Kellie Ann Turns 11 |
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Cake Diva
Long ago and far away...
Me around the age of 9, I still have the yellow painted chair.... |
Jamie around age11 with her Christmas bike That is the Clancy's house across the street |
When we were not fighting for Cathy's favor we would hang out in the neighborhood play hopscotch on the sidewalk or playing yard games like duck duck goose, hide and seek and the sort. Then the kids would all be called in for supper one by one till only one was left who would wander home out of boredome or lonliness. We also rode our bikes and skateboards and rollerskates. One day I was making my way out the front door in my way too big roller skates that I insisted on getting because they were the style I wanted at the right price but not in my size. I reasoned I would grow into them, and I did, but roller disco was way out of fashion by the time that finally happened. Anyhow, I was making my way to the sidewalk when I tipped my foot forward to use the stopper to help me get down the step only to realize as I pitched forward that Jamie and Cathy had unscrewed them and set me up to fall. I have mixed emotions about that...It was pretty classic I have to say and dang funny too, but I could have really hurt myself, and it was upsetting to me that risk of serious injury was not in any way an impediment to them in their quest for a laugh at my expense. That was life with Cathy though. I would get really bent out of shape if I was not honest with myself and admit that I would have done the same to Jamie if I had thought of it first.
One of the questions in this chapter is "How was your neighborhood lit, street lamps or porch lights? The answer is both. Actually there had at one time been no street light but then the Clancys petitioned to have one put in and once it was installed they realized that it shone right into their bedroom window. That is why we spent our summer evenings throwing rocks at it. Mr. Clancy promised cold hard cash to the one who could bust the bulb...We never did actually cash in on that. we were usually freaked out and forced indoors by the swarms of June bugs that circled the light before any of us could land the money shot. I know it seems like this chapter is all about the Clancy's but life on Plaza for us back then was.
Elementary Schools
Ranchvale Elementary School |
Sandia Elementary School |
Inside the school was a paved courtyard called the patio. After lunch we were corralled in the patio before going to our classrooms and we would hover around the edges to stay in the shade, the boys on one side and the girls on the other. It was in the patio that I did my stint as a "Jump Rope" monitor in the sixth grade. I handed out ropes to the younger kids, helped them jump rope and then made sure the ropes got put away at the end of P.E. It earned me a "Principals award for leadership" which I still have to this day, somewhere...
Corporal punishment was still practiced in my school and I got swats a couple of times, both for talking. Seems a little extreme now that I think about it, but I had been warned. In Mrs Anderson's 4th grade class if she had to get on to you for bad behavior your name got written on the board. If she called you out again you got a mark by your name. Three marks before the week was out meant you had to stay behind on Friday and get swats on your butt with a big wooden paddle. Nobody wanted to get into Mr. Simpson's 6th grade class. As the only male teacher in the school it was known that his paddling was the worst of them all.
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
Something New in the House
I clearly remember the day we got our first microwave, at least I clearly remember parts of it. I have a vague notion of waiting in somebody else's car parked on main street probably in front of the old Woolworth's Department store while Mom and her friend went inside to pick something up. I think that something was the microwave oven. I tried mightily to find a picture of the model we owned on line, but there was nothing that came close to that pale yellow dinosaur. I liked it because it was so user friendly. You only had to decide how long you wanted it to run, turn the knob to indicate the number of seconds/minutes required and then hit the start button.
( note the conspicuous absence of a key pad here) No fussing with power settings, or defrost settings, it was either on or off and that was it. And it was built like a tank too! I think we used it at home for a solid 15 years before it went on to Mom's shop to work for at least another 10 without ever needing to go to the repair shop. I say I remember the day clearly because I will never forget how Mom Jamie and I gathered around our new space age wonder and watched as it cooked bacon on a paper plate right before our eyes. We were shocked and amazed, and hooked! From then on why turn on the stove if what Jamie later dubbed the "Micro-slave" could do it quicker and on a paper plate that did not have to be washed. That I guess was the beginning of our paper plate streak too. It was before the whole recycle thing had caught on, we were not asked to reduce our garbage when I was a kid, but just to please keep it in its proper place, what with the Indian crying over the trash strewn highway and the little white on green stick figure throwing garbage in a can with the catch phrase "Pitch In" Or Woodsy the Owl "Give Hoot! Don't Pollute! But back in the early seventies recycling was on the hippie fringe and not mainstream at all. So we had our stack of paper plates and a stack of plastic paper plate holders that would keep the paper plate from catastrophic failure long enough to eat whatever was on it -piping hot and fresh from the microwave. I did not realize how enmeshed in my life the microwave had become until I moved from home for the first time when I was 17. I had graduated high school and moved to Amarillo with the girl across the street, Cathy Clancy. I was standing in the kitchen of our apartment with a saucepan of cold Kraft macaroni and cheese and not the faintest idea of how to re-heat it for my lunch. I went to throw it in the microwave when I realized I did not have one anymore and I could not imagine how I could heat it on the stove without cooking it to death. I called Mom long distance ( also a big deal back then)to find out how to reheat food without a microwave. Fortunately my life without a microwave did not last long. The staff at Cannon Chapel all chipped in and gave us a nice new ammana model for a wedding present. I will never forget one of the chaplains saying " A Microwave oven? Dang! All I got when I got married was a picture of Jesus at the rock!"
