This is the last storytelling Sunday of the year. Head over to Sian's to read more great stories.
Since I cleaned my Waterford chandelier a couple weeks ago, it reminded me of the story behind it. Even though it' would be too hard to grab in the case of a fire, it's still precious to me.
Back in 1985, we had moved to Nashville. Butch was promoted to Senior Vice-President of Central Parking System and we were doing quite well. I wanted to buy a Waterford chandelier for our dining room. Butch wasn't crazy about the idea due to the expense.
Fast forward a year or two. We tried our hand at dabbling in the stock market. And when I say we, I mean Butch! We lost quite a bit. I complained that "I could have had my Waterford chandelier." I guess he felt bad because he said, "go ahead and get it." Well, you don't have to tell me twice. I ordered directly from Cash's of Ireland. Actually, I think they have a branch right here in the U.S. I'm pretty sure it was made in Ireland. (Side note---I don't think Waterford is made there any more). Each piece down to the individual prisms are marked "Waterford."
I've treasured it ever since. When we moved to this house, it was much too small for our dining room. I found the perfect spot---the powder room. I had to have a hole cut in the ceiling to have it installed. I was gone that day. When I got home, I realized that the "man" had cut the hole in the center of the ceiling. The room is small. That meant, when the chandelier was assembled you would hit it with the door.. What? Are you kidding me? So the man had to come back and cut another hole right over near the mirror where I assumed he would put it to begin with. Then the ceiling had to be repaired!
Sheesh!
Anyway, this chandelier and I---we've been through a lot together. Maybe I need an escape plan for it in case of an emergency!
Showing posts with label Storytelling Sunday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Storytelling Sunday. Show all posts
Sunday, December 1, 2013
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Storytelling Sunday
It's the first Sunday of the month and you know what that means: Storytelling Sunday from High in the Sky. Be sure to check out more stories today.
I have had this Belleek vase since 1992. Our family
participated in the Ulster Project where 12 students from Ireland---6 Catholics
and 6 Protestants---were placed with Catholic or Protestant families here for
the summer. The purpose of the project was to show these teens that we can all
live side by side amicably regardless of our faith.We had a darling, little, red-headed Irish girl named Nuala. She and Stephanie hit it off right away and she became part of the family. She brought the vase to me as a “thank you” gift from her mother for hosting her. She was such a sweetheart, the pleasure was all ours. It was so much fun to compare our differences---but the girls were definitely more alike than not---just a couple of typical teenagers. Although I have no idea whether the Ulster Project continues today, it was a great learning experience for all of us at the time.
Sunday, February 3, 2013
Storytelling Sunday
Thanks to Sian for hosting another Storytelling Sunday.
This year, Sian's focus for Storytelling Sunday is on "picking your precious." Each month we are to choose something precious to us and tell the story. Here's mine.
I am from a very large, Italian, Catholic family. Actually owning a family heirloom is pretty darn special. Sometime after I got married, my aunt (one of my grandmother's sisters---bear with me here) gave me "Nonna's" punch bowl. That would be my great-grandmother. She died before I was born, so I never knew her. I cherished that punch bowl. I was told that I got it because I was the oldest great-grandchild. Makes sense to me.
As the years have gone by, I've used this punch bowl for Derby parties, showers, Christmas parties---just about any large gatherings. I would never loan it out. During the weekend of Sandy's wedding, a friend, giving me a hand with the "after the wedding/present opening brunch" chipped it. It's not a terrible chip, but it's there. I was always so careful with it---that saddened me. But, I have a philosophy about using the beautiful things I have. There's no sense in having them if you don't enjoy them.
That lead me to speculate about the punch bowl. I don't know a thing about it's history or any stories behind it---just that it belonged to my great-grandmother. I decided to ask my mom about it. She said she would think about it, ask around in the family and let me know. Now this is the same mother (I only had one) who couldn't even remember the day I was born. I asked her on my 50th birthday to recount that day for me. Her response was in an exasperated tone---"Oh, Barbara, I can't remember that far back!" What??? Seriously, who doesn't remember EVERYTHING surrounding the birth of their FIRST born?? Even if you had six more, I would think she would have remembered me!! She wasn't the sentimental type.
Anyway, back to the story. Since I didn't hear anything back from her, I made the layout and speculated about what the story might be.
I knew that my great-grandmother had been an excellent cook---and that the whole family came over on Sundays. I imagined that she loved to entertain and that perhaps I had inherited that from her. I imagined grand parties where the punch bowl would reign over the dining room table filled with a glistening brew. I imagined people dressed in their finest, laughing and cavorting and just relishing being together. I put it all down on paper---feeling a real kinship to this woman I had never known.
On my next visit to St. Louis. Mom said, "Oh, by the way. I asked around the family about the punch bowl. Seems no one ever remembers Nonna using it. It just sat on top of the china cabinet for as long as we can remember."
And just like that, my kinship with my great-grandmother was gone. So much for imaginary dreams!!
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Tablecloths and Hospitality
Sian over at High in the Sky is hosting the first Storytelling Sunday of 2013. Stop over and check out some great stories.
Sian challenged us to tell a story about something precious. Something you would grab if the house was burning. I actually have a few things. But today, I'm going to focus on just one. Actually, two, if you count them separately.
I would definitely grab my grandmother's tablecloths.
They do not fit my tables, so I just folded them up an use them in a decorative way. The story goes back to 2011.
My cousin and I organized a Zimmermann family reunion. It had been years since we'd seen old aunts, uncles and cousins. I brought my scrapbooks. We reminisced about the time we had "in the country" where my grandparents lived. One of my cousins, quite a bit younger than me, asked if I would like to have two of her tablecloths. I jumped at it as I have nothing but memories from my grandmother. (Side note, I do have her beautiful script as she inscribed my First Communion book). Julie (my cousin) then said that since she was so much younger, she does not remember the huge family gatherings and was sad about that. I just reminded her that she got to see grandma Zimmermann everyday since they lived next door.
Little did she know the memories that these tablecloths evoked---the dining room table at Christmas laden with dozens of cookies---playing Scrabble on the screened porch or lounging in the glider---the "reading room" where grandma had all kinds of trashy newspapers and magazines like True Confessions, National Enquirer, etc.---and "the clubhouse" next door set up with a dozen tables---all with cloths for summer parties. I was so thrilled to get these tablecloths. They will remain precious to me for as long as I live.
Sian challenged us to tell a story about something precious. Something you would grab if the house was burning. I actually have a few things. But today, I'm going to focus on just one. Actually, two, if you count them separately.
I would definitely grab my grandmother's tablecloths.
They do not fit my tables, so I just folded them up an use them in a decorative way. The story goes back to 2011.
My cousin and I organized a Zimmermann family reunion. It had been years since we'd seen old aunts, uncles and cousins. I brought my scrapbooks. We reminisced about the time we had "in the country" where my grandparents lived. One of my cousins, quite a bit younger than me, asked if I would like to have two of her tablecloths. I jumped at it as I have nothing but memories from my grandmother. (Side note, I do have her beautiful script as she inscribed my First Communion book). Julie (my cousin) then said that since she was so much younger, she does not remember the huge family gatherings and was sad about that. I just reminded her that she got to see grandma Zimmermann everyday since they lived next door.
Little did she know the memories that these tablecloths evoked---the dining room table at Christmas laden with dozens of cookies---playing Scrabble on the screened porch or lounging in the glider---the "reading room" where grandma had all kinds of trashy newspapers and magazines like True Confessions, National Enquirer, etc.---and "the clubhouse" next door set up with a dozen tables---all with cloths for summer parties. I was so thrilled to get these tablecloths. They will remain precious to me for as long as I live.
I do have to mention one last thing. Although I would not be able to grab these in an emergency, I have to say that another precious thing to me would be my gallery wall in the dining room. I collected the antique frames for nearly a year---never paying more than $20 for them. When I thought I had enough, I took them all apart, cleaned and repaired them. I used all old photos---the newest would be the silhouettes of my grandchildren on the left. Other than that, the newest dates back to 1955---the rest are all older than that. It was a huge job, and I will NEVER take them down (I hope the paint holds up), but I'm so glad I did it. For a memory keeper like me, there couldn't be anything more perfect!
I just love Storytelling Sunday!
Stay tuned---tomorrow, we get organized!!
Sunday, July 1, 2012
Storytelling Sunday---On the Roof
This story is brought to you on behalf of my friend, Sian in the UK. You can find more stories here at her blog: High in the Sky Here's mine.
Even now it’s hard for me to believe. In this day and age
where children are not allowed out of their parents sight---not even in their own backyards, we were allowed to
play on the roof!! It’s not quite as ominous as it sounds---or really, it is.
