"The Kiss"

There isn't anything as joyous as my sister-in-laws gathered around the kitchen table munching and kvetching about loves and losses of their youth. Having only dated my husband, I'm teased about not having a "past". "Nothing exciting there to tell!" But once, I leaned in and lowered my voice, "Well there was this one New Year's Eve....."

I was a teen aged clod! I wore clodhopper shoes and ugly clothes that my mother picked out, glasses, two long braids, and well... you get the picture - a clod! Worse yet, I was a nerd clod. I was the only person in High School to still ride their bike to school, and in a skirt no less! I never wore pants! But I had my dreams, and they included a boy! All through school I had a heart hurting crush on a particularly handsome, ruddy complexioned red headed Scottish boy. Sigh! He also worked at the ice skating rink where my soon to be boyfriend worked as well. They played manly hockey together! He was completely forgotten by me as I fell in love at first sight with my guy, but I was all of a sudden noticed by him! Gone were the clodhopper shoes and ugly skirts, in were stylish platforms and bell bottoms. Out with the braids, in with the wedge. Out with the glasses, in with contacts and a little mascara. Shiny pink lip gloss and blue eye shadow, the transformation was complete. I was a cute girl, and he was paying me attention. A lot of attention. He was flirting with me! I had never experienced this before. My budding romance with my boyfriend was quiet and sweet. This was something different all together!
New Year's Eve party at the Scottish boy's house. Lots of twenty-somethings and kids from school gathered around the TV playing Pong on his new Atari. For my very first adult party I wore a sky blue wrap dress with high heels. I clung to my boyfriend's side. I was still a clod on the inside. Midnight. Happy New Year's! Confetti and balloons, a wonderfully sweet kiss from my boyfriend. I hear from across the crowded room, "Out of my way guys, I've been waiting for this moment all night." My boyfriend turns to greet other well wishers and moves away from me into the crowd. I turned to see who had made that statement. My eyes meet his. I can't look away, he is coming towards me! (I swear time was in slow motion) I couldn't hear anything but the sound of my heart in my ears, he wasn't stopping. He placed his hands on my shoulders and drew me close. I closed my eyes, his lips touched my ear, "How could I have missed seeing you all of these years." He pulled back slightly and kissed my cheek. "He's one lucky guy."

And so I have a "past". I keep it close to my heart. We are both married to the loves of our lives and have wonderful families; but I like to think that in that one suspended moment of time on New Year's Eve, there was a very special kiss for a girl who was beautiful.

My Mom

It seems I was always several steps behind girls my own age just enough so that I had trouble fitting in. The tears I would pour out to my Mom were never scoffed at. My illness as a child had isolated and broken something in me, and my mother understood this. She was there beside me in every adventure I wanted to experience, and she made them all memorable. When I wanted to be a Brownie more than anything, she became my Troop Leader. Word spread quickly about this most creative leader, and girls quickly signed up. Our fly-up ceremony was talked about for the next year. My mother had transformed our living room into a forrest complete with a looking glass pond that didn't reflect our image. "Close your eyes, turn around three times... look into the pond" magically we were Brownies, our faces smiling back!
My mother taught me that childhood should be a magical time. I was able to pass this gift to my own children drawing from years of her creativity. Truly this was her gift to my life.

Why Scotties?

My most favorite time period in history is the Depression Era. I'm sure we all have a mother or grandmother who lived through this era. I have a mother-in-law who never saw a plastic grocery bag or rubber band she didn't keep! I love her to pieces because of her Depression quirks. She was the queen of green before we knew our planet needed saving! Her kitchen is a one woman recycling center. There are dozens of Zip Lock baggies draped over anything that will hold them open to dry and reuse. Drawers bulging with no longer smooth tin foil. Plastic margarine and Cool Whip containers to store any leftover no matter how small stacked precariously by size in lower cupboards. And economize? You bet! There's no telling when they might stop making ketchup. Better have 6 bottles in the pantry. My children loved being sent to the BASEMENT to grocery shop. My most favorite quirk of her Depression Era thriftiness is her freezer! My kids said it looked like a chest full of pirate silver!
My mother-in-law is now in an assisted living facility and her daughters regularly visit to remove the baggies and rubber bands she still accumulates. I love my mother-in-law and her childhood stories of living through the Great Depression under the direction of President Roosevelt, who had a Scottie!

Christmas Visitor

Rainy, dark, gloomy Chrismas Eve. Doorbell rings. Daughter's first boyfriend nervously standing in the door. Three years, first love, first break-up, first heart ache. Like a son, come in! Hugs, tight hugs. So good to see you! No longer a boy, a young man. Will daughter come down from upstairs? Pass time with Mom and Dad. How's your job, how's your family, do you have a girlfriend? Daughter enters, barely a hello. Young man, sneaking glances. Small talk, time to go. Hugs, tight hugs. Please come again! Daughter walks young man to car.

First loves are never easy to get over, especially when one still loves and one is afraid to risk their heart.

Words that needed to be said. Hugs, tight hugs. Here's my phone number, let's be friends. Merry Christmas

Spy Club Christmas Plan

All of the apartments in our building on Embassy Lane had very small bathrooms off the entrance hallway. They all had windows that looked out to a central air shaft. After my brother's rampage of burning his school books and opening all of his gifts the previous year, the presents were locked inside of this bathroom. It had a wavy half-glass door that only revealed shapes. It was driving us crazy. We were known peekers. The Spy Club was called to order. The Martian boys who lived two floors above and had access to their presents because they knew where their Mom had hidden the key, decided that my brother, who had the stickiest feet, would climb out their bathroom window, down the water pipes alongside the outside windows, go through our window and unlock the door from inside. None of us were worried. This was a kid that could literally climb up the walls in our building with his sticky feet. My parents would get him up out of bed to entertain guests with this feat of stickiness. Everything was set for when the mothers went out shopping. I waited with with my face pressed up against that wavy glass. Mission Accomplished! Sheer guilty pleasure as we looked upon our Christmas loot. My brother was getting a Grand Prix Auto Racetrack, an Erector set, and a chemistry set. He was only five, he didn't seem that smart to me. I was getting my dream gift come true. Bride and Groom Troll dolls! You had to know somebody to snag these from the Base Exchange, and I was getting them!!!! Christmas morning my brother found Tinker Toys and Hot Wheels under the tree. I got Troll Paper Dolls! Our mothers had outwitted the Spy Club by hiding each other's gifts!


I love this story because I believe all children try to "peek" during Christmas. My own children have now revealed to me the lengths they went to over the years! I love that Troll dolls saw a comeback when my daughter was about the same age as I am in this story. These paper dolls now belong to her!

