There are times in life when you are suddenly faced with a situation in which you are totally surprised and you have to think fast to right the situation. This thought came into my mind today and I do not know why, but it was triggered by an incident which happened around 1970.
The place was Mercer College where I was taking a class required for accreditation to teach in the state of Georgia. The class was how to teach Social Studies to young children. On this day I was teaching a lesson with children who were all new to me. They had been selected for the demonstration and we were in a large room with an audience of other students and our professor. The demonstration was being video taped.
The lesson was on Wants and Needs. I was setting up the idea of what things a family might want and things they really needed. I described this large family of around eight children and where they lived, etc. Then I asked the question. What things do you think this family might need?
I looked around at the children and waited for a response. Then one little voice piped up with, "a new baby". The audience began laughing. I could not laugh! I had to think fast of how to turn this around. I cannot now remember how I got the lesson back on track, but I did get an A for that class.
I call myself a slow reactor. Of course in some cases you would be toast if you did not physically react very quickly but in other ways I think about the situation before getting in any deeper. One example of that, and I am not proud of the way I handled this, was when my husband proposed marriage. I simply got up from my seat and said, "I need to go home now". I was totally unprepared for the question and any further discussion I could not handle. We had been dating for three months and marriage was one thing I had not expected to be in my plans. My big plan was to finish college.
Eventually I did marry this veteran of World War II, and one of the deciding factors was his wisdom. One day I was playing tennis on campus. He was a student there and had a part time job taking care of the tennis courts. I was sitting on the grass taking a break. He came over to chat with me and a fellow student came over to join us. The fellow student was no stranger to me so he proceeded to ask me to go on a Saturday night hay ride that one of his clubs was sponsoring. I already had a "sort of" date with the grounds keeper. I was put on the spot, so he, (my future husband) realizing my dilemma quickly spoke up and said "Why don't you go, it would be fun". So, having been saved from an embarrassing situation, I accepted his invitation. The young man who invited me never knew what had just transpired. But I saw that this quick thinking young man with the cool head was a worthy friend.
Analyzing a situation before making a decision, or before responding is a good quality, and amounts to what I call, keeping your cool.
The book of Proverbs is full of pithy sayings and one of them applies to this situation. Chapter 13:2, a "The tongue of the wise useth knowledge aright.." Another one I like is Ch. 15: a " a soft answer turneth away wrath". Another example, Ch15: 7 a "The lips of the wise disperse knowledge".
Life is full of moments when decisions for survival take quick action, whereas responding with words can have an entirely different consequence. Many of the crime programs on television would be non existent if the actors had to respond with a soft answer. Emotions can get in the way and blot out placid responses. It is not easy to keep your cool when a heated discussion is taking place. I know that Abraham Lincoln read his Bible a lot, in fact he used it to learn to read, having few other books at his disposal. He was known to have a cool head and he held his counsel in so many situations. He was also a great story teller having learned that from his father. He was once insulted when a man said he was common looking. His response was, " I suppose the good Lord liked common people as he made so many of us". How can one fight when they get a response like that?
Saturday, September 29, 2012
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Learning From Children
Two interests have dominated my life, teaching and writing. I came into each from the back door. When I was a young college student I ran from teaching, literally. I left my home state and traveled by train to Texas to live on Rodd Field in Corpus Christi, all to escape taking a job teaching, much as Jonah fled God's command. I would never compare my situation to the minor prophet Jonah, rather to say I tried to escape my real calling as did Jonah. Eventually I made my way back to college to finish my studies and yes, to become a teacher. Jonah had a more exciting journey on board a ship heading for Tarshish, but eventually he too made his way to Ninevah to preach to the people there. The whole story of Jonah is told in the book of Jonah in the old testament of the Bible.
Once I began my first job of teaching I found it to be the most exciting and rewarding job I could ever have found. Working with young children is very stimulating and the opportunities for creativity are endless. The young children I had in my first class back in 1949, were so eager to learn and so compliant with my instruction that it made each day a new adventure. After four years teaching in the Applachian mountains of Kentucky, I went with my husband to the eastern shore of Maryland to live. After my own little family was up and going I returned to classroom teaching and that brings me to the point of this writing.
In one of my classes in Severna Park, Maryland, near the town of Annapolis, one of my students was a little girl named Tammy Lynn. The year was 1968. Tammy's father was a scientist and he traveled the oceans. When he returned from one of his trips he brought back a jar of water, which Tammy brought to school for show and tell. This was no ordinary jar of water. It had been scooped up from the Sargasso Sea in the region of calms in the north Atlantic, northeast of the West Indies. It is noted for its abundance of sargassum. The sargassum is a brown seaweed found there, thus the name of the sea. This seaweed has flattened, leaflike outgrowths and special branches with berry-like air sacks which float on the water.
I had never heard of the Sargasso sea. We all learned that day from Tammy in show and tell. Tammy had a talented older sister named Jo. Jo was very creative and she made something for Tammy to give me at Christmas. It was a clipboard with one of Jo's creative designs on the back. I have kept it all these years and I treasure it for itself and for reminding me of how even a little child shall lead them.