My grandparents owned a restaurant and lived above it in a 2
bedroom apartment. Off the kitchen was part of the roof. You can tell by the
picture below that there is a fence. But what you can’t see is that to the left, there is
a wall, equally as high as the fence. It wasn’t really a wall, but another part
of the roof. It was easy enough to climb up there. Since our parents in those
days just let us “go,” there was no one checking up on us. They were just glad
to have us out of their hair.
That part of the roof had no rails whatsoever. Us older
kids, Barbara, Ronnie, Janice and Jennifer, would all carefully creep up to the
edge and look down. It was really far to a kid’s eye. I have no idea how far it
really was, but let’s put it this way---a fall to the concrete below couldn’t
be good.
Jeanne and Matthew are in this picture taken by me with my
little Kodak Brownie camera---I must have been about 11 based on their ages. (Typical bad photo by me---I just about always cut off my subjects---and of course, then, you didn't know it until you got the photos developed. The rest of the kids were probably in the photo too.) Since I was the oldest and always supposed to look out for my
younger brothers and sisters, I would never have let Jeanne and Matt climb up there. I
guess when it came to the “older” kids, I didn’t do a very good job, but I
still remember the dangerous thrill of being “on the roof"---oh, and the ice cold water and Welch's grape juice grandma always had in the "icebox."
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Storytelling Sunday---Cradle Catholic and Midnight Mass
I wish I could get a "do over." I was born and raised Catholic, but I wish I could do the "learning" part over. There is so much I've forgotten---and maybe never really learned well to begin with. We just memorized everything and lived it. At Mass today, I was thinking about that. When I was little, everything was in Latin. Vatican II changed all that---for the better. Now we've had some more changes that don't really make sense to me. Some of the prayers and responses have changed. I don't understand why---what's changed is so insignificant---the meaning is the same, just minor word changes. I guess it's to make you pay closer attention in church. I don't want to.
While reading the bulletin, I discovered that there isn't going to be an 8:30 a.m. Mass on Christmas---the one we planned to go to. That means Midnight Mass is the only one that could possibly work. That got me thinking about Midnight Masses we went to when we were kids. We lived close to church, so mom and dad let us go---by ourselves. Kind of unbelievable in this day and age. I'd say I was about 10, Ronnie 9, and the twins were 8 when we first started. Midnight Mass---there are a couple that stand out in my mind. First off, it was always bitter cold. One time, on our way home, a drunk driver ran us off the road. We all had to jump in the ditch which was filled with icy, slushy, freezing cold water. We were all crying by the time we got home---more afraid that we'd be in trouble for getting all wet.
We're a little bit younger in this picture. I think I'm about 8 here---not yet going to Midnight Mass by ourselves.
On another occasion, a guy stood too close to the votive candles---we think he was a little drunk. His coat caught on fire. It wasn't funny, but we kids thought it was. Some people started beating on him to put out his coat.
I loved the candles, smell, decorations and especially the music. "Oh Holy Night" was my favorite. But, the best part of Midnight Mass was being able to open our presents when we got home. That's how mom and dad got to sleep in a little bit in the morning.
Tonight, after Mass, I suggested to Butch that we look at Christmas lights. We did that from the time we were first married until the girls were grown. We haven't gone in years. I don't think he wanted to do it, but he humored me. That's why I didn't say anything as we sped through the neighborhoods. There were a couple of times I felt like I got whiplash. People aren't doing the lights like they used to. Still, it was fun.
Now I need to check the Mass schedule at a couple of other churches for Christmas. I don't really think we could do Midnight Mass anymore.
While reading the bulletin, I discovered that there isn't going to be an 8:30 a.m. Mass on Christmas---the one we planned to go to. That means Midnight Mass is the only one that could possibly work. That got me thinking about Midnight Masses we went to when we were kids. We lived close to church, so mom and dad let us go---by ourselves. Kind of unbelievable in this day and age. I'd say I was about 10, Ronnie 9, and the twins were 8 when we first started. Midnight Mass---there are a couple that stand out in my mind. First off, it was always bitter cold. One time, on our way home, a drunk driver ran us off the road. We all had to jump in the ditch which was filled with icy, slushy, freezing cold water. We were all crying by the time we got home---more afraid that we'd be in trouble for getting all wet.
We're a little bit younger in this picture. I think I'm about 8 here---not yet going to Midnight Mass by ourselves.
On another occasion, a guy stood too close to the votive candles---we think he was a little drunk. His coat caught on fire. It wasn't funny, but we kids thought it was. Some people started beating on him to put out his coat.
I loved the candles, smell, decorations and especially the music. "Oh Holy Night" was my favorite. But, the best part of Midnight Mass was being able to open our presents when we got home. That's how mom and dad got to sleep in a little bit in the morning.
Tonight, after Mass, I suggested to Butch that we look at Christmas lights. We did that from the time we were first married until the girls were grown. We haven't gone in years. I don't think he wanted to do it, but he humored me. That's why I didn't say anything as we sped through the neighborhoods. There were a couple of times I felt like I got whiplash. People aren't doing the lights like they used to. Still, it was fun.
Now I need to check the Mass schedule at a couple of other churches for Christmas. I don't really think we could do Midnight Mass anymore.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Storytelling Sunday---25th Anniversary
We went to The Palm for dinner on Friday night with our Poker Group. We always pick out a really nice restaurant in December and go out together---after meeting for cocktails and to exchange gifts. This year, we "pre-gamed" it (as the younger---Mindy's set says) at Jack and Connie's.
This year, we're celebrating 25 years together. It all began in 1987. Butch and I had started a poker group when we lived in Kansas City. Once a month, the guys play poker and the girls go to dinner. It was a lot of fun, so it was only natural that we'd get a group going in Nashville.
When we moved in to the brand new neighborhood (Devon Park) in 1985, we were homeowners #5. It wasn't until 1987 that we started the group. Actually, Butch and I (and almost Hugh and Pam) are the only remaining original members. We had only played one time before inviting Hugh and Pam to join the group.
Over the years, we raised our families together, have taken many trips, had many parties---all of which still continue today. We still travel a lot together, but without the kids. The photos above are from our Alaskan cruise this summer. The Potters, Broussards, Bohans and us went. The Blacks, Dawkins and Sperrazzas couldn't make it this time.
We started a new tradition about 6 years ago. We have a family trivia night on the 23rd of December that now includes our grown children and grandchildren. Each family brings 10 questions, an appetizer, and $5.00 for the prize money. The losing team has to host the next year. My grandkids say it is one of their most favorite things we do at Christmas. We always try to be obnoxious in some way. Last year, "Team Eads" all showed up in red sweaters. Everyone thinks that we have the advantage since our team has 12 people on it. It's actually a hindrance because just about every one of us are "know it alls"---which leads to much arguing!
Friends for 25 years. That's really something. Of course, when I proposed a "toast" at dinner, there had to be a "Debbie Downer." That would be Connie who piped up, "Isn't' it sad to think that we don't have another 25 years in us?" I think everyone shot daggers at her!
It was a fabulous evening, great food with the BEST of friends. I have faith that we can do 25 more!
This year, we're celebrating 25 years together. It all began in 1987. Butch and I had started a poker group when we lived in Kansas City. Once a month, the guys play poker and the girls go to dinner. It was a lot of fun, so it was only natural that we'd get a group going in Nashville.
When we moved in to the brand new neighborhood (Devon Park) in 1985, we were homeowners #5. It wasn't until 1987 that we started the group. Actually, Butch and I (and almost Hugh and Pam) are the only remaining original members. We had only played one time before inviting Hugh and Pam to join the group.
Over the years, we raised our families together, have taken many trips, had many parties---all of which still continue today. We still travel a lot together, but without the kids. The photos above are from our Alaskan cruise this summer. The Potters, Broussards, Bohans and us went. The Blacks, Dawkins and Sperrazzas couldn't make it this time.
We started a new tradition about 6 years ago. We have a family trivia night on the 23rd of December that now includes our grown children and grandchildren. Each family brings 10 questions, an appetizer, and $5.00 for the prize money. The losing team has to host the next year. My grandkids say it is one of their most favorite things we do at Christmas. We always try to be obnoxious in some way. Last year, "Team Eads" all showed up in red sweaters. Everyone thinks that we have the advantage since our team has 12 people on it. It's actually a hindrance because just about every one of us are "know it alls"---which leads to much arguing!
Friends for 25 years. That's really something. Of course, when I proposed a "toast" at dinner, there had to be a "Debbie Downer." That would be Connie who piped up, "Isn't' it sad to think that we don't have another 25 years in us?" I think everyone shot daggers at her!
It was a fabulous evening, great food with the BEST of friends. I have faith that we can do 25 more!
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Storytelling Sunday---Mindy's Story
Since Mindy's birthday is Wednesday, December 7th, it's only fitting (and since I told the story of Stepahanie's birth) that I tell her story.
