sky Harbor in Phoenix.  I think mom went to deliver sailboats with dad a few times, and I know there are many others.  I just don't remember why.  I remember being though.  Being was fun.   Almost the first thing I'd do was to walk down to the corner by the Circle K and wander through the Christian Emporium.  I loved that place.  I'd buy stickers, pencils, and once I bought a new Bible for school.  I LOVED that Bible..  Eventually I'd cross the street.    I remember the first Chinese restaurant that my parents took me to.  Right off the Antelope Freeway (14) in Palmdale.  I don't remember the name but I think Golden was in the title.  We had duck.  It was oily.  I didn't like it and I don't think Mom and Dad did either.  However, across the street from the Christian Emporium in Phoenix was the China Doll.  I thought it was glamorous and exotic.  I dreamed of going through those double doors with their big brass handles.  I never did.  It's probably not there anymore but it was all the time I was growing up.   I'd walk regretfully past those exciting doors and past the cool double doors of Bashas to Skaggs.  Skaggs was a drug store kind of like Thrifty or Rite Aid or Walgreens.  I'd wander the store but mostly I looked at the office supplies.  I loved office supplies.  I really don't know why but I did.  Eventually, I'd get tired of the floor clerks trying to decide if I was stealing things and I'd grab my preplanned purchase.  I always felt a bit like Francie Nolan about this time.  Down at one end of the aisle was a wide array of coloring books.  Whether eight or fifteen, I always bought one.  Grandma thought I was crazy but it was tradition.  I loved coloring.  Then I'd grab a box of 64 Crayola Crayons and pay for them.  The clerks always smiled.  I guess they thought anyone who bought crayons and coloring books couldn't possibly steal.   Back at grandma's, I'd grab a glass from her little metal cabinet next to the deep freeze, and pour me some tea.  It was always too sweet but that was one of the traditions at Grandma's.  She'd open her deep freeze and pull out a round tub from Baskin Robbins.  She always had several of those.  From the depths of said tub she'd bring "candy" and cookies.  Some of these were delicious while others... well...   You see, grandma was a mom during the depression.  She had to be creative with sweets for her kids so then, and in all the years since, she'd take left over crackers, bread crumbs, pretzels, cake, you name it, and dip it in chocolate, butterscotch, and white chocolate.  Voila!  Instant candy.  Most of it was pretty good.  Some of it...   Then I'd sit there and color a page.  Grandma usually watched.  I didn't realize she watched at the time but my mental picture shows her sitting there watching every move I made.  I wonder about that.  Once my picture was finished, I'd organize my crayons.  Why I organized the crayons AFTER my first picture, I don't know.  I just did.  Then I'd put it all away and grandma would pull out the dominoes.   Crow's Foot.  No, not those little lines around your eyes as you get older.  Dominoes.  Some people call it "Chicken Foot" like in my link up there but we called it Crow's Foot.  We played ruthlessly... well, since Grandma's name was Ruth, I guess we played Ruthfully.  When I was younger, Grandma magnanimously let me win.  I hated that.   I'd pick around on her piano.  She told me once if I ever learned to play it that I could have it.  I never did.  It's probably best.  Grandma loved to play on it herself.  Sometimes we'd walk down and do the laundry.  We'd stop and say hi to "Miss Alice".  Sometimes we would get into her little storage unit and dig out something of importance.  Sometimes it was yarn for a new granny square afghan, othertimes it was a pressure cooker or to put something away.   I don't know if we ever had dinner at Grandma's when pinto beans weren't on the table.  That's what I remember most.  Pinto beans, cornbread, and ranch style dressing.  Prickly pear cactus jelly.  I can't remember what else.  Those things stand out like crazy.  I read books, grandma made quilts.  I'll have to tell you about her quilts.    After dinner we might play cards.  Crazy Eights, Old Maid, and War.  I'd color some more and Grandma would fill in another notebook of songs.  She made dozens of those books.  I still have one.  The cover is off and it's a bit tattered but I keep it in a plastic sleeve and flip through it every now and then.  Her spelling was always a bit interesting.  "Angle" for angel for instance.  Dad laughed when he saw my copy of her copy of the song California Joe.    "... and cooked a side of liver."   Side of liver?  I'd never heard of it but what did I know.  Dad knew.  He corrected my butchering terminology and I corrected my song.  "Slice of liver.  Got it."   At night, I'd climb into "my" bed and hunker down under the covers.  I could hear the sound of the air conditioner clinking in the late hours.  There was a certain scent to Grandma's house at night that was different than during the day.  It was comforting.  http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/memories/400307/ Sun, 30 Sep 2007 16:30:01 -0500 http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/memories/400307/ That's how we always mentioned them.  They were a trio, much like the Three Muskateers.  All for one... and one for self... er all.  It wasn't exactly like "John&Gloria" where we never mentioned them separately but whe we talked about them in general, it was, Johnny,  Michael, and Scott.   