Christmas Concert

I definitely believe that all of the times my brother was taken by Gypsies while living in Turkey created a permanent quest for adventure in his personality. Never was this more evident than in his senior year of high school. The invitation to travel with the National Honors Choir to perform in Europe the summer after graduation came about after a successful Christmas performance at The Kennedy Center. Heart bursting with pride my Mom filled out the necessary paperwork for a passport and gave my brother money to turn in for the round trip-ticket. She dropped him off at the airport with a new black performing suit and my father's old Navy locker. THAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN A CLUE TO HER!
My brother had told the choir teacher that his recently widowed mother could not afford the trip. He told the airline that he was with the choir group; but because he was still grieving, could he please sit at the back of the plane.
For the next two months my brother traveled all over Europe! He spent the first month sailing with a French couple he met in London setting sail to the coast of France. He told them he knew how to sail. He learned on the job! He visits them to this day. To earn money once dropped off in France, he would go into night clubs and ask to sit in with the house band. He was a kid not old enough to even drink, but he was persistent returning night after night until he wore them down. He was such a success he formed a following from town to town. An easy supply of money for the second month as he traveled back towards London. I love hearing the stories my brother tells of this magical summer. He was a son whose father's direction had been leading him to attend the Naval Academy when his heart wanted to accept the music scholarship he had been awarded. He needed time to become his own man. Pick-up at the airport, "How did it go, did you behave yourself? You're awfully tanned." "Mom, I think I'm going to pursue music. I've had time to really think about it."

"Take Me To Your Leader"

The three leaders of my Spy Club were Martians from Outer Space. They looked like the three boys in apartment 4D, but they weren't. They were Martians with Scottish accents. They proved over and over to me that they were not Earthlings. For one, they didn't go to earth school. Their homework came to them through the mail and they sent it back at the end of the month. Two, they could disappear into thin air. They proved this regularly to me by going out on my bedroom balcony, having me draw the drapes, open them again; and... teletransportation, they were gone! Three, they spoke Martain on a regular basis to me. It sounded something like this.... "Yablook, balableek yorbck beglum." Interpreted, "Hey kid, bring us out some cookies." The most impressive proof that they weren't kidding around though was their father's job here on Earth. They told me he was building a landing strip in the mountains of Turkey for their space ship to park undetected. When their mother, who was a regular mother, invited my family to visit them at the "site", I was terrified! The entire trip over barely navigable roads steep into the Turkish mountains just increased my ever growing anxiety that my parents would soon learn what was suppose to be a sworn secret. I was not even allowed to tell their sister who was my best friend because she was an Earthling and didn't know the truth about her brothers. The dead of night we arrived. You couldn't see anything but lights glowing in the distance in a circular pattern! Dread! Those Martain boys tormented me all evening disappearing and speaking in Martain and bragging about their landing site. Morning, no breakfast for me, stomach in knots. Hard hats, great big machinery, hundreds of workers. Not daring to let go of my father's hand, "This is quite an impressive project you've got going on here Mr. Johnson. When do you expect completion of the dam?"...... Those boys were not to be found the rest of our visit. I think their non Martain mother got a hold of them!

"The Man in the Grey Flannel Suit"

"To Kill a Mockingbird", can you picture tall lanky Atticus? His voice, deep and measured, each word so carefuly spoken. "Roman Holiday", a shy smile spreading to the eyes. "The Man in the Grey Flannel Suit", standing against bigotry, the power of words. With all of these images in mind, look at my Dad. It is as though a very special actor was put on earth to preserve the very essence of who my father was for a young girl who would loose him at nineteen. My father was an extrodinary man in extrodinary times. He championed the rights of individuals who fought for better homes and educations for their children. All of my father's students were of the minority. "Education is the key to freedom" he would preach to his students. "Actions speaks louder than words." He also became a realtor. "Bigotry is ignorance." he would tell my brother and me as he sold homes to minorities in our all-white community and we became the targets for hate. "You are children whoose parents can give you everything. Every child deserves the same opportunity." A journey of one man so good and kind would shape my brother's and my life. This is my favorite photo of my Dad and me. He was always teaching us ideals greater than ourselves.
When I miss my Dad the most, I will rent one of these favorite movies, and close my eyes and just listen. If every person has a double on earth, thank goodness my Dad's was Gregory Peck!

The Man in the Plaid Suit

Days after my boyfriend proposed to me on Christmas Eve, I went looking for a wedding dress. There was a bridal shop on the lower level of the mall where I worked at the fancy ladies clothing store. I never allowed myself to dream about such things as a wedding all my teen aged years, because I was such a different girl there just couldn't possibly be a boy that would fall in love with me. Everything felt so fragile to me. Pale blue carpeting and white. A pedestal with a chandelier casting my reflection back to me. The first dress was the dress of the season. It had an eight-foot long train with hand laced roses all about the edges. It was slightly large in the bust. "No don't worry, I'll take it just like this!" I was truly afraid that all of these preparations with my mother might go away at any moment. The church, Hogates, flowers, food, cake..... invitations to people, lots and lots of people. It was too much for me. My mother knew this would happen. "That's okay sweetheart. You can get married at the Justice of the Peace with just your father and me. You can wear your dress at Hogates, and there will only be family.


I love my father's reflection in the mirror making sure the documents are signed! "Are you sure about this boy, Lizzie?" my father took me aside to ask.


Any man who would marry a girl so very afraid of people and let her wear the dress she never thought would be a part of her life is a very special man.

Home Economics

The last year of Junior High School, which was ninth grade for me, was the mandatory year to take Home Economics with Mrs. Butler after a semester of PE. The cool girls in their bluebird blue gym suits rolled up to the tops of their thighs complained endlessly about having to take such a dorky class. Me in my bluebird blue gym suit with the legs straight down to my knees and my white socks covering as much of my unshaven legs as possible, nodded right along to hide the fact that I had waited three long years for this last semester.
Class. Wide tables sitting four girls each. My own personal drawer with a key. My own sewing machine. A teacher who knew the shy girl at table 2 was hanging on her every word. Heaven! In this most special classroom I learned to embroider on a yellow gingham potholder. Choose fabric, cut a pattern, and sew in a zipper for a very stylish midi skirt. Knit slippers, which became every one's Christmas presents that year, and crochet a Granny Square afghan in shades of lavender for my bedroom. Cooking. I learned to read a recipe and measure. I learned how to make apple sauce from scratch. I had to be stopped from making it at home. Make-up lessons, and etiquette lessons. How to properly cross your legs. How to introduce your aunt to your boss. I can remember every single detail of the days spent in this classroom. They were days of secret joy. It just was not at all cool to like Home Ec or Mrs. Butler.
I have kept my secret all of these years. I have never known other women who loved home crafts the way that I do. This blogging community literally has changed my life. I feel like one of the cool girls for the first time ever.