I now will take a big leap into writing, though I came into it gradually. I have always had a penchant for writing. When I was a fourth grader my teacher wrote across the top of my creative writing efforts "what an imagination". I suppose you could take that two ways, but it is my earliest memory of writing. The second one was when I was asked to write the prophecy of our senior class. No doubt I got very creative with that also, but I do not have a copy to prove or disprove it.
When I was married at the age of 23, I began keeping a journal. I kept an account of our spending as we had to make our salary as teachers last for a month at a time. Later on I kept a journal when my children were born and it has great gaps in it as children have a way of keeping you too busy to do much writing.
In graduate school I took a class in children's literature and did some writing in that class which was designed to make you research facts for your writing. I wrote a story I called Boston Ruby about Revolutionary Times.
Later when I was teaching in Georgia I took a class in writing for children at Emory in an evening class. My students were also writers, as early as January in their first year. So writing has become a part of my life. At the present time I am in the northeast Georgia Writers Group and this has been an impetus for even more writing.
To get back to the learning connection, teaching and writing, I am now in a group writing effort in fiction. Fiction is not my first love and I have had to switch my thinking in this collaborative effort. In the story a couple were ordering lunch and they were in a restaurant called the Vortex, which has implications for the plot in the story. It was my turn in the story and I had the man order lunch for them both. He was having a big burger so I had him order from the menu "hero tornado" and for the lady Sargasso soup. The names were used as descriptions for the role of the characters, or the role as I see it at this point of the story. It is a fun effort and in no way is it intended to be the epic novel of 2012.
So, learning about the Sargasso sea in 1968 from one of my young students has come back to find a place in 2012 in a contemporary story. Childen are teachers even when they are just being themselves. Back in 1949 I was in a volunteer group of teachers for a child study program. We each selected a student in our class to study via anecdotal notes. The purpose, though unspoken was designed to make us more observant of our students and to better understand their behavior. It was sponsored by the Child Development Group at the University of Maryland. It was one of the most helpful efforts in my after college years.
Never discount children as teachers . They may make you laugh, or want to cry. They can teach us many things and can do it in many different ways. They are very truthful and forgiving and also the future of our world.
Once I began my first job of teaching I found it to be the most exciting and rewarding job I could ever have found. Working with young children is very stimulating and the opportunities for creativity are endless. The young children I had in my first class back in 1949, were so eager to learn and so compliant with my instruction that it made each day a new adventure. After four years teaching in the Applachian mountains of Kentucky, I went with my husband to the eastern shore of Maryland to live. After my own little family was up and going I returned to classroom teaching and that brings me to the point of this writing.
In one of my classes in Severna Park, Maryland, near the town of Annapolis, one of my students was a little girl named Tammy Lynn. The year was 1968. Tammy's father was a scientist and he traveled the oceans. When he returned from one of his trips he brought back a jar of water, which Tammy brought to school for show and tell. This was no ordinary jar of water. It had been scooped up from the Sargasso Sea in the region of calms in the north Atlantic, northeast of the West Indies. It is noted for its abundance of sargassum. The sargassum is a brown seaweed found there, thus the name of the sea. This seaweed has flattened, leaflike outgrowths and special branches with berry-like air sacks which float on the water.
I had never heard of the Sargasso sea. We all learned that day from Tammy in show and tell. Tammy had a talented older sister named Jo. Jo was very creative and she made something for Tammy to give me at Christmas. It was a clipboard with one of Jo's creative designs on the back. I have kept it all these years and I treasure it for itself and for reminding me of how even a little child shall lead them.I now will take a big leap into writing, though I came into it gradually. I have always had a penchant for writing. When I was a fourth grader my teacher wrote across the top of my creative writing efforts "what an imagination". I suppose you could take that two ways, but it is my earliest memory of writing. The second one was when I was asked to write the prophecy of our senior class. No doubt I got very creative with that also, but I do not have a copy to prove or disprove it.
When I was married at the age of 23, I began keeping a journal. I kept an account of our spending as we had to make our salary as teachers last for a month at a time. Later on I kept a journal when my children were born and it has great gaps in it as children have a way of keeping you too busy to do much writing.
In graduate school I took a class in children's literature and did some writing in that class which was designed to make you research facts for your writing. I wrote a story I called Boston Ruby about Revolutionary Times.
Later when I was teaching in Georgia I took a class in writing for children at Emory in an evening class. My students were also writers, as early as January in their first year. So writing has become a part of my life. At the present time I am in the northeast Georgia Writers Group and this has been an impetus for even more writing.
To get back to the learning connection, teaching and writing, I am now in a group writing effort in fiction. Fiction is not my first love and I have had to switch my thinking in this collaborative effort. In the story a couple were ordering lunch and they were in a restaurant called the Vortex, which has implications for the plot in the story. It was my turn in the story and I had the man order lunch for them both. He was having a big burger so I had him order from the menu "hero tornado" and for the lady Sargasso soup. The names were used as descriptions for the role of the characters, or the role as I see it at this point of the story. It is a fun effort and in no way is it intended to be the epic novel of 2012.