It all began on January 1st, 1984. I remember sitting in Church thinking that I'd really like to have another baby. But, Sandy was 11 and Steph was 7 at the time and our family was complete. Still, I actually prayed, "God, I'd love to have another baby." I never really gave it another thought---it was just a little statement made that one time---not like I was praying for a baby every day or anything. Besides, I was wrapped up with all my volunteering at St. Therese School, the girls and their activities. Butch was traveling for business quite a lot too. Truly, I never gave it another thought.
In the spring, we met Walter, Chris and family at our lake house in the Ozarks for Easter. I was sick most of the time and had the worse migraine I'd ever had. I spent most of the time in bed. I thought I had the flu. It wasn't until we got home that I had this feeling, "hmmm, could I be...maybe I'm..." So I took an at home test and there it was! Truly, I couldn't believe it! I was so excited.
It was during that same week that we found out Butch was being promoted to Senior Vice-President of Central Parking System and we would be relocating from Kansas City, MO to Nashville, TN. I remember thinking that this was the perfect time. My life was so full and active---which would come to a halt with the birth of a new baby---it would be a good time to move, have no friends or a life---so-to-speak! I could focus on the baby and really enjoy her.
As the time drew near, we got the unexpected, sad news that Butch's mother had passed away suddenly. This was about 3 weeks before Mindy's birth. We went to St. Louis for the funeral. When we got home, I told Butch, "this baby is going to be here in a couple of weeks. We need to discuss the name."
We had a family meeting. Since we had the "S" thing going (not really intentional), I suggested Suzanne or Susannah. Butch wanted Stacy. I can't remember Sandy and Stephanie's "picks," but nothing seemed quite right. Then Butch threw out "Mindy." Although he denies it, I said it was because he had a crush on Pam Dawber from the tv show, Mork and Mindy. We all liked that name and decided to go ahead with Melinda with the intention of the nickname Mindy. That was it, done. Mindy she was. Cute name for a cute girl.
In one year---1984---we had 3 of the top 10 "life stressers" at one time---death of parent, birth of child and relocation to new city. Somehow it all worked out. We've been here for 27 years now.
Little did we know what a blessing Mindy would be to us---and still is. I can't imagine life without her. Thank you, God for answering a fleeting, random prayer.

After the Royal Wedding last spring, fascinators are all the rage. We made this one for the Steeplechase races---the social event of the year.
It all began on January 1st, 1984. I remember sitting in Church thinking that I'd really like to have another baby. But, Sandy was 11 and Steph was 7 at the time and our family was complete. Still, I actually prayed, "God, I'd love to have another baby." I never really gave it another thought---it was just a little statement made that one time---not like I was praying for a baby every day or anything. Besides, I was wrapped up with all my volunteering at St. Therese School, the girls and their activities. Butch was traveling for business quite a lot too. Truly, I never gave it another thought.
In the spring, we met Walter, Chris and family at our lake house in the Ozarks for Easter. I was sick most of the time and had the worse migraine I'd ever had. I spent most of the time in bed. I thought I had the flu. It wasn't until we got home that I had this feeling, "hmmm, could I be...maybe I'm..." So I took an at home test and there it was! Truly, I couldn't believe it! I was so excited.
It was during that same week that we found out Butch was being promoted to Senior Vice-President of Central Parking System and we would be relocating from Kansas City, MO to Nashville, TN. I remember thinking that this was the perfect time. My life was so full and active---which would come to a halt with the birth of a new baby---it would be a good time to move, have no friends or a life---so-to-speak! I could focus on the baby and really enjoy her.
As the time drew near, we got the unexpected, sad news that Butch's mother had passed away suddenly. This was about 3 weeks before Mindy's birth. We went to St. Louis for the funeral. When we got home, I told Butch, "this baby is going to be here in a couple of weeks. We need to discuss the name."
We had a family meeting. Since we had the "S" thing going (not really intentional), I suggested Suzanne or Susannah. Butch wanted Stacy. I can't remember Sandy and Stephanie's "picks," but nothing seemed quite right. Then Butch threw out "Mindy." Although he denies it, I said it was because he had a crush on Pam Dawber from the tv show, Mork and Mindy. We all liked that name and decided to go ahead with Melinda with the intention of the nickname Mindy. That was it, done. Mindy she was. Cute name for a cute girl.
In one year---1984---we had 3 of the top 10 "life stressers" at one time---death of parent, birth of child and relocation to new city. Somehow it all worked out. We've been here for 27 years now.
Little did we know what a blessing Mindy would be to us---and still is. I can't imagine life without her. Thank you, God for answering a fleeting, random prayer.

After the Royal Wedding last spring, fascinators are all the rage. We made this one for the Steeplechase races---the social event of the year.
She's a Tulane grad, new condo owner, AND a notary!
For more stories, check out this site:
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Storytelling Sunday---Stephanie's Arrival
It was the fall of 1976 and so much was happening all at the same time. Butch was working for Central Parking System and going to Washington University trying to complete his education. We tried to buy our first home, but the deal fell through at the last minute because the house needed a new roof. The seller wouldn't pay for it and we didn't have any extra money. We were pretty upset, but then found out 2 days later that Butch was being promoted and we were moving to Charleston, WV on January first. This all happened at the end of October.
On November 18, Butch was in Charleston finding a place for us to live. Sandy and I had gone to my mom's house for dinner. Afterwards, I started playing poker with Matt and some of his friends. It was about 10:30 when we finished. Sandy was asleep, so mom suggested that I just spend the night. I had not spent the night one time since marrying in 1971. This night I did.
Somewhere in the middle of the night, my water broke. I was scheduled to have a "C" section on Monday---this was early Friday morning the 19th. Mom took me to the hospital while Sandy slept unawares---thank goodness I was there.
I was not at all happy to have gone in to labor as that was the only advantage of having a "C" section--- avoiding the "before" pain in exchange for the "after." She was born at 5:18 a.m.
I've always believed that things happen for a reason and as they should. Whatever made me spend the night? Someone GREATER than us has always looked out for us.
We made our move, Butch continued with school and rose through the ranks of Central Parking and the rest is history. And Steph, she's 35 this weekend. We loved her from the start.
On November 18, Butch was in Charleston finding a place for us to live. Sandy and I had gone to my mom's house for dinner. Afterwards, I started playing poker with Matt and some of his friends. It was about 10:30 when we finished. Sandy was asleep, so mom suggested that I just spend the night. I had not spent the night one time since marrying in 1971. This night I did.
Somewhere in the middle of the night, my water broke. I was scheduled to have a "C" section on Monday---this was early Friday morning the 19th. Mom took me to the hospital while Sandy slept unawares---thank goodness I was there.
I was not at all happy to have gone in to labor as that was the only advantage of having a "C" section--- avoiding the "before" pain in exchange for the "after." She was born at 5:18 a.m.
I've always believed that things happen for a reason and as they should. Whatever made me spend the night? Someone GREATER than us has always looked out for us.
We made our move, Butch continued with school and rose through the ranks of Central Parking and the rest is history. And Steph, she's 35 this weekend. We loved her from the start.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Storytelling Sunday---What Kind of Fool Am I?
It started with this "boy." Jim Stegge was one of Ronnie's friends---although that made him my friend too---as we all ran in the same crowd. Anyway, Jim was a good dancer. He and I spent a lot of time coming up with dance routines to "perform" at "teen town." Yeah, we were one of those couples people circled around to watch. He could do the splits and other nifty moves---but he did split a few pairs of pants.
During the summer between 9th and 10th grade, Ronnie and Jim took me to a party to meet the boy below---Les Horstkoetter. When we got there, most of the "boys" including Les were late due to their ball game. By the time they went home, showered and arrived at the party, it was completely dark. It was a basement party with no lights. I met Les, but never actually laid eyes on him. Turns out it was a "necking" party. I can remember pursing my lips tightly together and praying that the night would be over. I was pretty inexperienced in the "boy" department. I "went with" Roger Schultz my freshman year, and even though we grew up together, we had never kissed. We only had just started holding hands about a week before the "big break-up."
Anyway, when Ronnie and I got home, I started to cry to mom about what had happened. She started hitting Ronnie and yelling at him about taking his sister to a party like that. Looking back, it was pretty funny because he was my "younger" brother! Big lady killer that he was...
I didn't hit it off with Les then---met one of the other guys---ironically named Bob Anderson. Another guy of the same name would be a good friend 20 years down the road. I "went with" Bob for about 6 months before I started dating Les. I honed my kissing skills then.
Now here's the thing. Jim told me that Les, was part of the band "Every Mother's Son" who was a "one hit wonder" in the 60's. They had just one song---"Come on Down to My Boat Baby." Jim told me to never mention the band because his mom made him quit and he was really upset about it. So, I never mentioned it. I dated him about 6 months too. That was about my limit---new guy every 6 months or so.