The Three "R"'s

My father believed in a good education for his children. A day did not pass that he did not try to impart some of his intelligence into our forming brains. My brother and I were not always attentive pupils and must have been a disappointment at times. I'm sorry to say, but I just could not get of the hang of the slide ruler at age seven! My brother at age three was his only hope! There was not a preschool on the military base in Turkey; so it was suggested to my mother by one of their English students that my brother be enrolled in the French play-school which was just at the end of our block across from the American Embassy. My father took it upon himself to enroll my brother. For weeks leading up to Christmas my brother would come home from school and say he was not going back! He did not like school. He did not like having homework every night. "Homework is good for you, son. Do your homework." my Dad would encourage his last chance protege. Preparations for a holiday ball at the French Embassy across the street from our apartment just days before Christmas had our household in a flurry of activity. Black formal uniform, long dress with beautiful matching shoes, overcoat and fur stole, kisses goodbye and warnings to mind the babysister, "Do your homework!" Our teenaged boy sitter was more interested in raiding our refridgerator than watching us; so I watched him. Lots of quiet coming from the living room where my brother was left "doing homework" and then sounds from the fireplace. We rushed into the living room just as my brother had finished throwing all of his school books into the fireplace! All about him were opened presents from under the tree! "I'm not going back to that school. It's too hard. And I opened all of my presents just in case. I'm playing with everything before Mom and Dad come home!" A young son stood before his father and took his punishment, but insisted he was done with school. My Dad agreed so easily. My Mom was immediatly suspiscious. The next morning she took us both by hand and marched into the French school. It seems my father had insisted that my brother be enrolled in the second grade! I was in the second grade, and it was in English! My brother did not have to go to school the remaining years we lived in Turkey!

My father visited our schools every year to insist that we be moved up a grade or two. My mother visited after him, every year. The one year she didn't make it to school in time was in my 11th year of High School. I was called to the guidance counselor's office and was informed that I had graduated with honors! This is why I was only 16 when I started college! My Dad......

New Blue Car

I'm sorry, but I am already laughing. My gosh I miss my Dad.....

With the "Death of the Behemoth" Driver's Ed car, my father had no choice but to purchase a new car to get to work in downtown Washington, DC. He was now a college professor to hundreds of students and needed another dependable car. It was unthinkable for him to ever miss a day of work; so the evening our Chevrolet died, he went out immediately to purchase a new car. By himself! It was too dark to see the new car he drove home several hours later, but we knew that it was a blue Ford Fury. Another behemoth! He said he had gotten quite a deal and was proud about how much money he had saved the family. "It has three on the tree." he said. My mom was immediately suspicious because all of the newer cars had automatic transmissions yet he had somehow found a car with with the gear handle on the steering column. We didn't see the car until he returned home from school the next day as all of the neighborhood kids were playing four-square at the bottom of our driveway apron. We all stopped and stared as my Dad pulled around our corner in a boat of a blue car.... that wasn't shiny! The entire car was dull. It didn't even have shiny bumpers or hubcaps. The wheel rims were also dull blue. My Dad emerged from the car grinning ear to ear as my mother came out of the front door. "Larry, what is wrong with your car. Why isn't it shiny? What have you done?" Proudly my father stated to a driveway full of stunned onlookers. "Two Mennonite sisters ordered a dull black Ford Fury without a radio or automatic transmission, but the best the factory could do was this dull blue. They refused to buy it! I got it half-priced, paid cash."

At least in the white behemoth you couldn't see the two steering wheels unless you were inside, but this!!!! Can you imagine what my father's students thought as he pulled into his parking space in this dull blue monster of a car! Another six years of embarrassment!

English Lessons

My father was one who believed in filling every minute of every day constructively. If he could earn extra money while being constructive, that was even better. The opportunity to constructively earn extra money presented itself living on our street with all of the embassies. Everyone spoke a different language, and my father and mother spoke all of them. A visit to each embassy doorstep resulted in a steady stream of foreigners through our apartment in the evenings. Many visitors came to learn English and stayed to become life-long friends. As a child in the thralls of Nancy Drew's adventures, what could be more exciting than a cast of characters sitting around my dining room table! My brother and I were only allowed brief polite introductions and then were sent to our rooms for the evening. Being the spies that we were, this was never an obstacle. Not understanding a word said, we came up with quite the stories for each guest. The man in his black beret, dark tinted glasses, a continuous cloud of smoke billowing around his head was surely a real spy during World War II. The pilot who was headed to Ethiopia to build an airfield was a big game hunter we decided. The rotund professor from Germany was a mean shop keeper like the one in Heidi. But the exotically beautiful and delicate vision of gold that entered our dining room one evening was exactly who she said she was. A Russian ballerina! Long after my brother became bored of spying and headed off to bed, I would lie alongside the sofa under the end tables listening to her beautiful voice and the way she moved her hands. At the end of one evening, the ballerina was unable to get a cab and asked if my mother wouldn't mind dropping her off at the Russian Embassy. My mother knowing I was under the tables said that I could go along for the ride. Arrival, black gates, guards with dogs and guns. Questions, passports, more questions. I had never heard this note of fear in my mother's voice before. Goodbyes, thank yous, she was gone. The next day a beautiful cream colored envelope arrived by special messenger. Inside were two tickets to Swan Lake, the first row! Never, ever have I seen anything more beautiful than our ballerina dancing the role of the swan. At the end of her performance a large bouquet of roses was given to her. The next visit for lessons, the beautiful ballerina motioned me to her with exquisite gesture and handed me the toe shoes she had worn the previous night's performance. I soon began ballet lessons, and my daughter in years to come would be inspired to dance after hearing about a most magical night.