So, learning about the Sargasso sea in 1968 from one of my young students has come back to find a place in 2012 in a contemporary story. Childen are teachers even when they are just being themselves. Back in 1949 I was in a volunteer group of teachers for a child study program. We each selected a student in our class to study via anecdotal notes. The purpose, though unspoken was designed to make us more observant of our students and to better understand their behavior. It was sponsored by the Child Development Group at the University of Maryland. It was one of the most helpful efforts in my after college years.
Never discount children as teachers . They may make you laugh, or want to cry. They can teach us many things and can do it in many different ways. They are very truthful and forgiving and also the future of our world.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Split Second Decisions
All day long we make quick decisions in the bat of an eye, and most of them are of no consequence so we give it no lingering thought. There are times however, when they can mean life or death.
I well remember an incident long ago in Ky. Most of us who travel where the roads hug the mountains can remember seeing signs saying "falling rock area". The incident I remember was told by the survivors in an accident on one of those roads in Kentucky. A family with a baby was traveling in such an area when the passenger in the front seat handed a baby to someone in the back seat. Just as she had handed the baby over and turned around a huge falling rock landed on her spot in the car. The blow ended her life and wrecked the car. No one else was seriously injured. Had she not handed the baby to the back she too would have been killed. Who knows what prompted her to transfer the baby to the back, it is a mystery. But it happened in a split second, when they were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and she had no knowledge of the rock hurtling toward her.
There must be millions of occasions when a split second has made all the difference, for good or for worse. It only takes a second to say "I do", but just think of all the people who have said it and lived to regret it! On the other hand there are just as many who never think of it so much as the consequence was for good.
Many split decisions are simply survival reactions. Once when my second grandson was around three I took him to a park nearby. This is a very pleasant place to go as it has a nice playground for youngsters and a long paved walking loop for adults. Also in a farm next to the park you can observe many Emus walking about. We had left the playground and were walking on the paved walk toward the Emu farm when suddenly out of seemingly no where, a vicious dog came speeding toward us. Without even thinking about it I picked up my grandson and turned my back to the oncoming dog. He lunged and caught me from the back, tearing my clothes and bruising my skin. Of course I was screaming for help and a man came from his house next to the park and retrieved his dog. I quickly left the park and headed home to call the sheriff and report the incident. A second before the dog appeared snarling and threatening, I had no thoughts of picking up my grandson and whirling away from the oncoming dog. It was a survival decision.
Another survival decision may or may not have made all the difference in an accident in 1970 one December day. My husband was traveling back home from a business trip in south Georgia. He was traveling west on a small concrete bridge with space only for two cars and a concrete railing. From the opposite direction came a flatbed truck with a tractor on the back. We know from witness behind my husband's car, that the truck was speeding and blew a tire causing the driver to lose control of his truck. The tractor bumped up as to fall over and then settled back down. Immediately it bumped again and this time fell onto the approaching car. Witnesses say they saw the brake lights come on just before the tractor fell. This leads me to believe that my husband was making a split decision to stop and hope to avoid the falling tractor. Would it have made a difference if he had sped up and gotten past the place of impact? Who knows? There is no way of knowing, but it was a survival decision.
There is no way to know if speeding up or slowing down would have saved his life, perhaps it did not matter as it may have happened anyway. What we do know is the impact his leaving has had on his family. I have always heard that in a vehicle accident both drivers are at fault. I do not believe that. The previous story is an example of one driver being an innocent victim. I have another one which happened back in 2007 on April Fools day, but this was no trick.
On a drizzly day around 12:30 I was traveling west on highway 369 heading for home and in no hurry. Suddenly there was a black blur in front of me. My air bag deployed and the car was filled with powder. I could not breath, I was struggling to get out when a lady came and started helping. What was the black blur? It was a car coming from the opposite direction. He had rounded a curve too fast, lost control and over corrected causing him to cut right in front of me. I survived thanks to the expertise of the medical staff and surgeons at Northeast Georgia Medical Center. And I must say also to the love and care of my family, over a long period of time. How could that accident have been my fault?
I once heard a wise man say that when he got behind the wheel of his car his only thought was to drive safely and arrive safely. I like that. But even when you do just that, you may still be a victim of a split second decision or of a careless, thoughtless deed. Our legislators are always working on laws to make citizens safe. It may not be perfect but at times we need laws to discourage careless acts when our cars are out in heavy traffic. I do not see how we can legislate wise split second decisions. That is part of life.
I well remember an incident long ago in Ky. Most of us who travel where the roads hug the mountains can remember seeing signs saying "falling rock area". The incident I remember was told by the survivors in an accident on one of those roads in Kentucky. A family with a baby was traveling in such an area when the passenger in the front seat handed a baby to someone in the back seat. Just as she had handed the baby over and turned around a huge falling rock landed on her spot in the car. The blow ended her life and wrecked the car. No one else was seriously injured. Had she not handed the baby to the back she too would have been killed. Who knows what prompted her to transfer the baby to the back, it is a mystery. But it happened in a split second, when they were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and she had no knowledge of the rock hurtling toward her.