He took me to his junior prom---my first. Back then, you got one dress and wore it to every prom you went to. I went to three. You can't see the butterflies in my hair, but I thought I was somethin'!
I never did ask Les, if he was in that band. I'm pretty sure I was played for a fool on that one. He did have a guitar and drums, maybe, just maybe....
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Storytelling Sunday---She Had a Swagger!
I decided to devote this post to my grandma Zimmermann. She was quite the character. I like to think I take after her. After all, I have these glasses and some fake buck teeth to boot.
In this particular picture, grandma was visiting after the birth of either Matt or Joyce. We didn't know she was coming, so she greeted us at the door after school looking like this---cheesy wig and nose glasses. She was always fun. When we went to visit her in the country (Barnhart, Missouri), she'd greet us at the door the same way. She grab hold of you---hard---and start punching your arm, or hook your neck in the crook of her arm and give you a "Dutch rub" (she would take her knuckles and rub them back and forth across the top of your skull).
She always had some planned activity for us. Usually she'd hide her clothespins all around the yard and we'd have to find them. Hey, wait a minute, now I realize that was a ploy to get rid of us for awhile---quite awhile---as she needed to have every last one of them back!
There was so much to love about the country---surrounded by woods to explore, bottle cap games, that country store beverage cooler full of slushy ice and soda. It was so much fun to reach in and see what you would pull out. I can still remember the smell of the basement/rathskeller with it's "dirt" rooms that stored home canning and vegetables.
Then there was the "reading room" upstairs. She had all of the trashy tabloids---National Enquirer, True Confessions, True Romance, etc. We became reading fools there.
We played many games on this front porch---Scrabble, Blitz, and dozens of other card games. She was a "rough and tumble" type of a gal. You can tell she has a swagger just by looking at this picture. Not really a "lady-like" type of gal. But then, there in lies the paradox. She LOVED her costume jewelry. What I wouldn't give to have a piece today.
And cook---oh, my gosh, she was the best! She loved to bake and entertain. Christmas Eve's were legendary! At least 50 varieties of cookies---that dining room table was overflowing. I'm fortunate to have many recipes from her---written in her beautiful script. I think I inherited my love of entertaining from her too.
I just loved this place. I got to spend a little extra time with her a couple of summers. She taught me about gardening---I credit her with my love for that. She was very religious---we said the Angelus at noon and the Rosary at 3 p.m. between her "stories" (soap operas).
There probably isn't a time that I "pull" some gag on my own grandkids that I don't think about her. After all, it's all about the memories---and you know I'm all over that!! I want my grandkids to think of me and tell stories of all the crazy things I did too. And that's exactly how I'll be leaving a little bit of me behind!
To check out some other great stories, please hop on over to my friend, Sian's who started this all:
Storytelling Sunday
In this particular picture, grandma was visiting after the birth of either Matt or Joyce. We didn't know she was coming, so she greeted us at the door after school looking like this---cheesy wig and nose glasses. She was always fun. When we went to visit her in the country (Barnhart, Missouri), she'd greet us at the door the same way. She grab hold of you---hard---and start punching your arm, or hook your neck in the crook of her arm and give you a "Dutch rub" (she would take her knuckles and rub them back and forth across the top of your skull).
She always had some planned activity for us. Usually she'd hide her clothespins all around the yard and we'd have to find them. Hey, wait a minute, now I realize that was a ploy to get rid of us for awhile---quite awhile---as she needed to have every last one of them back!
There was so much to love about the country---surrounded by woods to explore, bottle cap games, that country store beverage cooler full of slushy ice and soda. It was so much fun to reach in and see what you would pull out. I can still remember the smell of the basement/rathskeller with it's "dirt" rooms that stored home canning and vegetables.
Then there was the "reading room" upstairs. She had all of the trashy tabloids---National Enquirer, True Confessions, True Romance, etc. We became reading fools there.
We played many games on this front porch---Scrabble, Blitz, and dozens of other card games. She was a "rough and tumble" type of a gal. You can tell she has a swagger just by looking at this picture. Not really a "lady-like" type of gal. But then, there in lies the paradox. She LOVED her costume jewelry. What I wouldn't give to have a piece today.
And cook---oh, my gosh, she was the best! She loved to bake and entertain. Christmas Eve's were legendary! At least 50 varieties of cookies---that dining room table was overflowing. I'm fortunate to have many recipes from her---written in her beautiful script. I think I inherited my love of entertaining from her too.
I just loved this place. I got to spend a little extra time with her a couple of summers. She taught me about gardening---I credit her with my love for that. She was very religious---we said the Angelus at noon and the Rosary at 3 p.m. between her "stories" (soap operas).
There probably isn't a time that I "pull" some gag on my own grandkids that I don't think about her. After all, it's all about the memories---and you know I'm all over that!! I want my grandkids to think of me and tell stories of all the crazy things I did too. And that's exactly how I'll be leaving a little bit of me behind!
To check out some other great stories, please hop on over to my friend, Sian's who started this all:
Storytelling Sunday
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Storytelling Sunday---"It was ALWAYS about the Candy!"
Yep, we were on a mission. Back in the 1950's and 1960's, we spent ALL of our allowance on candy. We'd get the allowance---10 cents per grade---and hustle up to the little store. We'd get a huge bag of penny candy---because back then, some of the penny candy was actually 2 for a penny. And if Ronnie Miller (our backyard neighbor) was working, she'd throw in a few extras. We'd all have a heaping bag. We usually ate every bit of it that day and then have to endure a whole candy-less week.
Halloween was like the BEST holiday for us. Sure we got lots of candy on the other holidays---those lifesaver books and candy canes at Christmas and great candy-filled Easter baskets---but Halloween was OURS! We had control over where we went and for how long.
First came planning the costumes which were always just junk from around the house. I donned Ronnie's baseball uniform more than once. When we got a little older, we mostly were bums. It was easy and gave us the perfect "act." Back then, kids were actually expected to "do" something for the candy. We sang the song that matches "We 3 Kings." Sing along....
"We 3 bums from the Orient are,
smoking on a rubber cigar.
It was loaded,
we exploooodddeeedd,
now we're the bums from Mars."
The nuns actually laughed a little. Halloween was probably the only time we weren't afraid of them. We went to the convent for our first stop. They made popcorn balls that went really fast.
Back up. Our "group" consisted of Ronnie, Roger, Danny, Reenie and me. We carefully laid out our route. We didn't really have a time we had to be home, so we walked ALL over. After the popcorn balls, we high-tailed it to the lady that made the candy apples and Ronnie Miller's for our "big" score. After that, we relaxed a little and headed to the "subdivision." It's funny that we sort of looked down on the subdivision as not a really cool place to live. But for Halloween, you could hit a dozen houses in the time it took to go to 3 in our neighborhood where the houses were more spread out. We spent all night roaming around collecting candy in our "hobo pillowcases." The biggest problem with Halloween was that it was usually very cold and/or rainy. That didn't deter us. We stayed out until 9:30 or 10. We were off school the next day because of All Saints Day, so it was all around a good time.
When we got home, we'd dump all of our candy on the floor and start the sorting. We'd have piles for suckers, candy bars, penny candy, those orange and black peanut butter things and a separate pile for our dislikes/trades. Then the trading began---"I'll give you 5 Mary Janes for a Butterfinger." And then of course, the fighting---"no, that's not fair", "hey, that's my pile", etc.
How long did that much candy last? About a week.
Those were some very good times, yes indeedy.
I'm 12 here and Ronnie is 11. Me, rockin' that dickey under my mohair sweater---love the outline. Ronnie wearing peg-legged pants before they were actually "in." That boy knew how to dress! His waist is smaller than mine---still is!
The twins did their own thing on Halloween---but not at this age. I just didn't have a picture of them a little older. As for the rest of the kids, they were way too little to go by themselves. I have no idea what they did. As I said, "it was all about the candy." Nothing else mattered.
Halloween was like the BEST holiday for us. Sure we got lots of candy on the other holidays---those lifesaver books and candy canes at Christmas and great candy-filled Easter baskets---but Halloween was OURS! We had control over where we went and for how long.
First came planning the costumes which were always just junk from around the house. I donned Ronnie's baseball uniform more than once. When we got a little older, we mostly were bums. It was easy and gave us the perfect "act." Back then, kids were actually expected to "do" something for the candy. We sang the song that matches "We 3 Kings." Sing along....
"We 3 bums from the Orient are,
smoking on a rubber cigar.
It was loaded,
we exploooodddeeedd,
now we're the bums from Mars."
The nuns actually laughed a little. Halloween was probably the only time we weren't afraid of them. We went to the convent for our first stop. They made popcorn balls that went really fast.