Spy Club

After discovering Nancy Drew mysteries at the age of eight, I decided that I just had to have my own adventures. To achieve this meant initiation into my apartment building's Spy Club. This club served a vital purpose because our building was located on Embassy Row. Across the street was the French Embassy, behind the Italian Embassy, and on the corner of the street was the American Embassy with it's wonderful Stars and Stripes flying proudly and two Marines in dress blues stationed at it's reassuring black gates. The club's mission during these Cold War times was to make sure nothing suspicious was going on behind the forbidding walls and bars of a particular embassy which was across our sledding hill alongside of our apartment building. It was behind the Iron Curtain! This the older boys had learned eavesdropping on their parent's conversations. During sledding days we often would look through the bare forest of hardwood trees behind the bars to imposing buildings. Rarely we would catch glimpses of guards in their dark green overcoats and fur hats and guard dogs and riffles making their rounds along the compound. You could hear their boots making crunching sounds on pebbled paths through the trees. The older boys showed no mercy on us younger kids. To join the spy club there was only one initiation requirement. You had to squeeze through the bars of the embassy and bring back a pebble from the guard paths. Legend had it that two boys went in and never came back out! Our group of six leaned against the wall with our sleds as the bigger boys served as look outs. One by one they signaled a kid who squeezed through the bars, ran to the path and came back victoriously with their pebble. I was not so lucky... I had made it to the path; and put my pebble in my pocket when the boys started yelling while waving their arms crazily over their heads to catch my attention. "Run, run, run, the dogs are after you!" Oh my gosh my legs have never moved so fast. I thought I could hear the dogs on the pebbled paths coming to kill me. I started crying as I saw all the kids running away from the other side of the fence. Squeezing through those bars and jumping down from the wall, I didn't stop running. My parents had taught us that if ever anyone was in trouble in a foreign country they should go immediately to their embassy for help. I ran all the way down the long block to the American Embassy crying through the gates to the guards, "Help me, Help me, I don't want to disappear forever!" Laughing, laughing, laughing, coming down the street towards me were my friends and the big boys. "There weren't any guards or dogs. It was just a test to see if you were tough enough to join our club. Did you get your pebble?" Through my tears I pulled out my pebble, "I sure did, am I in?"
The next four years of my life were filled with enough adventures to write my own series of books. My brother and I love to talk about these days. Just last night we talked about the Spy Club. He still has his pebble!

NOTE TO READER: The stories that I write are all true but often told from the perspective of the child I was at the time. Thank goodness that all of our countries from this period of time now support each other in peace.

"View From Above"

In my effort to have my own All American normal family, I tend to go overboard on tradition. Hence the yearly tinsel battle on the Charlie Brown tree. (I lost this year!) I don't; however, lose the yearly light debate. "I don't care if we are the only house. We're using old-fashioned big lights just like when I was a kid." The first year we moved into our new two-story home we needed alot more strands than the two we had for our small unit on the military base in Washington, DC. My husband and son worked all weekend stringing lights to the gutters, downspouts, peaks, and chimney. When darkness came and extension cords were plugged, in we stood back in awe.... for a moment. Wow, did those big bulbs put out a lot of light! Wow, did they use a lot of electricity! Darkness. For the rest of the Christmas season at 9:00 sharp; and for one hour only, we would sit in total darkness inside the house as our house lit up the whole neighborhood. It also lit up the skies as we found out from my husband who placed a call to the children and me from his workspace, which is in an airplane. The flight path to Columbus Airport goes right over our house! As many neighborhoods are in Ohio, our house was built on what at one time was a farmer's field. Flat. Not a single tree that first year. The kids thought it was so neat that airplanes could see our house. My son had one of his genius plans to get rid of his sister. He spent all day shoveling 12 foot high letters into the snow. My husband called from the plane again..... "Do you know what everyone is reading in our yard as they fly over? You better take a look out of the upstairs window....."


"UFO'S TAKE MY SISTER!"

A Girl in a Roadster

Growing up in a foreign country that did not have radio or television created the imaginative children that my brother and I became. The military Newsstand and its wondrous treasures became the outing we coveted especially during the long, bleak winter months. It was always dark by the time my Dad returned home from work and our dinner was eaten; so these outings were always just with our Mom. Shedding our scarves and mittens as we crowded into the Newsstand's dimly lit space was thrilling beyond words. We bent to our knees and found space between the hems of overcoats in front of the comic book section. We could choose as many as we liked. My Dad considered anything "educational" worth paying for. This is what we told him they were every time he scowled at the sight of us reading them. "They're educational, Dad, Mom said so." Beetle Baily, Archie, Dennis the Menace, The Flintstones, and Donald Duck. We must have read them dozens of times over. On one trip to the Newsstand huddled in front of the comics I let my gaze go above the first row. Yellow spines and colorful covers with a blond headed girl. Eye level, "Nancy Drew and THE PASSWORD TO LARKSPUR LANE ." My mother let me get one of each book that came in with the shipment that month and every month to come. My love affair began with a girl and her roadster and her friends who solved mysteries. Those wonderful books would be the catalyst to many of my own adventures. Thank you Mom for knowing that your terribly shy child would make many friends through books.

Sled Stealers

After our first successful win ("Sled Story Part II") against the mean boys in in the down hill sled race, word spread quickly through the neighborhood. The mean boys were out to beat my sled. We had a particularly good snow this Christmas break and the streets were packed solid from all our sledding. Cars weren't going anywhere for a good four days, the hills were ours! All day long, race after race, hill after hill, no one could beat the four of us on our humongous sled ten inches off the ground. There was an unspoken agreement at noon that everyone went home for lunch. Everyone raced one last time and then pulled their sleds home. Not us on our Flexible Flyer! We piled on that sled in order of our houses. Me on the bottom, little girl next, only child girl, tall skinny girl and her flat sister on top. She wasn't the best pusher, but she managed to get us headed downhill and jump on top. They lived mid-way down the first hill."Roll off"! Bottom of the hill, picking up speed. "Roll off"! No dragging of feet to stop on the lunch run, this was where the hill got icy! Up the second hill with the little one, sharp turn at the top of the "P". "Roll off, see you after lunch!" Last leg was all mine. I loved this part of the "P" It was the steepest and the fastest. I would pick up speed again coming around the last curve where my house was on the corner. If I had enough strength left, I could make a sharp turn up my steep, steep driveway right into my garage! Home. Pull the garage door down and lock it! Tight! My Dad was beginning to complain about how many times he was having to chase away sled stealers at all times of the night. They tried everything to get into our garage which had a back door and a window. One night my Dad awoke to the sound of the garage attic ladder being lowered. Pajamas and slippers all 6'6" of him made an imposing shadow as he flipped on the garage light to see two sled stealers getting ready to head out the back door with MY sled.They had hidden in the attic all day waiting for their chance. After lunch and a dryer cycle, it was back to the top of the neighborhood to race until dark. Dinner, dryer cycle, race under the street lamps. That last final sled home into my garage was so satisfying for me. Through all my teenage years my friends and I were the champion sled racers. We could cast aside our awkward ways and stand alongside the cool girls and the cute boys, and best of all the mean sled stealing boys!

Photo courtesy takeabreak

"Clang, Clang, Clang Went the Trolley...."