( note the conspicuous absence of a key pad here) No fussing with power settings, or defrost settings, it was either on or off and that was it. And it was built like a tank too! I think we used it at home for a solid 15 years before it went on to Mom's shop to work for at least another 10 without ever needing to go to the repair shop. I say I remember the day clearly because I will never forget how Mom Jamie and I gathered around our new space age wonder and watched as it cooked bacon on a paper plate right before our eyes. We were shocked and amazed, and hooked! From then on why turn on the stove if what Jamie later dubbed the "Micro-slave" could do it quicker and on a paper plate that did not have to be washed. That I guess was the beginning of our paper plate streak too. It was before the whole recycle thing had caught on, we were not asked to reduce our garbage when I was a kid, but just to please keep it in its proper place, what with the Indian crying over the trash strewn highway and the little white on green stick figure throwing garbage in a can with the catch phrase "Pitch In" Or Woodsy the Owl "Give Hoot! Don't Pollute! But back in the early seventies recycling was on the hippie fringe and not mainstream at all. So we had our stack of paper plates and a stack of plastic paper plate holders that would keep the paper plate from catastrophic failure long enough to eat whatever was on it -piping hot and fresh from the microwave. I did not realize how enmeshed in my life the microwave had become until I moved from home for the first time when I was 17. I had graduated high school and moved to Amarillo with the girl across the street, Cathy Clancy. I was standing in the kitchen of our apartment with a saucepan of cold Kraft macaroni and cheese and not the faintest idea of how to re-heat it for my lunch. I went to throw it in the microwave when I realized I did not have one anymore and I could not imagine how I could heat it on the stove without cooking it to death. I called Mom long distance ( also a big deal back then)to find out how to reheat food without a microwave. Fortunately my life without a microwave did not last long. The staff at Cannon Chapel all chipped in and gave us a nice new ammana model for a wedding present. I will never forget one of the chaplains saying " A Microwave oven? Dang! All I got when I got married was a picture of Jesus at the rock!"
Sunday, June 2, 2013
Just 30 more minutes...PULEEEEZE!
Medical Center |
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Home is where the Heart is
I have lived in many houses in many places, but one house rises above all others as the place I think of as home. None of us live there anymore. After Mom's stroke we sold it to a friend so that Mom could move to Roswell and live with Jamie. But I think it's safe to say that we all still think of it as home, even Zachary who found it to be the one constant in his nomadic Air Force Brat life. All roads led back to 921 West Plaza, even after I had grown and gone, when I said I was going home I meant this house. There are so many memories of our life there I cannot begin to capture them all, but here are the ones that come immediately to mind while looking at this picture.
First I remember our front yard which was made of white rocks instead of grass. Believe it or not we learned to run across those rocks into the melting summer asphalt and across the street to Cathy Clancy's house barefooted. The first trip of the summer was always the hardest, but by the time August rolled around we did not even give it a thought. You might think that because the yard was not lawn that maintenance would be minimal. You would be wrong. Weeds would come up all over the yard and because of the rocks you could not mow them down, they had to be pulled, or so Mom said. Have you tried pulling a weed out of the sun baked sod of the southern High Plains? I do not recommend it. Imagine my surprise when my soon to be husband Steve said "why don't you just spray them with round-up" What is this "round-up" of which you speak I asked. He turned me on to herbicide that day and it is one of the enduring reasons I love him so. Speaking of Steve, please notice the mimosa tree growing in the front. It is what you might call a late bloomer if you think it should be leafed out and in full flower in February. Steve thought so, and since it wasn't he attempted to cut it down. We put a stop to his butchery just in time. We pointed out that dormant and dead are two different things. We saved that tree and it still stands today, having grown big and sturdy enough to support the weight of three grand kids who climbed up into the cool shade of its canopy each in their turn.
To the left off the garage are buried three dogs, our beloved Panchito and Conejo, who grew up in that house right beside me and Jamie and Granny's dear Little Bit . We had thought we would put Milford's ashes there too, but now that the house is sold to another, we'll take Milford with us to our next and hopefully last house.
You can also see poking up over the roof of the house the swamp cooler. Its a bit of a dinosaur today, but when I was growing up all the houses had them, and what little I know about mechanics I learned working on the swamp cooler.
Now the road home leads to Roswell, a town I never lived in. It seems sad and strange not to take the familiar roads to my old town and my old neighborhood,, until I see all the familiar faces and things surrounded by new walls, and then I realize I am back home after all.
Friday, May 10, 2013
The bathroom sink
The book asked today if my dad shaved with a straight razor or an electric one. I do not know. I only vaguely recall ever seeing him shave. I was generally not out of bed yet when he was getting ready for the day, so do not recall how he shaved, though I know he must have. All men in the Air Force have to shave, and I do not recall ever seeing him with a beard, though I do remember his whiskers. What I can recall about my dad and the bathroom sink was the ever present bar of lava soap and the faint residue of motor oil and grease left behind after he did his best to scrub clean after work. The lava soap was not meant for us, but I used it anyway, who could resist soap with bits of rock embedded in it? And the truth be told, it worked pretty well after a hard day of making bricks out of the ashes at the bottom of the grill, or digging a hole in the ground at school. I liked getting my hands dirty back then and still do today. I have tried to wear gloves but they just wind up getting in my way or getting full of holes so on the rare occasion when I do try them out, they are ditched withing the first thirty minutes or so of any given project. As a result my hands have prematurely aged, but ainokea, it is what it is. I have more fun using my hands than admiring them. I suspect Daddy felt the same way about his hands, they were tools to be used and use them he did. I remember his finger nails were mangled on one hand after an industrial accident, the details of which escape me. Mom did tell me though that he had to have a skin graft on his fingertips and they took the skin from his chest, so from then on he had hairs that would grow from his fingertips, but because he used his hands so much they were always worn down. So how did he shave? I cannot say, but I think pumice soap and mangled fingernails is a reasonable substitute.
Update: After reading the blog to Mom she says that Daddy shaved with a saftey razor and shaving soap...
Update: After reading the blog to Mom she says that Daddy shaved with a saftey razor and shaving soap...
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