There must be millions of occasions when a split second has made all the difference, for good or for worse. It only takes a second to say "I do", but just think of all the people who have said it and lived to regret it! On the other hand there are just as many who never think of it so much as the consequence was for good.
Many split decisions are simply survival reactions. Once when my second grandson was around three I took him to a park nearby. This is a very pleasant place to go as it has a nice playground for youngsters and a long paved walking loop for adults. Also in a farm next to the park you can observe many Emus walking about. We had left the playground and were walking on the paved walk toward the Emu farm when suddenly out of seemingly no where, a vicious dog came speeding toward us. Without even thinking about it I picked up my grandson and turned my back to the oncoming dog. He lunged and caught me from the back, tearing my clothes and bruising my skin. Of course I was screaming for help and a man came from his house next to the park and retrieved his dog. I quickly left the park and headed home to call the sheriff and report the incident. A second before the dog appeared snarling and threatening, I had no thoughts of picking up my grandson and whirling away from the oncoming dog. It was a survival decision.
Another survival decision may or may not have made all the difference in an accident in 1970 one December day. My husband was traveling back home from a business trip in south Georgia. He was traveling west on a small concrete bridge with space only for two cars and a concrete railing. From the opposite direction came a flatbed truck with a tractor on the back. We know from witness behind my husband's car, that the truck was speeding and blew a tire causing the driver to lose control of his truck. The tractor bumped up as to fall over and then settled back down. Immediately it bumped again and this time fell onto the approaching car. Witnesses say they saw the brake lights come on just before the tractor fell. This leads me to believe that my husband was making a split decision to stop and hope to avoid the falling tractor. Would it have made a difference if he had sped up and gotten past the place of impact? Who knows? There is no way of knowing, but it was a survival decision.
There is no way to know if speeding up or slowing down would have saved his life, perhaps it did not matter as it may have happened anyway. What we do know is the impact his leaving has had on his family. I have always heard that in a vehicle accident both drivers are at fault. I do not believe that. The previous story is an example of one driver being an innocent victim. I have another one which happened back in 2007 on April Fools day, but this was no trick.
On a drizzly day around 12:30 I was traveling west on highway 369 heading for home and in no hurry. Suddenly there was a black blur in front of me. My air bag deployed and the car was filled with powder. I could not breath, I was struggling to get out when a lady came and started helping. What was the black blur? It was a car coming from the opposite direction. He had rounded a curve too fast, lost control and over corrected causing him to cut right in front of me. I survived thanks to the expertise of the medical staff and surgeons at Northeast Georgia Medical Center. And I must say also to the love and care of my family, over a long period of time. How could that accident have been my fault?
I once heard a wise man say that when he got behind the wheel of his car his only thought was to drive safely and arrive safely. I like that. But even when you do just that, you may still be a victim of a split second decision or of a careless, thoughtless deed. Our legislators are always working on laws to make citizens safe. It may not be perfect but at times we need laws to discourage careless acts when our cars are out in heavy traffic. I do not see how we can legislate wise split second decisions. That is part of life.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Highway Hazards
Today as I leisurely drove home from a trip into town I noted the speed sign, signaled a left turn and went into the left lane. Something about that simple act triggered a flashback.
It was 1959 or 60. I was driving down four lane, Ritchie Highway in Glen Burnie, Maryland. This was in the days before seat belts and car seats for kids. My children, five and three, were seated beside me on the passenger seat. I was driving in the right hand outer lane with a car on my left, and a strip mall was on my right. Suddenly the car on my left did a fast turn in front of me and went into the strip mall. As I jammed on my brakes, I threw my right arm out to protect my children. I was so shocked by the irresponsible driver that I pulled in beside him, stepped out of my car and began screaming at him. "You could have caused me to kill my children"! I think I repeated it a few times, then got back into the car to calm down before continuing my trip.
It is amazing that there are not more car accidents than we now have. Back in the mountains of Kentucky, where I grew up, it was a common event to get behind a big coal truck loaded down with coal and traveling in front of you, over the mountain. At that time when drivers went over the mountain at night it was common practice to blink your bright lights as you approached a curve. This was for your protection as well as for any oncoming traffic on the other side of the curve, which was hidden by the mountain. I did not drive at that time. Our family had one car and it belonged to my father, who used it for work. The older boys had no car until they went to work to earn money to buy their own. There was always an uncertain time element involved when crossing a mountain. If you got behind a coal truck you just had to be patient as they could not quickly shift gears and make any speed when traveling up or down the mountain. The reality was, if you left our little town you had to go over a mountain!
When I was a young bride my husband did all of the driving as I had not yet learned that skill. One winter we were going over White mountain returning home from a visit into West Virginia. The weather was bad and we both had to get home, after the holidays for our teaching jobs. When a road became hazardous the State Patrol would close the road and you simply had to turn around and go back. On that day our car was the last one to cross over into Kentucky. We were young and foolish and the good Lord was surely looking after us. As my husband gripped the steering wheel, I gripped the door handle, all ready to jump out should we start sliding over the mountain. No doubt at that point I was only concentrating on my own safety! We did make it safely home but we learned to plan more carefully on future trips. But remember that we did not have the advantage of weather reports in the late 1940's. You found out what the weather was like when you looked out the window in the morning.