Back up. Our "group" consisted of Ronnie, Roger, Danny, Reenie and me. We carefully laid out our route. We didn't really have a time we had to be home, so we walked ALL over. After the popcorn balls, we high-tailed it to the lady that made the candy apples and Ronnie Miller's for our "big" score. After that, we relaxed a little and headed to the "subdivision." It's funny that we sort of looked down on the subdivision as not a really cool place to live. But for Halloween, you could hit a dozen houses in the time it took to go to 3 in our neighborhood where the houses were more spread out. We spent all night roaming around collecting candy in our "hobo pillowcases." The biggest problem with Halloween was that it was usually very cold and/or rainy. That didn't deter us. We stayed out until 9:30 or 10. We were off school the next day because of All Saints Day, so it was all around a good time.
When we got home, we'd dump all of our candy on the floor and start the sorting. We'd have piles for suckers, candy bars, penny candy, those orange and black peanut butter things and a separate pile for our dislikes/trades. Then the trading began---"I'll give you 5 Mary Janes for a Butterfinger." And then of course, the fighting---"no, that's not fair", "hey, that's my pile", etc.
How long did that much candy last? About a week.
Those were some very good times, yes indeedy.
I'm 12 here and Ronnie is 11. Me, rockin' that dickey under my mohair sweater---love the outline. Ronnie wearing peg-legged pants before they were actually "in." That boy knew how to dress! His waist is smaller than mine---still is!
The twins did their own thing on Halloween---but not at this age. I just didn't have a picture of them a little older. As for the rest of the kids, they were way too little to go by themselves. I have no idea what they did. As I said, "it was all about the candy." Nothing else mattered.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Storytelling Sunday--Poker Playing Kids
On Friday night, Connie invited us along with Hugh and Pam over for poker. Connie and Pam are new to poker and we've only played a couple of times, so each time is a re-learning for them. I've been playing since we were kids. Either I'm pretty good, or pretty lucky. I nearly always win. Last night, I won $13.20. Of course, Butch lost---again. He says I usually win what he loses. But it's MY poker money and I keep my own separate. That's the first thing I told Connie and Pam---they need to have their own poker tin or container. Connie does, Pam still "mooches" off of Hugh. That's not fun. You want to know what you start with so you know whether you win or lose and how much. Otherwise, why bother?
When mom died, I took her poker purse to add that money to the estate. Mom really had her money compartmentalized. She had her coupon money, gambling money, bingo money---she kept it all separate and used her winnings for special things.
I ended up keeping her red poker purse. I figured it might bring me luck. That makes two poker containers for me now. After last night's win, both containers are bulging. I decided that I want to take the money (leaving the small change to replenish my "stash"), get bills and buy myself something in NewYork. Butch is going to take it to Coinstar for me. I have $36. already in bills alone. I believe the $20.00 bill came from Ronnie at our last family poker game in August. I won really big then.
The story that I've decided to share today is about how I started playing poker. It really began when I was about 5, with a card game called "Fan Tan." I still love the game---pretty easy to learn and great for kids. You just need to know your numbers. Pretty basic.
Grandpa and Grandma Preli came over almost every Sunday afternoon. Grandma usually had a hat on. You could count on grandpa to be smoking one of his "old stogey's." Grandpa gave each of us a roll of peppermint Life Savers---I still remember that blue paper. He must have bought them by the box, because they were the only ones he ever had. Not my favorite, but heck, it was candy. I was very happy to relieve him of more than a few rolls.
They would give each of us kids 25 pennies to play "Fan Tan." We loved it. Of course, the "sore losers" of the family showed themselves early on. Jeanne was the worst!
It started with "fan tan" and progressed to"blitz" with grandma Zimmermann. We've always been a gambling family---I guess that plays to our competitive nature. By the time we got to high school, we were playing the "big" games---"in-between," "indian," and "2 card guts." I don't think mom was really stupid enough to believe that we were really playing with matchsticks for fun. Each one of those sticks represented 5 cents. We weren't even playing penny poker anymore. We loved it and had tons of fun. I don't recall anyone really losing to much.
When Butch and I started dating, it wasn't unusual for us to play poker with my brother, Ronnie and our neighborhood friends. But now, for me, we added the drinking factor. I've never been a good "drinker," I get sick pretty early on, pass out and then miss all the fun. They called me "2-beer Barb." That's all it took for me to become senseless and play badly. One night, I had I.O.U.'s all over the table before I passed out. Once that happened, Butch and Ronnie spent the rest of the night trying to "win back" my I.O.U.'s. They did it too---all except for ONE. Danny Schultz had my final I.O.U. for $12.00. He carried it around for years and presented it to me one day. I told him, "forget it, I was drunk, I'm not paying." For all I know, he still might be carrying that around.
Here are a few old photos reflecting that time when we first learned to gamble.
If the weather was nice, you would find us outside playing croquet. We loved that game too. We pretty much loved all games and played constantly. In the background, you can see the only dog I ever loved---"Shadow" our boxer. I had no idea that I had this picture. It's the only picture I have with her in it.
Grandma Preli took this shot. She was legendary for cutting someone out of the picture. Guess who that is barely visible on the left? That would be mom. How in the world do you cut out a whole person? Grandpa always seemed old to me. He looks pretty old in this picture.
I couldn't resist sharing this picture. First off, you can see mom's organized way of telling the twins shoes apart. Janice got the tape. In the background, you can see me holding my "Barbie" wallet. If you didn't know that this was around Christmas time, you could easily figure it out by my chapped lips. I can still remember how they hurt. I couldn't stop licking them. I had chapped lips all winter long. Sometimes the chapped reached to my nose. My lips hurt---really, really bad.
I'm glad I have his photo of Ronnie. This would be the ONLY time he might have been in charge for a half second. He must have felt pretty darn "big" pinning on that sherriff's badge. Everyone knew I was the BOSS! You can bet on that!
When mom died, I took her poker purse to add that money to the estate. Mom really had her money compartmentalized. She had her coupon money, gambling money, bingo money---she kept it all separate and used her winnings for special things.
I ended up keeping her red poker purse. I figured it might bring me luck. That makes two poker containers for me now. After last night's win, both containers are bulging. I decided that I want to take the money (leaving the small change to replenish my "stash"), get bills and buy myself something in NewYork. Butch is going to take it to Coinstar for me. I have $36. already in bills alone. I believe the $20.00 bill came from Ronnie at our last family poker game in August. I won really big then.
The story that I've decided to share today is about how I started playing poker. It really began when I was about 5, with a card game called "Fan Tan." I still love the game---pretty easy to learn and great for kids. You just need to know your numbers. Pretty basic.
Grandpa and Grandma Preli came over almost every Sunday afternoon. Grandma usually had a hat on. You could count on grandpa to be smoking one of his "old stogey's." Grandpa gave each of us a roll of peppermint Life Savers---I still remember that blue paper. He must have bought them by the box, because they were the only ones he ever had. Not my favorite, but heck, it was candy. I was very happy to relieve him of more than a few rolls.
They would give each of us kids 25 pennies to play "Fan Tan." We loved it. Of course, the "sore losers" of the family showed themselves early on. Jeanne was the worst!
It started with "fan tan" and progressed to"blitz" with grandma Zimmermann. We've always been a gambling family---I guess that plays to our competitive nature. By the time we got to high school, we were playing the "big" games---"in-between," "indian," and "2 card guts." I don't think mom was really stupid enough to believe that we were really playing with matchsticks for fun. Each one of those sticks represented 5 cents. We weren't even playing penny poker anymore. We loved it and had tons of fun. I don't recall anyone really losing to much.
When Butch and I started dating, it wasn't unusual for us to play poker with my brother, Ronnie and our neighborhood friends. But now, for me, we added the drinking factor. I've never been a good "drinker," I get sick pretty early on, pass out and then miss all the fun. They called me "2-beer Barb." That's all it took for me to become senseless and play badly. One night, I had I.O.U.'s all over the table before I passed out. Once that happened, Butch and Ronnie spent the rest of the night trying to "win back" my I.O.U.'s. They did it too---all except for ONE. Danny Schultz had my final I.O.U. for $12.00. He carried it around for years and presented it to me one day. I told him, "forget it, I was drunk, I'm not paying." For all I know, he still might be carrying that around.
Here are a few old photos reflecting that time when we first learned to gamble.
If the weather was nice, you would find us outside playing croquet. We loved that game too. We pretty much loved all games and played constantly. In the background, you can see the only dog I ever loved---"Shadow" our boxer. I had no idea that I had this picture. It's the only picture I have with her in it.
Grandma Preli took this shot. She was legendary for cutting someone out of the picture. Guess who that is barely visible on the left? That would be mom. How in the world do you cut out a whole person? Grandpa always seemed old to me. He looks pretty old in this picture.