As president of the Bobwhites ("Shall We Dance Post") and owner of a mother with a car that looked like a taxi cab, it was my duty to organize our pilgrimage to the movie theater when "That's Entertainment" came to town in June of 1974, the last year for the Bobwhites. We took ourselves seriously. There was protocol to follow. Seating arrangements. Someone had to agree to sit between the tall skinny sister and, the flat sister. No arguing allowed. All popcorn had too be eaten BEFORE the opening credits. No talking, no getting up to go to the bathroom, no gum popping! You had better be on the curb waiting for the cab to barely slow down, NO BEING LATE. We had to be the first in line to get the center of the theater row and perfectly in the middle seats. Shhhh, it's them! Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly our tap dancing heroes. It was one thing to see these movies on our little black and white televisions at home, but to see them on a 30 foot screen in Technicolor glory was indescribable! They were all there. Esther Williams, June Allison, Ann Miller, Mickey Rooney, and our very favorite Judy Garland. When she sang, "Have yourself a merry little Christmas....", the short friend seated on the isle passed tissues down the row. This was by far our very favorite movie. We knew all of the songs by heart and sang them on the way home in our taxi dropping each girl off at her doorstep. I make a point of watching this movie each Christmas season and remember my days with the Bobwhites.

Imagine how happy I am to live in in Delaware, Ohio...

jenny b. tree

Do you notice the twine going from my tree to the curtain rod? It has actually become part of our family tradition. This is one of the many absolutely goofy quirks that makes my sweet husband the man I love.... to argue with! He insists the tree will fall over without being tied up. I have never heard of all these Christmas trees that are apparently falling down all over the country. If you're out there I want your name! It didn't occur to me to place the tree in front of the curtain rod until about ten years ago when a visiting friend asked, "Why do you have such big nails at the edge of your ceiling on every wall?" I was so used to seeing them, I didn't see them. Now the tree is tied to the curtain rod in the same place each year. The children hang ornaments from the twine to torture me! I love my jenny b. tree, but I lost the tinsel battle again this year - I LOVE TINSEL! Wait until next year,two dozen more shiny ornaments and tinsel!

Click on the photo to see the "twine" ornaments" so sorry I am a blurry photograher!

Yellow Springs Snow Fall

"Hi Mom, How's Charlie? Does he miss me? It snowed here yesterday; so I got up early and took a walk in the Glen. Oh my gosh it was so beautiful. All of the branches of the trees were covered in white fluffy snow. We are going to make Christmas cookies this year, right? What do you mean cut back? Christmas just isn't Christmas without our exact same cookies. We need Gingerbread Men, and Scottie Spritz, and Russian Tea Cakes, and Reindeer Sugar Cookies. I've been waiting all year for this!" "All right sweetheart, come home and we'll make them." They are so eager to move away from home, but it's a good thing traditions bring them back! (Her hippy little town dresses the trees in sweaters during the cold months!)

Crinolines

My father had the honor of teaching at the Naval Academy after post graduate school for two years, but the pay was very minimal. I remember distinctly my parents discussing how to budget his $60.00 a month salary. My mother's resourcefulness knew no boundaries. She made all of our curtains, reupholstered our Navy issued furniture, and made all of my clothes! The Christmas I got my cute little red sled, my mother made me a red wool felt coat with white trim on the collar. With the leftover felt she made a coat for the Barbie doll I had gotten the year before. She went to a furrier and asked for scraps of mink that had fallen to the floor to make a collar. My Barbie was very chic that Christmas. She also made me a white Christmas dress with the all important crinolines sewed underneath. I was very particular about them. I wanted my dress to stand straight out like my Barbie doll. One last request was a tough sell. I wanted red Mary Jane's to match my coat instead of black ones. Off to Buster Brown we went. I loved everything about the shoe store. I loved the smell, and the chairs lined in rows with slides in front of them. I especially loved when the shoe salesman had you stand up on this metal plate and slid parts from the back and front and side to decide what shoes you needed. The anticipation as he disappeared behind a curtain to see if he had "your" size just added to the excitement. The sound of the tissue paper being separated, the shoe horn pulled from a breast pocket, that thunking sound as your heel slipped down. One last final test, the thumb test, "She's got room to grow, they should last through Easter." My mom performing the same test with her thumb, "Walk around, see how they feel." Slippery! That wonderful slippery feel of new shoes. They fit, they were mine! I was one happy little girl in my dress that would barely fit underneath my red coat and my shiny red shoes. The salesman was right, I wore them right through Easter! My mother's gift to make so much from so little was a constant throughout my childhood. She was an amazing person.

My little red coat over my crinolined Easter dress and my matching red shoes!

"Shall We Dance?"

As my Junior High School days entered their last Christmas break I knew that the days of childhood were coming to an end. Stuffed animals would soon be packed away, the hundreds of pin holes from my David Cassidy posters would be painted over in off white, my lavender bedspread would become white with green ferns. Beloved girl adventure books like Trixie Beldon and Donna Parker would no longer be saved for with allowances; and the Bobwhites would be no more. That was the name we gave ourselves. My tall skinny friend, her flat sister, our small girl, and our friend who was an only child. We had been the Bobwhites since the sixth grade. A telephone call and a whistle was the signal to meet at the only child's corner house which was half-way between the rest of us. Our group had strict rules for membership. #1. Always come when whistled for. #2. Meet every week day at 2:30pm to watch black and white movies on Afternoon Playhouse. #3 Watch Shirley Temple reruns every Sunday after church. #4 Pledge undying love for the Golden Age of Cinema. #5. The most important - take tap dancing lessons! This club started because the only child's mother was a school teacher and insisted that we read a NOVEL over our summer months, not our newsprint dime store drivel. In sixth grade she chose Margaret Mitchell's, Gone With The Wind. We would slouch, legs hanging over chair arms in the only child's basement, the only sound heard the turning of pages. The teacher had chosen this book because it was the 35th anniversary of the film that year and would be shown in our local theater. I will never forget sitting all together, passing a bucket of popcorn back and forth between ourselves, our first Technicolor movie experience. When Scarlett descends the stairs of Tara for the barbecue and Rhett suddenly turns towards her at the bottom of the stairs.... we fell in love at the exact same moment. We formed our club. We devoured every library book there was about old movie stars, we began watching black and white movies every afternoon and Shirley Temple on Sundays. Our favorite movies by far were Fred Astair and Ginger Roger movies. We all took tap dancing lessons in honor of them and practiced together endlessly. As winter passed and school came to an end; and we began our journey of shedding these childhood ways, I prepared to spend the entire summer with the only child in Maine. On our return trip home we made a stop in Saratoga Springs, New York, to attend a racing event featuring Secretariat, the winner of the Tripple Crown the previous year. Sitting alongside each other glancing about at all the swells, I grabbed my friend's arm and began pulling her up the center isle stairs talking wildly as we went. "It's him, it's him, oh my gosh it's Fred Astaire." He was sitting one seat in from the isle alongside a very distinguished woman. "Is it you? We know it's you, and we love you. We have a fan club devoted to you. We love your singing and your dancing, and we all take tap dancing." We actually in unison did a little tap that ended with out swept hands directed at his face! "Well, I'm surprised that girls as young as you two even know who I am. You've got quite the steps there, keep it up girls." "Oh we will Mr. Astaire, will you sign our programs?" This summer was the end of our girlhood days mingled with the thrill of a teenage crush. I have a particular fondness for Airedales and collect figurines of them from the 1930's. They remind me of those wonderful movies and Bobwhites.