I spent a lot of time with those guys. We had Monopoly tournaments that lasted a week.  We played cards... Johnny is the one who introduced me to "52 Card Pickup".  I didn't fall for it but he tried anyway.  Somehow that glint in his eye told me that it was something fishy.  We walked the washes behind their house and explored new construction.  I find it interesting that there wasn't any vandalism.  There was tons of new construction.  We knew we weren't supposed to wander around it so we were careful not to damage anything.  It was just fun to see the "bones" of a house before it was neatly covered in stucco and drywall.   But games were huge.  We played Sorry, Life, Monopoly, and video games on their "Atari".  You know, exciting things like "Pong".  We ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and sent the player piano spinning with "The Entertainer" on the roll.    They talked about baseball.  Man those boys knew their baseball.  My parents were football people so I didn't know much about baseball.  Eventually, after pouring over thousands of baseball cards, I decided that the Yankees were my team.  I loved their uniforms.  My cousins shook their heads in disbelief and disgust.  I think Michael was a Padre fan.  Scott liked the Dodgers.  I don't know who Johnny liked.  Maybe he didn't either.   At night, I'd sleep on the floor between their beds and they'd ask for Bible stories  I never knew why they asked.  I didn't think they believed them but every time I came, they asked.  I told them about Noah, Joshua and Jericho.  I shared the grizzly story of Jael and the beautiful one of Mary.  They seemed to prefer the Old Testament heroes like Jonah over Jesus with the fishes.  I sang songs that I knew from church.  Everything from Father Abraham (the inane thing) to Miriam's triumpant, "I will sing unto the Lord" from the miracle at the Red Sea.  Those boys loved Moses.   Those boys are deeply rooted in my heart. I had hours of fun with them.  I spent more time with them than any of my other cousins and my memories show it.  Just a few more hours of Connect Four, Lord.  I'd love just a few more hours.     http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/memories/400279/ Sun, 30 Sep 2007 16:30:00 -0500 http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/memories/400279/ Salt air drifts through the window into your subconscious as you sleep.  The air is cool and the fog along the coast hangs thick outside your house.  You sleep dreaming of sea gulls, high tide, and wet sand under your toes.   A hand shakes your shoulder.  "Chautona-  time to get up.  We're going to the desert for breakfast."  The hand disappeares and you hear your door shut behind you.  You glance at the clock.  It's 4:30.  You groan.  You know you'll have fun but it's early.  It's comfy in your warm bed and... It's SATURDAY.   You scramble out of bed.  What choice is there?  You throw on clothes grabbing a jacket that you won't need soon.  Downstairs you see mom put the sourdough jar in the ice chest.  You grin.  This is gonna be great!    Minutes later you're on the 101 heading toward Lucerne Valley just on the eastern side of Apple Valley.  Somewhere near a dry lake bed (one of dozens) you pull off the highway and bounce over the dirt until you reach the area Dad has in mind.  It'll be perfect.  It always is.  Only someone like your dad would get everyone up to have breakfast out in the desert just for the fun of it.   While Mom and Dad start a fire, mix orange juice, scramble eggs and make sausage, you gather "Tomatillos".  They aren't really tomatillos but at first we thought they were so we've called them that ever since.  Mom will put the berries inside the sourdough pancakes and they are sooooo good.  There is nothing like breakfast, cooked over an open fire, in the middle of no where.  Add sourdough pancakes to the mix and you feel like another slice of heaven has flashed through your world.   Sometimes you stay for a while.  Dad wanders looking for more edible plants while you explore and Mom reads or crochets.  Sometimes you go home almost right away.  You marvel as barren sand gives way to small towns and then larger cities and then drifts into nothingness for a while until you reach large cities again.   The terrain changes from scrub brush to trees and occasional green to the Eucalyptus that FDR had planted as part of his "New Deal" near Fillmore and Moorpark.  You drive past the old Estes Ranch where you lived as a Kindergartner and through Camarillo.  You hope they'll stop and see Uncle Lon.  Half an hour in the Jacuzzi sounds wonderful right now.  Instead, you drive through Oxnard and then into Ventura.    Mom and Dad drop you off at the corner of Habor and Seaward.  You walk toward the beach.  Once there, you take off your shoes and your toes squish in the sand.  It's amazing, isn't it, the difference in the sands?  Just a few short hours away is another world.  Here you find seagulls fighting over a crab, seaweed wiith sand flies all over it, and an occasional starfish.  There you saw lizards, small birds, and jackrabbits.  Here there is litle vegetation growing from the sand.  There sand is life's soil to everything from sage to Yucca trees.   More than once after such a trip as you walk up the beach toward home, you sing as loudly as you can...   "Oh Lord my God... When I in awesome wonder... consider all... the worlds Thy hands have made..."   http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/memories/400264/ Sun, 30 Sep 2007 15:47:00 -0500 http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/memories/400264/ Being the daughter of an appliance repairman has its advantages.  