I couldn't resist sharing this picture. First off, you can see mom's organized way of telling the twins shoes apart. Janice got the tape. In the background, you can see me holding my "Barbie" wallet. If you didn't know that this was around Christmas time, you could easily figure it out by my chapped lips. I can still remember how they hurt. I couldn't stop licking them. I had chapped lips all winter long. Sometimes the chapped reached to my nose. My lips hurt---really, really bad.
I'm glad I have his photo of Ronnie. This would be the ONLY time he might have been in charge for a half second. He must have felt pretty darn "big" pinning on that sherriff's badge. Everyone knew I was the BOSS! You can bet on that!
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Storytelling Sunday---Food in a large family
This week would have been mom's 80th birthday. It's still hard to believe that she's gone. Here's one for you, mom (actually, a lot of my storytelling has included mom).
On Friday morning, while Mindy was here getting ready for work, we started talking about food---one of Mindy's favorite subjects. I was reminded of what it was like growing up in a large family and the food issues that brings.
I'll start with our huge, round table that my dad had made especially to accommodate 9 people. In the center was one of those big lazy susan's so that all the food could revolve around. First of all, we didn't fill our own plates---mom or dad did it. You were expected to eat everything on your plate. We were the original members of the "clean plate club." There are a lot of stories revolving around what happened when you didn't finish your dinner or sitting at the table for hours trying to finish, but that's not where I'm going with this. We certainly had some unusual things to eat too. My parents ordered our beef straight from the farmers by the whole cow. That means you get EVERY body part there is. The tongue was downright disgusting. Nothing goes to waste in a large family. Mom canned, cooked, froze---just about everything she could get her hands on. We went blackberry picking, picked up wild crabapples, shucked hundreds of ears of corn, snapped beans and peas, you name it, she did it all and we were required to help.
Mom wasn't a baker, so desserts were not a big thing around our house. Our best months of the year were January---4 birthday cakes, February---2 birthday cakes and October---3 birthday cakes. Luckily, there were enough Baptisms, First Communions, Confirmation and other religious holidays that we got our fair share of desserts---just not daily. We all spent our allowance on candy---we NEVER had candy at home.
We loved going to our grandpa and grandma Preli's restaurant, The Normandy Cafe. We could only go about once a month because they wouldn't let us pay and my dad did not want to take advantage. We could have anything we wanted including cream soda and bread pudding.
What we didn't have were lots of store bought treats. Mom got to drink soda at meals which as kids we thought was totally unfair (of course, you could NEVER complain). We drank milk or water, never Kool Aid like the rest of the neighborhood kids.
Saturday nights were our big treat of the week. Sometimes we'd go to the drive-in. We'd make our own popcorn and we'd get to have Cokes---those cute little 6 oz. bottles (one each---there's a 6-pack). The big kids---myself, Ronnie, Janice and Jennifer get to sit on the roof of the car---I can still remember that thrill. Cars were made sturdier and the roof didn't cave in. By the time the kiddie show was over, most of the kids were asleep. Since I was older, I might still be awake, but trying to go to sleep---the adult feature was starting and not appropriate for kids. On one of those occasions when I was having a problem falling asleep, they didn't know I was still awake. That's when I realized that dad would sneak off to the snack stand and get ALL kinds of good food for he and mom---hot tamales, hot dogs, ice cream, malts. I remember once, getting to share in a little of that---as long as I was quiet and didn't wake up the "kids." That was a big deal. I did get a lot of privileges as the oldest---but also a lot of responsibility too. I have really fond memories of those drive-in movies. Plus, we always had a regular car---never a station wagon---and we could all fit in it.
If we were home on a Saturday night, we'd watch "Saturday Night at the Movies" on our own tv. We'd have popcorn and dad would make malts. It would take the entire half gallon of ice cream and we wouldn't even get that much, but what a treat. We had the metal cups that got all icy and cold and froze your hand. We got to have our snacks in the living room where floor space was a premium. In hindsight, our house was pretty little for our big family. That didn't matter.
Mom would buy food on sale and store the extra on shelves in the basement. During the 1960's, manhattens and whiskey sours were the drinks they enjoyed and served to friends. There were people at our house all the time. Mom sent one of the kids downstairs to get a jar of cherries for the "company's" drinks. All that was left on the shelf was the empty jar with the cherry juice. We had eaten all the cherries. That's one good thing about a big family---regardless of who has the bad idea, we all participated and we all got in trouble. There was no such thing as tattling as we all had "stuff" on each other. That worked for us.
I'd have to say the worst thing we kids did was sabotage mom's Christmas cookie efforts. Mom was the MOST organized person you'd ever want to meet. She started baking cookies months ahead and put them in tins in our huge, deep freeze---the type that the door lifted up---and you'd get shocked if you were barefooted on the concrete floor while opening it. Anyway, by the time Christmas rolled around, and mom went to retrieve the cookies, all the tins were EMPTY---except for those Italian sesame things. OMG! I can still remember how that started. We each had one cookie---so that'd be 5 (at the time). We'd even out the cookies so you couldn't tell that some were missing. The next time it was 2 and we kept doing it. We'd say that we had to stop, but we just couldn't. I can't imagine how mom must have felt. I'm sure later----much later, it might seem funny. But believe me, I do believe I can still feel the sting on my behind from that one! And of course, the required, "Barbara, you're supposed to be setting a good example for your younger brothers and sisters," right before marching me up to confession. I can't even blame any of the kids. It's not like just one of us came up with bad ideas. We all had them and we all followed along. When it comes to cookies, the "Christmas Cookie Caper" could very well have been MY idea.
I'm telling you, I would not have traded a moment of it. Growing up in a big family was the BEST!!!
On Friday morning, while Mindy was here getting ready for work, we started talking about food---one of Mindy's favorite subjects. I was reminded of what it was like growing up in a large family and the food issues that brings.
I'll start with our huge, round table that my dad had made especially to accommodate 9 people. In the center was one of those big lazy susan's so that all the food could revolve around. First of all, we didn't fill our own plates---mom or dad did it. You were expected to eat everything on your plate. We were the original members of the "clean plate club." There are a lot of stories revolving around what happened when you didn't finish your dinner or sitting at the table for hours trying to finish, but that's not where I'm going with this. We certainly had some unusual things to eat too. My parents ordered our beef straight from the farmers by the whole cow. That means you get EVERY body part there is. The tongue was downright disgusting. Nothing goes to waste in a large family. Mom canned, cooked, froze---just about everything she could get her hands on. We went blackberry picking, picked up wild crabapples, shucked hundreds of ears of corn, snapped beans and peas, you name it, she did it all and we were required to help.
Mom wasn't a baker, so desserts were not a big thing around our house. Our best months of the year were January---4 birthday cakes, February---2 birthday cakes and October---3 birthday cakes. Luckily, there were enough Baptisms, First Communions, Confirmation and other religious holidays that we got our fair share of desserts---just not daily. We all spent our allowance on candy---we NEVER had candy at home.
We loved going to our grandpa and grandma Preli's restaurant, The Normandy Cafe. We could only go about once a month because they wouldn't let us pay and my dad did not want to take advantage. We could have anything we wanted including cream soda and bread pudding.
What we didn't have were lots of store bought treats. Mom got to drink soda at meals which as kids we thought was totally unfair (of course, you could NEVER complain). We drank milk or water, never Kool Aid like the rest of the neighborhood kids.
Saturday nights were our big treat of the week. Sometimes we'd go to the drive-in. We'd make our own popcorn and we'd get to have Cokes---those cute little 6 oz. bottles (one each---there's a 6-pack). The big kids---myself, Ronnie, Janice and Jennifer get to sit on the roof of the car---I can still remember that thrill. Cars were made sturdier and the roof didn't cave in. By the time the kiddie show was over, most of the kids were asleep. Since I was older, I might still be awake, but trying to go to sleep---the adult feature was starting and not appropriate for kids. On one of those occasions when I was having a problem falling asleep, they didn't know I was still awake. That's when I realized that dad would sneak off to the snack stand and get ALL kinds of good food for he and mom---hot tamales, hot dogs, ice cream, malts. I remember once, getting to share in a little of that---as long as I was quiet and didn't wake up the "kids." That was a big deal. I did get a lot of privileges as the oldest---but also a lot of responsibility too. I have really fond memories of those drive-in movies. Plus, we always had a regular car---never a station wagon---and we could all fit in it.
If we were home on a Saturday night, we'd watch "Saturday Night at the Movies" on our own tv. We'd have popcorn and dad would make malts. It would take the entire half gallon of ice cream and we wouldn't even get that much, but what a treat. We had the metal cups that got all icy and cold and froze your hand. We got to have our snacks in the living room where floor space was a premium. In hindsight, our house was pretty little for our big family. That didn't matter.