Christmas in Camelot

I refer to the years we lived in Charleston, SC as the Camelot years. Everything seemed shiny and new and hopeful. Our new President and First Lady were young parents with children as were mine. The President called for the country to embrace it's diversity in these changing times. This applied to families as they left ethnic enclaves of the city to move to the "suburbs." This included our new sophisticated and modern rambler and the one just like it next door. We were a Catholic family, and they were a Jewish family. They had rules, we had rules. It seemed there was always some rule that interfered with their two girls and me from playing together. It was so frustrating! One Sunday morning there was a timid knock on the door. It was the mother from next door. "Mrs. Keily, we don't mind when your little boy crows under our bedroom window on the weekday mornings because my husband is a dentist and has to get up early, but Dr. Silver likes to sleep in on Sundays; and we would appreciate if he wouldn't crow on Sundays." My two year old brother had been getting out of his CRIB and climbing out of his WINDOW for quite some time apparently. My mother says she stood in the entrance foyer dumbstruck. Mrs. Silver though had glimpsed our dining room wall where my mother had painted a mural of an Italian portico with fountains and statuary and cypress trees seen in the distance. The newspaper had just been out to photograph her for the paper as word spread about this housewife's mural on her dining room wall. A friendship begun that day as Mrs. Silver begged my mother to paint a mural in her dining room. This, of course, was the opportunity I had been looking for! All summer long we headed over with my mother and her brushes just as the husbands left for work. I got to eat breakfast with them every morning. I prayed to become Jewish because they got to eat Tony Tiger Sugar Frosted Flakes and watch cartoons. If there were two things my Dad did not believe in, it was tv watching and frosted cereal! By the time Christmas came that first year, a wonderful friendship had formed between the two families. I treasure photos that I have of Dr. Silver and my Dad cross legged on the floor of our rec room putting together wagons and bicycles for Hanuka and Christmas as the wives are seen heads bent together in the background sharing conversation.

This is me age 6, and my brother age 2 Christmas morning. Do you remember the movie "Don't Eat the Daisies" with Doris Day and David Niven? Their little 2yr. old boy was kept in a locked playpen? Well this is what my parents should have gotten for my little brother. Not only did he escape to crow outside the neighbor's window each morning, but twice the fire department came to get him off of our ROOF, once when he got his mouth stuck around the door knob, and once when he got his head stuck between our wraught iron railing! I remember the calls my Mom made to my Dad, "You better do something about this son of Yours......!"

Portrait of a Bride

My parents were married in early December. My father was finishing up Post Naval Graduate School in Monterrey, California; and my mother was a RN at a type of nursing home for those who had connections in the movie industry. My mother loved to tell us that Bing Crosby played golf with her doctor every Wednesday at Pebble Beach. As the story goes my father was engaged to a girl back home in New Orleans. A girl of "good family." In technical terms, it meant she was Catholic! My mother was (shhh!) a Southern Baptist. My father's parents were terribly disappointed that the engagement was called off to the local girl, but this was the shinning son who brought such esteem to his humble family; so they gave their blessing. They did not; however, attend the wedding. In our home was a single black and white photo of our young mother as a bride in a beautiful sterling silver frame of cut work rose vines. My mother would say, "You should see the one your grandmother has. I chose a gold frame with real seed pearls all around the edges. I had my portrait hand painted." Each visit to my grandmother's house I looked for this photo but never found it. Something inside my stomach told me NOT to ask either my grandmother or my mother about the whereabouts of this photo. Many, many years later in my grandmother's last days, I got the courage to ask my mother about the portrait again. I was so surprised for her to tell me, "I know right where it is. It's right where it has been since the day I sent it to your grandmother. It's face down on the top of her highboy." Silence. I didn't say a word. This was forbidden territory. I remembered though the pleasure my Grandmother Hilda and her sister Irene had in one-upping each other when I came to visit. I called Aunt Irene and asked if she would sneak into the house, get the picture, and send it to me. I never told my mother what I had done because it was painful for her to have never been accepted by her mother-in-law. What a gift to me to glance upon her portrait that had not been touched by time protected as it was from light face down on that highboy for all those years. Wedding pictures are the most hopeful that are taken in our lives. It is my most treasured possession. Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad, Love your daughter.


Click on this lovely portrait to see the wonderful details!

Blue Christmas

With new ownership of her own car my mother became someone I didn't know overnight! Gone were her traditional shifts and pumps, in were mod dresses and plastic jewelry. Gone were our off white linen couches, in came slip covers in turquoise and green. Our kitchen was bright yellow and green plaid with cupboards she hand painted with golden apples. Our family room was very chic in red, white and blue plaid, with a red piano! All this modernness didn't sit well with her very shy and old fashioned teen aged daughter. When Christmas came under this modernization, I was just beside myself. Out with our Charlie Brown tree, in with a 7ft snow flocked tree. A white, clumpy tree. A white, clumpy, strangely smelling tree with blue silk balls from top to bottom. NOTHING ELSE but BLUE BALLS. I was so distressed over all this change that my bedroom became my refuge. I was also guarding it from from her frenetic redecorating of our home! Christmas morning I glumly opened presents under that white clumpy smelly tree with the blue balls. I got a diary which I was pretty excited about. My best friend show up with her mother to take me to spend the day at her house and see her presents. She had three brothers in high school; so I liked going to her house. The sure enough snowfall that we always got near Christmas began in earnest as evening wore on. Her mother drove me home. "Hi Mom, I'm going to bed." I sighed sadly. "Your real Christmas present is in your room sweetheart." (I'm crying now...) My room had been painted the palest of lavender, my canopy bed was swathed in lavender chiffon with matching pillow shams. My windows had criss-crossed sweetheart curtains in layers of lavender chiffon as well. But the best gift ever was the vanity table underneath my window with rows and rows of the lavender chiffon ruffles hiding drawers and places to keep my books. On the surface was a finger nail polishing kit with 5 different colors of pink and my diary. I sat at that vanity looking out my window at the snow catching the light of the streetlight. "Dear Diary, This was the best Christmas I ever had...." Mom I miss you so very much this time of year, you never pushed me to be anyone other than who I was at heart.