My mother never learned to drive. She was adventurous enough to try at least once to see if she could handle it. It was my father who could not handle it! My oldest sister Katrine, did drive, so my father must have taught her. It fell to her to give my mother her first and only driving lesson. I was a new baby, wrapped in blankets and lying on the back seat of my dad's Ford Model T, on that fateful day. My father's side job was selling milk from his cows. He had a milk truck which my brothers used for deliveries, but for some reason the back floor of the old Ford Model T was covered with empty milk bottles.
I suppose all was going well until my mother got excited and jammed on the brakes. Well, you can guess what happened to me in the back seat when the force of stopping so fast, dislodged me from my resting place and onto the empty milk bottles. I did have a good set of lungs and I used them! That was when the lesson came to an end. Of course my mother had to tell my father what had happened. His reaction had the intended effect. He said not a word to my mother - for four days!
About six years later when baby number eight was around four years old, he was traveling with my third oldest brother on a milk delivery. They had stopped at the commissary to confer with my father about the delivery. The truck was parked facing the edge of a small precipice above a creek. My older brother went into my father's office to ask about the delivery and left my four year old brother in the back of the truck. If he had stayed in the back there would be no story. But it is difficult for a curious four year old to ignore all of those interesting gadgets on the dashboard. So, over the seat he scrambled and began to play drive. Drive he did, forward over the bank and into the creek. The bad part was that in the back were several large metal milk cans filled with milk, one with buttermilk. Of course you can imagine what happened when the caps came off the cans! I suppose my older brother received his punishment in triplicate as he had to clean up the car.
My driving stories would not be complete if I did not tell about me taking my daughter to Stone Mountain State Park in 1970. It was not crowded during the week back then and was a good safe place to learn to drive. All went well until we left the park at the end of the lesson. She drove through the open gates past the guard house and right over the mailbox, knocking it down. She was driving a large car which I had recently bought and it did a good job on the mailbox. I went to the guard and explained, offering to pay for a new mailbox. From his answer I gathered that it was not the first time the mail box took a hit. He said, "Oh don't worry about it."
Looking back at the incident on Ritchie highway, I guess road rage is nothing new, even if it is justified. It remains one of the hazards of driving.
It was 1959 or 60. I was driving down four lane, Ritchie Highway in Glen Burnie, Maryland. This was in the days before seat belts and car seats for kids. My children, five and three, were seated beside me on the passenger seat. I was driving in the right hand outer lane with a car on my left, and a strip mall was on my right. Suddenly the car on my left did a fast turn in front of me and went into the strip mall. As I jammed on my brakes, I threw my right arm out to protect my children. I was so shocked by the irresponsible driver that I pulled in beside him, stepped out of my car and began screaming at him. "You could have caused me to kill my children"! I think I repeated it a few times, then got back into the car to calm down before continuing my trip.
It is amazing that there are not more car accidents than we now have. Back in the mountains of Kentucky, where I grew up, it was a common event to get behind a big coal truck loaded down with coal and traveling in front of you, over the mountain. At that time when drivers went over the mountain at night it was common practice to blink your bright lights as you approached a curve. This was for your protection as well as for any oncoming traffic on the other side of the curve, which was hidden by the mountain. I did not drive at that time. Our family had one car and it belonged to my father, who used it for work. The older boys had no car until they went to work to earn money to buy their own. There was always an uncertain time element involved when crossing a mountain. If you got behind a coal truck you just had to be patient as they could not quickly shift gears and make any speed when traveling up or down the mountain. The reality was, if you left our little town you had to go over a mountain!
When I was a young bride my husband did all of the driving as I had not yet learned that skill. One winter we were going over White mountain returning home from a visit into West Virginia. The weather was bad and we both had to get home, after the holidays for our teaching jobs. When a road became hazardous the State Patrol would close the road and you simply had to turn around and go back. On that day our car was the last one to cross over into Kentucky. We were young and foolish and the good Lord was surely looking after us. As my husband gripped the steering wheel, I gripped the door handle, all ready to jump out should we start sliding over the mountain. No doubt at that point I was only concentrating on my own safety! We did make it safely home but we learned to plan more carefully on future trips. But remember that we did not have the advantage of weather reports in the late 1940's. You found out what the weather was like when you looked out the window in the morning.
My mother never learned to drive. She was adventurous enough to try at least once to see if she could handle it. It was my father who could not handle it! My oldest sister Katrine, did drive, so my father must have taught her. It fell to her to give my mother her first and only driving lesson. I was a new baby, wrapped in blankets and lying on the back seat of my dad's Ford Model T, on that fateful day. My father's side job was selling milk from his cows. He had a milk truck which my brothers used for deliveries, but for some reason the back floor of the old Ford Model T was covered with empty milk bottles.