Mom would buy food on sale and store the extra on shelves in the basement. During the 1960's, manhattens and whiskey sours were the drinks they enjoyed and served to friends. There were people at our house all the time. Mom sent one of the kids downstairs to get a jar of cherries for the "company's" drinks. All that was left on the shelf was the empty jar with the cherry juice. We had eaten all the cherries. That's one good thing about a big family---regardless of who has the bad idea, we all participated and we all got in trouble. There was no such thing as tattling as we all had "stuff" on each other. That worked for us.
I'd have to say the worst thing we kids did was sabotage mom's Christmas cookie efforts. Mom was the MOST organized person you'd ever want to meet. She started baking cookies months ahead and put them in tins in our huge, deep freeze---the type that the door lifted up---and you'd get shocked if you were barefooted on the concrete floor while opening it. Anyway, by the time Christmas rolled around, and mom went to retrieve the cookies, all the tins were EMPTY---except for those Italian sesame things. OMG! I can still remember how that started. We each had one cookie---so that'd be 5 (at the time). We'd even out the cookies so you couldn't tell that some were missing. The next time it was 2 and we kept doing it. We'd say that we had to stop, but we just couldn't. I can't imagine how mom must have felt. I'm sure later----much later, it might seem funny. But believe me, I do believe I can still feel the sting on my behind from that one! And of course, the required, "Barbara, you're supposed to be setting a good example for your younger brothers and sisters," right before marching me up to confession. I can't even blame any of the kids. It's not like just one of us came up with bad ideas. We all had them and we all followed along. When it comes to cookies, the "Christmas Cookie Caper" could very well have been MY idea.
I'm telling you, I would not have traded a moment of it. Growing up in a big family was the BEST!!!
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Storytelling Sunday---Mom Dashed My Dreams!
Actually, I never really dreamed of being a singer. But if I had, mom dashed that dream---and wasn't even very nice about it. Here's the story.
From first grade through junior year of high school, I was in Camp Fire Girls. In about 7th grade, I was working with some "bluebird" groups in a teaching capacity---which included teaching them many Camp Fire songs. Apparently, one of the "higher ups" thought I had a good voice. She asked me to lead the singing at our "Campfire Council"---a pretty big deal as all Camp Fire Girls from north county attend to receive awards. I did fine---it was my first time in front of a microphone---that was pretty scary---to hear yourself so loud.
Fast forward a few years. A few boys in the neighborhood (Steve Martin---not the famous one, Dean Meyer, Bob Anderson (one of my first boyfriends---but we weren't dating yet), and his brother Jon, decided to start a band. I don't even remember what their name was. Anyway, they thought it would be a good idea to have a girl singer, so I got the job. We practiced for about three sessions when I finally told mom what was going on. She didn't ask a single question, just said, "NO"! WTF! But those were the days that you did what you were told. And of course I was, "setting a good example for my younger brothers and sisters." I can't even recall being that upset. I have no grand illusions that I have any kind of a great voice---although people in church have complimented me now and then.
Anyway, the band only had one "gig"---our CYC dance at St. Aloysius, that I got for them. Sometime around 9 p.m., one of the priests came out and told them to lower the volume. It lead to an unpleasant scene, so they packed up and left. They never had another paid "gig" and the band folded shortly thereafter. I was already out of the band by then, so I never got my big break.
I guess the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree. When Steph and her best friend, Malinda and Mindy wanted to take singing lessons, Connie and I shared the driving. This culminated in to one big performance. They weren't so hot, so we didn't sign them up again.
In the 7th grade, Steph came out to the car after school all excited and said that she'd been accepted in to the "All State Chorus." My exact words were, "Well, Steph, that's great. But did they just want some regular voices?" She wasn't too happy with reaction either. To this day, she's held it against me that I didn't let her take dancing lessons. We laughed when she took ballet and tap in college---but that's another story. She did once call me---"Mom, dasher of dreams." Made me laugh anyway.
I can also hold my own in kareoke. Our family loves that. In fact the adults really get "in" to it. The last time we did it, we were at it for hours. Somewhere around 11 p.m. we looked around and realized all the kids had gone and it was just us adults. They were impressed that I knew the old Etta James song, "At Last."
Connie and I also make a pretty powerful duet for "Locomotion"---but that's been quite a few years now---back when the Bellevue Pub was around. We also were part of a group that sang "Heard it through the grapevine"---I don't remember who else did it with us---probably Trish and Pam. Hugh was the big winner that night---he sounds EXACTLY like Elvis. What I remember most about that night was not having a single drink, but waking up the next morning feeling like I'd been run over by a truck---too much smoke, yelling, screaming for Hugh and not getting to bed until 3 a.m. or so.
Now the reason for today's story is this. I never really wanted to be a singer, or lost any sleep over that. But I definitely want to be in a "flash mob." In fact, it's on my bucket list. I don't have much on it because I can't really think of anything to put on it. (Butch is just the opposite---he says he's adding things to a bucket list that he NEVER wants to do again---like sit in floor seats at a concert).
The "flash mob" that I want to be in is the dancing type. The one below wouldn't be too bad if I could just be part of the chorus---and of course, I'd have to know how to sing in Italian. Enjoy the video!!
Dia Eruopeo de la Opera en Pamplona
On second thought, I'm going to change my bucket list to read:
"I want to BE SURPRISED by a "flash mob"---of any type!!
PS One last thing---if you grow up in a large family, ALL of your hopes and dreams will be crushed. Siblings are brutal---I'll have to tell the story some time about my modeling career!!!
From first grade through junior year of high school, I was in Camp Fire Girls. In about 7th grade, I was working with some "bluebird" groups in a teaching capacity---which included teaching them many Camp Fire songs. Apparently, one of the "higher ups" thought I had a good voice. She asked me to lead the singing at our "Campfire Council"---a pretty big deal as all Camp Fire Girls from north county attend to receive awards. I did fine---it was my first time in front of a microphone---that was pretty scary---to hear yourself so loud.
Fast forward a few years. A few boys in the neighborhood (Steve Martin---not the famous one, Dean Meyer, Bob Anderson (one of my first boyfriends---but we weren't dating yet), and his brother Jon, decided to start a band. I don't even remember what their name was. Anyway, they thought it would be a good idea to have a girl singer, so I got the job. We practiced for about three sessions when I finally told mom what was going on. She didn't ask a single question, just said, "NO"! WTF! But those were the days that you did what you were told. And of course I was, "setting a good example for my younger brothers and sisters." I can't even recall being that upset. I have no grand illusions that I have any kind of a great voice---although people in church have complimented me now and then.
Anyway, the band only had one "gig"---our CYC dance at St. Aloysius, that I got for them. Sometime around 9 p.m., one of the priests came out and told them to lower the volume. It lead to an unpleasant scene, so they packed up and left. They never had another paid "gig" and the band folded shortly thereafter. I was already out of the band by then, so I never got my big break.
I guess the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree. When Steph and her best friend, Malinda and Mindy wanted to take singing lessons, Connie and I shared the driving. This culminated in to one big performance. They weren't so hot, so we didn't sign them up again.
In the 7th grade, Steph came out to the car after school all excited and said that she'd been accepted in to the "All State Chorus." My exact words were, "Well, Steph, that's great. But did they just want some regular voices?" She wasn't too happy with reaction either. To this day, she's held it against me that I didn't let her take dancing lessons. We laughed when she took ballet and tap in college---but that's another story. She did once call me---"Mom, dasher of dreams." Made me laugh anyway.
I can also hold my own in kareoke. Our family loves that. In fact the adults really get "in" to it. The last time we did it, we were at it for hours. Somewhere around 11 p.m. we looked around and realized all the kids had gone and it was just us adults. They were impressed that I knew the old Etta James song, "At Last."
Connie and I also make a pretty powerful duet for "Locomotion"---but that's been quite a few years now---back when the Bellevue Pub was around. We also were part of a group that sang "Heard it through the grapevine"---I don't remember who else did it with us---probably Trish and Pam. Hugh was the big winner that night---he sounds EXACTLY like Elvis. What I remember most about that night was not having a single drink, but waking up the next morning feeling like I'd been run over by a truck---too much smoke, yelling, screaming for Hugh and not getting to bed until 3 a.m. or so.
Now the reason for today's story is this. I never really wanted to be a singer, or lost any sleep over that. But I definitely want to be in a "flash mob." In fact, it's on my bucket list. I don't have much on it because I can't really think of anything to put on it. (Butch is just the opposite---he says he's adding things to a bucket list that he NEVER wants to do again---like sit in floor seats at a concert).
The "flash mob" that I want to be in is the dancing type. The one below wouldn't be too bad if I could just be part of the chorus---and of course, I'd have to know how to sing in Italian. Enjoy the video!!
Dia Eruopeo de la Opera en Pamplona
On second thought, I'm going to change my bucket list to read:
"I want to BE SURPRISED by a "flash mob"---of any type!!