Montgomery Ward

My mother became a professional artist about the same time she became a liberated woman. She loved that yellow Plymouth Duster because it was her ticket out of the Happy Homemaker's club. She and a friend formed an art group for women called The Paint and Pallet. My mother approached the owner of our local mall which was quite a novelty at the time. It was "the" place to be seen. He agreed to let the group sell their work in the glass walkway that connected Montgomery Ward with the rest of the shops in the mall. My brother and I loved the weekends we spent with her at the mall. I got to sell tissue paper Pow Flowers in all the colors of the rainbow for a dollar each and keep what I earned. My brother I never saw as he got to have free rein of the mall with his best friend who's mother helped co-found the group. A little too much freedom as my mother would discover when she was escorted by security to a little room inside Montgomery Ward. It seems my brother and his friend had discovered a secret staircase behind one of the glass mirrors on the wall which led to a false room that overlooked the store where two store detectives watched through two-way mirrors. (Before video survelance!) Bologna sandwiches were their undoings. The boys waited for the detectives to go on their lunch break to sneak up the secret passageway, but on this occassion the men had left half-eaten sandwiches out on their desks. The boys were trapped, the men weren't on their lunch breaks. An agreement was made... they were never, ever, ever, for the rest of their natural lives, ever allowed back into Montgomery Ward! As my Mom left the store dragging my brother and friend with her, she noticed a set of Christmas mice from around the world. She thought they would be cute on our tree as a way to remind us of the countries we had visited. They were her last purchase ever in Montgomery Ward! Oh the adventures my brother has had in his life. I think about them each Christmas when I hang my little mice.

Death of a Behemoth

The end of our Driver's Ed car was not a pretty one. It had survived the trip across the great pond; but it could not survive the building of the subway system in Washington, DC and my Dad. At the end of his Naval career, he became a university professor downtown and traveled each day in our 1963 white Cheverlot BelAir with red interior often not returning home until after dark. My Dad was very proud of his striking appearance and would not wear glasses as his driver's license required for his night blindness. He did not see the construction barriers, or the crane, or the men with shovels waving wildly, or the gaping black hole in front of his car that was soon to be the subway! Thank goodness that car was so heavy and so long! It caught the edge of the hole on it's undercarriage and back wheels. The crane pulled the behemoth right out of that hole, and my Dad went on his way. The next day was his carpool day, and my Mom's day to use the "family" car. As we traveled down the Beltway towards Iverson Mall smoke began seeping from under the hood. Lots of noises as though we were loosing "things" right off of the car, and then one last great, big, loud clunking noise before we cane to a complete stop in the safety lane. The engine had fallen out of the car right there on the highway! My Mom, of course, used to such unexpected predicaments because of my Dad, herded us together and walked us to the nearest exit and gas station. "HAUL IT AWAY! I DON'T EVER WANT TO SEE IT AGAIN!" I think my mom was at the end of her rope because she insisted that my Dad not only purchase a new car for work, but also a car for her. This was the birth of the Woman's Movement in our home! My Dad stalled all winter, but my Mom dug in her heels that she would have a new car or else! Finally a Saturday came when my Dad announced that he had found the perfect car for my Mom. We piled into his new blue behemoth and headed off towards Annapolis, past Annapolis, headed towards the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, over the bridge, still going, almost to Ocean City, two hours of driving! My brotherand I didn't dare fight with each other as usual, we could see smoke coming from my mother's ears. My Dad pulled into a dealership in front of a bumble bee yellow Plymouth Duster with a garish black racing stripe down the length of the body! "This is it, this is the only car I've found that meets our budget." Of course he has found the only car anyone in their right mind would turn down. "I'll take it! Pay for it now. Come on kids we're driving home in our new car." My mother pulled away from my stunned father and salesman without a glance backwards." This was the car that my rink guard would look for coming down Tucker Road Hill to the ice rink nestled in the valley of pines. I love to craft in red and white because of the many adventures that were had in our very own used Driver's Ed behemoth of a car!

First Impressions

The first time I had my boyfriend over to my new house at the top of the hill one neighborhood over from the sledding neighborhood, I made sure everything was perfectly normal looking in our house. Away went the Ethiopian monkey hassock, spiked sheep dog collars mounted and framed, anything brass hidden away, anything artist like gone. I was determined to present the all-American family setting as I perceived it to be from watching tv. The one thing I couldn't hide away though was my DAD. I thought I was safe though because he was always working at his desk when he was home and NEVER came out except to raid the Vanilla Wafers. Sitting not too closely together on our living room couch, hands held together between us, we attempted shy conversation. I could barely hear his words for my heart beating so loudly in my ears. But I did hear my Dad's bedroom door open! Leaning ever so slightly away from my boyfriend, I could see my Dad coming right down the hallway towards us. I stiffened in shear panic. "Hello Lizzie, hello young man", in his incredibly deep baritone. The young man stood and shook hands, he was in the service, he knew the drill. "Listen young man, you don't happen to have a stocking cap with you. I'm getting a cold, and I don't want any breezes to blow on my head. (The logic of a genius) "Uhh,,, No sir, I'm sorry I don't." My Dad wandered off into the kitchen making all types of "digging" noises in the cupboards. I was full of conversation distracting my boyfriend from the noise. A little time passed, my boyfriend said, "I'm worried about your Dad, I think we should check on him." FREEZE FRAME SLOW MOTION He got up from the couch and pulled me along to my Dad's bedroom, knocked quietly on the door and leaned in...... In the darkened room you could just make out my 6'6" Dad lying perfectly flat on his back, as was his manner of sleeping, with his feet hanging off the too short bed, covers pulled up to his chin WHERE a brown paper grocery sack with a hole cut in the middle was over his HEAD!!!! I reached past my boyfriend, grabbed the doorknob and pulled the door shut! Tight! As our love began to blossom despite my eccentric family my young man said to me, "You know I love your Dad. I think he's so great." My husband in the making let me look at my Dad with new eyes, and I felt all-American for the first time!