I suppose all was going well until my mother got excited and jammed on the brakes. Well, you can guess what happened to me in the back seat when the force of stopping so fast, dislodged me from my resting place and onto the empty milk bottles. I did have a good set of lungs and I used them! That was when the lesson came to an end. Of course my mother had to tell my father what had happened. His reaction had the intended effect. He said not a word to my mother - for four days!
About six years later when baby number eight was around four years old, he was traveling with my third oldest brother on a milk delivery. They had stopped at the commissary to confer with my father about the delivery. The truck was parked facing the edge of a small precipice above a creek. My older brother went into my father's office to ask about the delivery and left my four year old brother in the back of the truck. If he had stayed in the back there would be no story. But it is difficult for a curious four year old to ignore all of those interesting gadgets on the dashboard. So, over the seat he scrambled and began to play drive. Drive he did, forward over the bank and into the creek. The bad part was that in the back were several large metal milk cans filled with milk, one with buttermilk. Of course you can imagine what happened when the caps came off the cans! I suppose my older brother received his punishment in triplicate as he had to clean up the car.
My driving stories would not be complete if I did not tell about me taking my daughter to Stone Mountain State Park in 1970. It was not crowded during the week back then and was a good safe place to learn to drive. All went well until we left the park at the end of the lesson. She drove through the open gates past the guard house and right over the mailbox, knocking it down. She was driving a large car which I had recently bought and it did a good job on the mailbox. I went to the guard and explained, offering to pay for a new mailbox. From his answer I gathered that it was not the first time the mail box took a hit. He said, "Oh don't worry about it."
Looking back at the incident on Ritchie highway, I guess road rage is nothing new, even if it is justified. It remains one of the hazards of driving.
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Not Antique, Just Treasured
The Antique Roadshow on public television is probably the most viewed of all the shows on television. When some people come to the roadshow they are rewarded by being told that the item they had purchased because they liked it, is of really great monetary value. I often wonder how many of those people try to capitalize on this new gained knowledge by selling their treasure for profit. Quite often it is a relic which has some significance to their family and they say they will not be selling it. At some point in the future someone else in the family who inherits it may feel differently and be happy to sell the once treasured item.
I have many family connected items which I would never want to exchange for cash. One such thing is an oak doll bed which is around eighty years old. My father had a carpenter make it for me when I was a little girl. My mother held onto it for years and when I established a home of my own, I took it under my roof. Since my first child was a girl, it got some use from her when she was in the doll playing stage. My son had no interest in it when he came along.
Then when my son and daughter came of age to have children and did, the three turned out to be boys, so my grandsons did not make use of the old, oak bed. Before my first grandson came along I gave the bed to my daugher in case she had a daughter. She made some bed covers for it and it sat like that for a long time. This picture shows it all gussied up and sitting among the boy toys.
It must have been put aside for storage and probably forgotten. Then one day my daughter was backing out of her garage and noticed a stack of things which had been set out for garbage collection. Right on the top was the old oak doll bed. She stopped her car, got out, and rescued it from sure destruction. Shortly thereafter she gave it back to me since he expected no little girls to play with it.
It eventually made its way back to me, the original owner and it has been sitting in a rarely used bedroom for at least twenty years. I kept meaning to have the loose leg repaired but as you can see from this picture it has not happened. However that changed. I really had forgotten about it being up there with the broken leg, until a crew of installers came to my house this month. Having workers in your house calls for some rearranging when new windows are being put in all over the house. As I moved some things out of the way I saw this doll bed and brought it down, hoping that someone with a hammer and a willing heart would take pity and repair it.
Just as I had hoped my son-in-aw saw it ( out in full view) and it reminded him that he had said he would repair it "some day". And he did repair it. It is not meant for a one hundred pound dolly, but otherwise is very usable.
This act of kindness on his part was all I needed to motivate me to start sewing on some bed covers for this little doll bed.
I have many family connected items which I would never want to exchange for cash. One such thing is an oak doll bed which is around eighty years old. My father had a carpenter make it for me when I was a little girl. My mother held onto it for years and when I established a home of my own, I took it under my roof. Since my first child was a girl, it got some use from her when she was in the doll playing stage. My son had no interest in it when he came along.
Then when my son and daughter came of age to have children and did, the three turned out to be boys, so my grandsons did not make use of the old, oak bed. Before my first grandson came along I gave the bed to my daugher in case she had a daughter. She made some bed covers for it and it sat like that for a long time. This picture shows it all gussied up and sitting among the boy toys.
It must have been put aside for storage and probably forgotten. Then one day my daughter was backing out of her garage and noticed a stack of things which had been set out for garbage collection. Right on the top was the old oak doll bed. She stopped her car, got out, and rescued it from sure destruction. Shortly thereafter she gave it back to me since he expected no little girls to play with it.
It eventually made its way back to me, the original owner and it has been sitting in a rarely used bedroom for at least twenty years. I kept meaning to have the loose leg repaired but as you can see from this picture it has not happened. However that changed. I really had forgotten about it being up there with the broken leg, until a crew of installers came to my house this month. Having workers in your house calls for some rearranging when new windows are being put in all over the house. As I moved some things out of the way I saw this doll bed and brought it down, hoping that someone with a hammer and a willing heart would take pity and repair it.