First, your appliances always work.  Your uncles know how to get you to visit, they  just unplug their washers, say it doesn't work, and you get a nice visit, probably with some good music, and Aunt Marilyn's Devil's Food cookies.  You also get some of the world's best temporary playhouses.  Dryer and washer boxes make marvelous mansions complete with hand sawed (with a kitchen knife of course) windows and doors.    However, the best use of those boxes was always... the camper.  Yep.  I had a lot of "Okie Campers" as a kid.  Dad would bring home a box, cut side doors (that could be opened or closed at my whim) on the sides, leave one end closed and the other open (to scramble out) and then line it with blankets and sleeping bags.  I had  books, snacks, and a flashlight. I sat in the back of that truck in my "camper" on trips to  Arizona or the desert so many times I can't count them.    Back in that camper, I was alone in my own little world.  I sang.  I sang every song my dad sang and every song we sang at church.  I read.  I waved at children in cars as they drove past.  I made up stories in my mind.  I always knew someday I'd be a writer.  I was determined.  Sometimes I did hand games with string like cat's cradle and Jacob's ladder.  I had a Rubiks Cube and a long triangular thing that made a puzzle too.  I had  Merlin.  I loved playing with my Merlin.   Those campers were brilliant.  Much better than the "real deal".  I mean, think about it.  They were free, they didn't require maintenance, they were disposable, and no one ever thought to "Break into" a cardboard box.  Occasionally, we had to settle for a dryer box  but they weren't as nice.  They were too short and my feet got cold sometimes.   It was a wonderful life.     http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/memories/400250/ Sun, 30 Sep 2007 15:31:00 -0500 http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/memories/400250/ I remember the house on Santa Fe in Hesperia.  Near Christmas one year, Mom handed me our green copy of Best Loved Poems of the American People and told me to read this one.  I spent the next several weeks memorizing it.  I loved it.  I'd still love to see a good illustrated version of it.    'Twas the eve before Christmas. "Good night," had been said, And Annie and Willie had crept into bed; There were tears on their pillows, and tears in their eyes, And each little bosom was heaving with sighs, For tonight their stern father's command had been given That they should retire precisely at seven Instead of at eight-for they troubled him more With questions unheard of than ever before: He had told them he thought this delusion a sin, No such creature as "Santa Claus" ever had been. And he hoped, after this, he should never more hear How he scrambled down chimneys with presents each year. And this was the reason that two little heads So restlessly tossed on their soft, downy beds.   Eight, nine, and the clock on the steeple tolled ten, Not a word bad been spoken by either till then, When Willie's sad face from the blanket did peep, And whispered, 'Dear Annie, is 'ou fast as'eep?" "Why no, brother Willie," a sweet voice replies, "I've long tried in vain, but I can't shut my eyes, For somehow it makes me so sorry because Dear papa has said there is no 'Santa Claus.' Now we know there is, and it can't be denied, For he came every year before mamma died; But, then, I've been thinking that she used to pray, And God would hear everything mamma would say, And maybe she asked him to send Santa Claus here With that sackful of presents he brought every year." "Well, why tan't we p'ay dest as mamma did den, And ask Dod to send him with p'esents aden?" "I've been thinking so too," and without a word more Four little bare feet bounded out on the floor, And four little knees the soft carpet pressed, And two tiny hands were clasped close to each breast.   "Now, Willie, you know we must firmly believe That the presents we ask for we're sure to receive; You must wait very still till I say the 'Amen,' And by that you will know that your turn has come then." "Dear Jesus, look down on my brother and me, And grant us the favor we are asking of thee. I want a wax dolly, a teaset, and ring, And an ebony workbox that shuts with a spring. Bless papa, dear Jesus, and cause him to see That Santa Claus loves us as much as does he; Don't let him get fretful and angry again At dear brother Willie and Annie. Amen." 'Please, Desus, 'et Santa Taus turn down tonight, And b'ing us some p'esents before it is light, I want he should div' me a nice 'ittie s'ed, With bright sbinin' 'unners, and all painted red; A box full of tandy, a book, and a toy, Amen, and then, Desus, I'll be a dood boy."   Their prayers being ended, they raised up their heads, With hearts light and cheerful, again sought their beds. Tley were lost soon in slumber, both peaceful and deep, And with fairies in dreamland were roaming in sleep.   Eight, nine, and the little French clock had struck ten, Ere the father had thought of his children again: He seems now to hear Annie's half-suppressed sighs, And to see the big tears stand in Willie's blue eyes. 'I was harsh with my darlings," he mentally said, 'And should not have sent them so early to bed; But then I was troubled; my feelings found vent, For bank stock today has gone down ten per cent! But of course they've forgotten their troubles ere this, And that I denied them the thrice-asked-for kiss: But, just to make sure, I'll go up to their door, For I never spoke harsh to my darlings before." So saying, he softly ascended the stairs, And arrived at the door to hear both of their prayers; His Annie's "Bless papa" drew forth the big tears, And Willie's grave promise fell sweet on his ears. 