Sled Story Part II

When I was a taxi cab driver for my own children and their friends, all it would take was the first snowflakes on the windshield and Dean Martin's Winter Wonderland playing on the radio for me to ask, "Did I ever tell you my sled story?" ..."Growing up as a teenager, I lived in a neighborhood that was shaped like a backwards "P" that was set on a hill. Pinehurst Estates. You know, the one my Dad would coast down and park wherever he stopped. You could start at the top of the neighborhood, sled all the way to the bottom of the first hill, keep going up to the top of the "P", and curve right around to my house. At least my sled could! Those were the days when you knew every single kid in the neighborhood. You knew where the popular girls lived, and the cute teenage boys, and the bullies. You definitely had to know where they lived. Every winter like clock work we would get a good snow while we were on Christmas break. The phone lines would be humming with word of mouth plans. "Meet me at the top of the neighborhood in 10 minutes, there's going to be a race!" My three girlfriends who were just as nerdy as me would be waiting for me in a little group off to the side. We waited all year for this moment! "You gonna race that high chair, Keily?" All four of us would position ourselves in just the perfect pattern. Me on the bottom to steer, then the tall skinny sister whose feet stuck way past the end of the sled. Next her skinny sister who didn't weigh much and was really flat, and then our youngest friend who was the smallest but strong enough to push us and jump on top. "On your mark, get set.... The cute boys, and popular girls, and the bully boys would run and fling themselves on their little, low to the ground sleds while we would be struggling to get ours moving using our mittens to help push. When that sled got going, it really got going! The thrill of superiority would sweep over us as we blew past everyone, including the bullies! As we crossed the finish line first we went into action. "DRAG HER!!!" I would scream which signaled the little one on top to slide herself down the flat sister and grab on to the boots of the long sister and dig her toes into the snow to bring us to a stop. It was the only way to stop this sled or else we would would go right up the second hill and down around the curve to my house. We would jump for joy at the bottom of that hill, the skinny long sister's glasses completely fogged over, the flat sister's scarf wound four times around her neck unraveling, the littlest white from head to toe." Every kid deserves the chance to be the best at something at least once in a lifetime. It is the best feeling in the world! My son would then turn to his friend in the car and say, "You know that sled is how we came to Ohio. We just loaded all our stuff on it, found a really big hill and climbed on top!" This is a poster of my exact sled. Notice there is room for a fourth kid! I am not exaggerating, son!

Sled Story Part I

Annapolis,MD, 1962. I got the baby brother I wanted in May, and a Thumblina doll for my birthday in September; but I was saving my really big wish for Santa at Christmas. I wanted a cute little sled more than anything because there was a sledding hill across the street from our apartment, and all the really neat kids on the block got to sled all day long. Christmas morning, there it was under the tree tied with a great big red ribbon bow. After breakfast my Dad pulled me up that steep hill by the sled rope as I layed on my stomach holding on to the steering slats. I was in childhood heaven. Lunch, nap, snowsuit, ready for afternoon sledding. Pulling my Dad through the front door I came to a lurching stop. Sled stealers had stolen my cute little sled! In it's place was the ugliest looking Christmas sled imaginable. It was 4ft long and about 10" off the ground! It looked like a coffee table on runners! Worse was the terrifying eagle grasping arrows in it's talons the length of the slats with the words Flexible Flyer emblazoned on a ribbon in it's mouth. My Dad wouldn't tolerate tears, to him this ugly sled seemed to be an upgrade. "Hang on Lizzie!" my Dad called over his shoulder as he pulled me up that steep hill. I kept my head low as the taunts began. "Hey look at that girl on that ugly sled, where's your horse?" Top of the hill, big kids, lots of big boy kids, lots of mean big boy kids. "You want to race?" jeered the meanest and biggest boy. "Sure she does" came my Dad's fear imposing deep voice. "On your mark, get set, go.....!!!!" but I wasn't going anywhere except back and forth as my Dad built up momentum to give me a good push. The mean boys were already half-way down the hill. "Hang on Lizzie!" Past the stragglers at the back of the pack, snow blowing into the faces of the middle of the pack, the mean boy's boots coming up fast. My sled sailed past him in a blur. I WON! The sled didn't stop! It kept going right through the playground at the bottom of the hill, it kept going past the flat ball fields, it bumped over the curb crossed the street and bumped up over the other curb. That sled didn't stop until was in front of my own apartment! Looking over my shoulder I could see my Dad racing down the hill in his black coat with the shiny brass buttons grinning from ear to ear. "So how do you like your sled now?" I slept with it by my bed that night to protect it from sled stealers. This photo was taken Christmas day, after I became one of the neat kids on the block.

"Angry Housewives Eating BonBons"

Thank goodness for other young military wives who took me under their wings to teach me how to Commissary shop during the holidays! You needed a strategy to accomplish this mission. #1. Set aside a good 2-3 hours. #2. Have enough M&M's and Cheerios to bribe your children to stay IN THE CART. #3. Strategically arrange groceries around your children and tell them you're building a fort. #4. Wear a good pair of sneakers, you're going to be on your feet a long, long time. #5 KNOW THE RULES for conveyer belt shopping! Stay in your lane, don't cross over the yellow line down the middle of the isles for ANY REASON! You might be right across from a 3lb jar of Jiffy, but you WAIT until you come back up that side of the isle or risk your heels being hit from the cart behind.

I was just getting the hang of this frenetic shopping routine when we came around the corner of the frozen isle. Never in my life will I forget looking into those cavernous freezers and seeing one solitary box of Bird's Eye peas left. I grabbed it, I was no body's fool.

The wait in line could last up to an hour, but you were busy the whole time. You shopped the perimeter as the line moved by taking turns with the person in front and back of you by pushing and pulling their carts along as they got their produce and meat and dairy and then you did. You didn't know you had children in your cart by the time you glimpsed the checkout counter monitor lady. This was the person you feared the most! When she gave you the signal, you had better be running behind that cart to your assigned lane or you would endure the wrath of angry housewives eating bonbon's from the last freezer case! How I did this for 11 years I will never know! My children remember the experience as a great adventure! I remember the wonderful wives and the cookies we made together each holiday.

"Why Me?"

My brother says I was a professional lesson taker in my teen years. I took piano, ballet, tap, gymnastics, swimming, tennis, horse back riding, painting, ceramics, and even trampoline lessons! My father was so worried about my isolating shyness that he actually agreed to pay for all of these lessons. Skating lessons became something else for me the year Dorothy Hamill won her Olympic Gold! I cut my waist length hair into a wedge and cut off my jumpers to look like skating skirts. My mother would drive me at 4:00 in the morning to practice before school, and pick me up along with my friends to skate after school. She would drive me back after dinner to practice until closing. What was all this skating about? It was about being near a certain handsome rink guard that I would purposely ignore as I powerfully glided by arms straight, palms down, chin up. This went on for a month! I skated with such joyful abandon! I could jump and spin and do figures and ice dance, but I was still too shy to look into my rink guard's eyes when he extended his hand to help me up when I fell. Then one day... coming off the ice, a mother approached me and said, "Who do you think you are taking up all the ice like you do! There are other people out there you know!" and she walked away. Tears streaming down my face I fled the rink to wait outside for my mother. It began to snow. My legs were so cold. A hand reached out to me, and I knew. This time I looked up as I slid my hand into his. His eyes were so blue and his smile so kind. He said, "I spoke to that woman. She won't bother you again. If she does, you come and get me. Let's get you some hot chocolate." My husband and I are going ice skating this week the first time in 15 years; so I asked him, "Why me?" He said, "Of all the girls who came to the rink to be silly and flirt, you were so serious about your skating. There was something special about you. When that lady made you cry, I knew you need someone to care for you." I love this special man, and I love the winter Olympics!