Just as I had hoped my son-in-aw saw it ( out in full view) and it reminded him that he had said he would repair it "some day". And he did repair it. It is not meant for a one hundred pound dolly, but otherwise is very usable.
This act of kindness on his part was all I needed to motivate me to start sewing on some bed covers for this little doll bed.
How We Used to Deal With Stress
My niece, who lives in Arizona sent me an email with a lot of pictures about "how it used to be over fifty years ago". One showed a swing on a porch and people grouped around (and in) it. It was a very relaxed scene.
In the 1930's we had a very long swing on our front porch. This swing was painted green. A lot of us could safely sit in it and swing or just sit and talk. Having a swing like that was a real stress reliever. You could swing it out or talk it out. That is only of the things that I believe accounts for us in that time, to not need pills to regulate our stress levels. In fact it was not known that such things were in existence, if in fact they were.
Television had not been invented, and in some homes, no radios, we were forced to find our own entertainment with board games and made up games. We did not have a lot of free time on our hands as everyone in our family had to pitch in to keep things running smoothly.
During my growing up years we did not have super highways to get us to far away places so folks tended to live in the same area most of their lives. We also did not have the kind of cars to travel such highways. Families in small towns led church and school centered lives, where activities kept you close to home and within walking distance of the events. After the ford cars came into production any family who had a ford, just had one car. Not a lot of women could drive - my mother never learned to drive. All of her children did however, as they grew up, moved away, and it became necessary for them to get to work, etc.
People depended upon each other for many things. Families shared chores, as well as crops they grew. Our way of life gradually began to change. I well remember when oleo margarine came into being. It came in a plastic bag with a little capsule inside which was broken and then the color in it was kneaded into white oleo to make it yellow like butter. Because we had cows we always had butter but when we no longer had cows and lived in a small town and no longer on a farm, a lot of things changed, including the switch to oleo.
World War II initiated a movement toward the cities where manufacturing was in full force creating materials needed to fight the war. We gradually were being introduced to newer things, newer situations, newer people and more stress. Technology was not standing still during this upheaval, nor was medical science. As the need arose, the solution was being created to meet it. Life gradually became more stressful and a pill was there to relieve the stress or pain or what ever presented itself. The family unit was being scattered and the comfort which families provided for each other was being scattered also.
Not that there was no stress, just that we had another way of relieving it. When my brother Bill was away during the war and in a far eastern section of the world, he could not tell our mother where he was, as letters were censored. So, before he left they devised a system whereby he could let her know where he was without divulging it to others. Each paragraph in his letters would begin with the first letter of the place where he was, and she could string them together and find on a map, just where he was. This gave her a sense of some control over the situation, thus somewhat relieving the stress of not knowing exactly where he was during the war.
A lot of stress we create for outselves. Living in the time of my childhood there was less to distract you and make you worry. Of cource it could just have been my perception of how it was. But even if my parents were stressed they had no pills for it so an evening spent swinging and looking up at the stars was a nice quiet way to wind down from the day, and no pills were there to help. We had to find natural ways to calm ourselves down.
In the 1930's we had a very long swing on our front porch. This swing was painted green. A lot of us could safely sit in it and swing or just sit and talk. Having a swing like that was a real stress reliever. You could swing it out or talk it out. That is only of the things that I believe accounts for us in that time, to not need pills to regulate our stress levels. In fact it was not known that such things were in existence, if in fact they were.
Television had not been invented, and in some homes, no radios, we were forced to find our own entertainment with board games and made up games. We did not have a lot of free time on our hands as everyone in our family had to pitch in to keep things running smoothly.
During my growing up years we did not have super highways to get us to far away places so folks tended to live in the same area most of their lives. We also did not have the kind of cars to travel such highways. Families in small towns led church and school centered lives, where activities kept you close to home and within walking distance of the events. After the ford cars came into production any family who had a ford, just had one car. Not a lot of women could drive - my mother never learned to drive. All of her children did however, as they grew up, moved away, and it became necessary for them to get to work, etc.
People depended upon each other for many things. Families shared chores, as well as crops they grew. Our way of life gradually began to change. I well remember when oleo margarine came into being. It came in a plastic bag with a little capsule inside which was broken and then the color in it was kneaded into white oleo to make it yellow like butter. Because we had cows we always had butter but when we no longer had cows and lived in a small town and no longer on a farm, a lot of things changed, including the switch to oleo.
World War II initiated a movement toward the cities where manufacturing was in full force creating materials needed to fight the war. We gradually were being introduced to newer things, newer situations, newer people and more stress. Technology was not standing still during this upheaval, nor was medical science. As the need arose, the solution was being created to meet it. Life gradually became more stressful and a pill was there to relieve the stress or pain or what ever presented itself. The family unit was being scattered and the comfort which families provided for each other was being scattered also.