'Strange-strange-I'd forgotten," said he with a sigh, 'How I longed when a child to have Christmas draw nigh." "I'll atone for my harshness," he inwardly said, "By answering their prayers ere I sleep in my bed."   Ilen he turned to the stairs and softly went down, Threw off velvet slippers and silk dressing gown, Donned hat, coat, and boots, and was out in the street, A millionaire facing the cold, driving in the sleet Nor stopped he until he had bought everything From the box full of candy to the tiny gold ring; Indeed, he kept adding so much to his store, That the various presents outnumbered a score.   Then homeward he turned. When his holiday load, With Aunt Mary's help, in the nursery was stowed. Miss Dolly was seated beneath a pine tree, By the side of a table spread out for her tea; A workbox well fitted in the center was laid, And on it the ring for which Annie had prayed, A soldier in uniform stood by a sled "With bright shining runners, and all painted red.' There were balls, dogs, and horses, books pleasing to see, And birds of all colors were perched in the tree! While Santa Claus, laughing, stood up in the top, As if getting ready more presents to drop. And as the fond father the picture surveyed, He thought for his trouble he had amply been paid, And he said to himself, as he brushed off a tear, 'I'm happier tonight than I've been for a year; I've enjoyed more pure pleasure than ever before; What care I if bank stock falls ten per cent more! Hereafter I'll make it a rule, I believe, To have Santa Claus visit us each Christmas Eve.' So thinking, he gently extinguished the light, And, tripping down stairs, retired for the night. As soon as the beams of the bright morning sun Put the darkness to flight, and the stars one by one, Four little blue eyes out of sleep opened wide, And at the same moment the presents espied; Then out of their beds they sprang with a bound, And the very gifts prayed for were all of them found. They laughed and they cried, in their innocent glee, And shouted for papa to come quick and see What presents old Santa Claus brought in the night (just the things that they wanted,) and left before light:   'And now," added Annie, in a voice soft and low, 'You'll believe there's a 'Santa Claus', papa, I know"- While dear little Willie climbed up on his knee, Determined no secret between them should be, And told in soft whispers how Annie had said That their dear, blessed mamma, so long ago dead, Used to kneel down by the side of her chair, And that God up in heaven had answered her prayer. 'Den we dot up and prayed dust well as we tould, And Dod answered our prayers: now wasn't He dood?" 'I should say that He was, if He sent you all these, And knew just what presents my children would please. (Well, well, let him think so, the dear little elf, 'Twould be cruel to tell him I did it myself.")   Blind father! who caused your stem heart to relent, And the hasty words spoken so soon to repent? 'Twas the Being who bade you steal softly upstairs, And made you His agent to answer their prayers.   - Sophia P. Snow   I've always changed "the Being" for a less generic, "Jesus".  :)     http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/memories/400077/ Sat, 29 Sep 2007 23:59:00 -0500 http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/memories/400077/ 1. My grandfather's clock was too large for the shelf, So it stood ninety years on the floor; It was taller by half than the old man himself, Though it weighed not a pennyweight more. It was bought on the morn of the day that he was born, And was always his treasure and pride; But it stopp'd short – never to go again – When the old man died. 2. In watching its pendulum swing to and fro, Many hours had he spent while a boy; And in childhood and manhood the clock seemed to know And to share both his grief and his joy. For it struck twenty-four when he entered at the door, With a blooming and beautiful bride; But it stopp'd short – never to go again – When the old man died. 3. My grandfather said that of those he could hire, Not a servant so faithful he found; For it wasted no time, and had but one desire – At the close of each week to be wound. And it kept in its place – not a frown upon its face, And the hands never hung by its side; But it stopp'd short – never to go again – When the old man died. 4. It rang an alarm in the dead of the night – An alarm that for years had been dumb; And we knew that his spirit was pluming for flight – That his hour of departure had come. Still the clock kept the time, with a soft and muffled chime, As we silently stood by his side; But it stopp'd short – never to go again – When the old man died.   Ninety years without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick), His life seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick), It stopp'd short – never to go again – When the old man died.     It was a fascinating difference between how dad recited the poem and how he sang the song.   Another lesson in poetry recitation by example.  Stopped... short... never to go again when the old... man...died...   http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/memories/400072/ Sat, 29 Sep 2007 23:47:00 -0500 http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/memories/400072/