Not that there was no stress, just that we had another way of relieving it. When my brother Bill was away during the war and in a far eastern section of the world, he could not tell our mother where he was, as letters were censored. So, before he left they devised a system whereby he could let her know where he was without divulging it to others. Each paragraph in his letters would begin with the first letter of the place where he was, and she could string them together and find on a map, just where he was. This gave her a sense of some control over the situation, thus somewhat relieving the stress of not knowing exactly where he was during the war.
A lot of stress we create for outselves. Living in the time of my childhood there was less to distract you and make you worry. Of cource it could just have been my perception of how it was. But even if my parents were stressed they had no pills for it so an evening spent swinging and looking up at the stars was a nice quiet way to wind down from the day, and no pills were there to help. We had to find natural ways to calm ourselves down.
Friday, July 20, 2012
Darn Deer
My confidence in gardening has just been shot to - well somewhere!
This morning I found a zillion deer tracks inside my electric fenced area of my raised beds. They really like my tomatoes, but so do I !!!! If they like cucumbers they will not find any in my garden. I know this because I cannot find any either! I did find one about two weeks ago that was about fourteen inches long, and it was put into bread and butter pickles. Now I have a second one that I picked today. I hate to give up on growing this particular type of cucumber as they have thin skins and no seeds to speak of, thus they make great pickles. Years ago I grew them very successfully, but this is the third year that they have failed to produce.
To add insult to injury, it appears that the deer have stripped my Muscadine vines of their grapes, and they have not even ripened yet! I still have two vines which have prize grapes, to me. They are large and purple and taste so wonderful. The deer may be avoiding them because they are in a spot away from the ones along the road. My neighbors are always telling me that they see deer in my vineyard but I cannot see the vines from my house, so I miss a lot of those sightings. A few days ago I did see a doe with her new babies. They still had spots on them, and they did not linger there when they saw my car. It was fun to see but not so much fun that I want to repeat the experience at the expense of my lovely grapes.
So far the deer have not shown a taste for the kiwi. They may have tried them and were put off by the fuzzy skin, so at least I will get something from my garden. And it is little comfort to know they cannot climb the fig tree, since the birds can fly in and consume all they want from the top.
Oh well, there are a few measures I can take, like putting out milorganite where the tomatoes are and next year before grapes appear I can put it around in the vineyard. That has worked in the past around my flowers.
I will probably get no sympathy from my grandsons other grandmother who lives in West Milford, New Jersey. Not only does she have to share with the deer but bears as well. They have come up on her porch and bring their babies over to check out her yard. She takes measures to deter them, like garbage cans with special locks designed to keep out the bears. I think she is pretty brave to even live on that mountain, but she loves the lake that goes with it and it has been her home for too many years to even think of moving to the city.
I have had to adjust to planting flowers and plants which the deer do not like to feed on so I must shift gears and concentrate on growing things other than tomatoes. I have heard that if the deer are hungry enough they will eat anything. If that is true then I must raise the white flag and retreat to indoor hobbies and then perhaps I will look upon them as dear deer and not darn deer.
This morning I found a zillion deer tracks inside my electric fenced area of my raised beds. They really like my tomatoes, but so do I !!!! If they like cucumbers they will not find any in my garden. I know this because I cannot find any either! I did find one about two weeks ago that was about fourteen inches long, and it was put into bread and butter pickles. Now I have a second one that I picked today. I hate to give up on growing this particular type of cucumber as they have thin skins and no seeds to speak of, thus they make great pickles. Years ago I grew them very successfully, but this is the third year that they have failed to produce.
To add insult to injury, it appears that the deer have stripped my Muscadine vines of their grapes, and they have not even ripened yet! I still have two vines which have prize grapes, to me. They are large and purple and taste so wonderful. The deer may be avoiding them because they are in a spot away from the ones along the road. My neighbors are always telling me that they see deer in my vineyard but I cannot see the vines from my house, so I miss a lot of those sightings. A few days ago I did see a doe with her new babies. They still had spots on them, and they did not linger there when they saw my car. It was fun to see but not so much fun that I want to repeat the experience at the expense of my lovely grapes.
So far the deer have not shown a taste for the kiwi. They may have tried them and were put off by the fuzzy skin, so at least I will get something from my garden. And it is little comfort to know they cannot climb the fig tree, since the birds can fly in and consume all they want from the top.
Oh well, there are a few measures I can take, like putting out milorganite where the tomatoes are and next year before grapes appear I can put it around in the vineyard. That has worked in the past around my flowers.
I will probably get no sympathy from my grandsons other grandmother who lives in West Milford, New Jersey. Not only does she have to share with the deer but bears as well. They have come up on her porch and bring their babies over to check out her yard. She takes measures to deter them, like garbage cans with special locks designed to keep out the bears. I think she is pretty brave to even live on that mountain, but she loves the lake that goes with it and it has been her home for too many years to even think of moving to the city.
I have had to adjust to planting flowers and plants which the deer do not like to feed on so I must shift gears and concentrate on growing things other than tomatoes. I have heard that if the deer are hungry enough they will eat anything. If that is true then I must raise the white flag and retreat to indoor hobbies and then perhaps I will look upon them as dear deer and not darn deer.
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