PS One last thing---if you grow up in a large family, ALL of your hopes and dreams will be crushed. Siblings are brutal---I'll have to tell the story some time about my modeling career!!!
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Storytelling Sunday---I've Always Been a Faller!
Last week, I told the story of my embarrassing moment at the Louvre. This is another travel related embarrassment. And for once, it's a "short story."
Butch is always so considerate of me when going up or down stairs. He knows I have a "problem" with touching the handrail. I put my hand on his shoulder---going down and on his arm going up---just need a little stabilization. Otherwise, I might topple and fall down the steps. They've always been a challenge. Actually, it's probably a "payback" for all the times I faked illness by falling down the last few steps at home and telling mom that I "got dizzy because I'm so sick." It worked like a charm every time.
Now I'm going to tell you about my most famous fall of all. Butch and I were in NewYork during the holiday season. That was about 1998---he surprised me with the trip and had it all planned---theater tickets and all. We went to St. Patrick's Cathedral for Mass on Sunday and then to the Plaza afterwards for brunch. We were having a perfectly delightful time. I decided to go up (two steps) and get dessert. On the way back, I missed not one step, but both of them. I fell flat out---and worst of all---in to my desserts. People gathered around--it was quite a commotion. I got up, cleaned up as best as I could. Luckily, Butch had his back to me across the room. I returned to my seat without any desserts. He asked me why I didn't have any dessert---he knows my sweet tooth. I told him I changed my mind. He then said, "so why are you wearing that whipped cream on your shoulder?" About that time, our waiter came over and asked if I was all right. I had to confess what had happened.
I think he was secretly happy that he hadn't witnessed my fall. Otherwise, he would have felt compelled to come to my rescue and thus share in my embarrassment. That's why he "helps" me on stairs. He forewarns me about all kinds of circumstances, uneven pavement, small steps, divits in the side walk---just any unusual terrain. Even if he does it to avoid his own embarrassment, I love that!!
PS If you would like to read the story from the gal that started Storytelling Sunday, click here. She is from the UK and is really a talented writer. You can also read stories from other people that join her on Sundays with their stories. If you check them out, be sure to leave a comment.
Butch is always so considerate of me when going up or down stairs. He knows I have a "problem" with touching the handrail. I put my hand on his shoulder---going down and on his arm going up---just need a little stabilization. Otherwise, I might topple and fall down the steps. They've always been a challenge. Actually, it's probably a "payback" for all the times I faked illness by falling down the last few steps at home and telling mom that I "got dizzy because I'm so sick." It worked like a charm every time.
Now I'm going to tell you about my most famous fall of all. Butch and I were in NewYork during the holiday season. That was about 1998---he surprised me with the trip and had it all planned---theater tickets and all. We went to St. Patrick's Cathedral for Mass on Sunday and then to the Plaza afterwards for brunch. We were having a perfectly delightful time. I decided to go up (two steps) and get dessert. On the way back, I missed not one step, but both of them. I fell flat out---and worst of all---in to my desserts. People gathered around--it was quite a commotion. I got up, cleaned up as best as I could. Luckily, Butch had his back to me across the room. I returned to my seat without any desserts. He asked me why I didn't have any dessert---he knows my sweet tooth. I told him I changed my mind. He then said, "so why are you wearing that whipped cream on your shoulder?" About that time, our waiter came over and asked if I was all right. I had to confess what had happened.
I think he was secretly happy that he hadn't witnessed my fall. Otherwise, he would have felt compelled to come to my rescue and thus share in my embarrassment. That's why he "helps" me on stairs. He forewarns me about all kinds of circumstances, uneven pavement, small steps, divits in the side walk---just any unusual terrain. Even if he does it to avoid his own embarrassment, I love that!!
PS If you would like to read the story from the gal that started Storytelling Sunday, click here. She is from the UK and is really a talented writer. You can also read stories from other people that join her on Sundays with their stories. If you check them out, be sure to leave a comment.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Storytelling Sunday---The Day I Set the Alarms off in the Louvre!!
Since Butch and I are traveling, I thought it would be a good idea to give you a story about another trip about 20 years ago. We were in France with Walter and Chris. We enjoy traveling together and are pretty compatible. Chris and I can do our thing some of the time while the guys do “war” stuff. Don’t get me wrong, Chris and I do some of that stuff too, but not to the extent that the guys like. On the other hand, after one house, palace, castle or chateau with ornate furnishings, the guys are “done.” So it works out well.
I also consider myself a considerate tourist. I don’t have to push or shove. I’m a rule follower (not just when traveling, but always---just the way I was brought up). If it says don’t walk on the grass, I won’t. If a sign says “do not touch,” I don’t----not even if it’s “wet paint.”
Anyway, on to the story. We were strolling through the Louvre in Paris. We came across a couple of rooms that were recreations of those in Versailles of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette’s. I was surprised that there were no ropes or anything, just the rooms. I would never dream of walking in the room or on the carpet. But, I wanted to examine the needlepoint on the chairs. Being a needlepointer myself, I was interested in that. I had my hands behind my back---to basically keep my purse from swinging forward. I leaned over to get a closer look at the needlepoint on the chair. That’s when it happened---the alarms went off! I was mortified. Butch said, “way to go” as he walked off to disassociate himself from me. Surely, if it looked like I was going to be arrested he would have come to my aide---at least I like to think so.
A security guard rushed up to me. I said, “I didn’t touch anything.” Turns out my head broke some type of laser beam security system. I was so embarrassed. As I choked back the tears, the guard was very nice. At least he seemed nice. I have no idea what he said to me in French, but he said it in a nice tone. It probably went something like this, “oh you stupid American woman!”
To this day, I am never lured by displays that seem to have no barriers around them. I know they do. I don’t need that kind of embarrassment again. Plus, next time, I might not be so lucky. The shock of the alarm would probably cause me to startle, topple over and damage something! I’m pretty certain of that.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Storytelling Sunday---Mom, Me and Those Pesky Twins
I'm in London now. It's 2 a.m. your time, but 9 a.m. here. We didn't sleep a wink on the plane. We're waiting for our room to be ready which is going to be awhile since the current occupants haven't checked out yet. Our plan was to take a 3 hr. nap, then stay up until about 9 p.m. tonight and hopefully avoid the jet lag. We'll see how it goes. Butch is going to want to head out pretty soon.
On to the story. Friday was the one year anniversary of mom's death. I decided that I would do this story in her memory. That's the thing about stories---and why I'm so passionate about telling them. When you tell a story, you provide a bit of immortality to the person the story is about! Think about that. If we tell the stories, the people live on. That's what it's all about---well and the "hokey pokey" too.
This one's for you mom. When we were little, mom dressed the twins and I alike---like even though we were the same size, people might think we were triplets. Janice and Jennifer are identical, so I just looked like I was adopted into that threesome---plus, the name Barbara didn't fit either (mom went on to name all the other girls in the family with "J" names---I should have asked her what that was about---I just wasn't part of the "J" club---maybe I was adopted? That would explain why I didn't inherit the "drinking" gene). Anyway, as we got a little older, the twins passed me up in the size department. Then I got their hand-me-downs. Since I had multiples of everything, my friends teased me that I didn't wash my clothes. Seriously, though, the worst was the homemade crop tops mom made for us out of the leftover kitchen curtain material. She even put the leftover, red, ball fringe on the bottom. Believe me, running around in our kitchen curtains wasn't much fun. I opened myself up for a lot of ridicule, but what was a kid to do? Mom was all proud of her sewing abilities and it those days, you didn't dare complain. So wear the kitchen curtains I did!
By the time I got to 5th grade, I'd had enough of those twins and having to dress like them. Mom brought home green velvet Christmas dresses for all of us. I said I didn't like the dress. It caused a really big stink because the twins loved it (at least Jennifer did---Janice didn't like dresses, so she just went along with Jennifer). Dad kept asking me why I didn't like it---I kept saying I didn't know, I just didn't like it. Inside myself---the part that would never verbalize what I really thought---I was thinking, "I'm not going to dress like the twins anymore." We were starting to have some sibling issues---a lot of fighting and I pretty much hated them. I secretly took great delight in the fact that mom had to shop for them in the "chubby" department (yes, it was actually called that back then).
Anyway, as dad kept quizzing me about the dress, mom was in the background saying, "individuality, Gene, individuality!" I didn't know what that meant, but dad let up. And I didn't have to wear that dress. Nor did I ever have to dress like the twins again. Mom recognized what I wasn't even aware of. I'm glad she did, but I still got their hand-me-downs.
Here's a recent picture. Jennifer is not in it. My sister, Jeanne is on the left and my sister-in-law, Janet is in the back. She was welcomed in to the "J" club 35 years ago. Janice is next and I'm on the end.
I have to say, sibling rivalry aside---I love those girls now!
On to the story. Friday was the one year anniversary of mom's death. I decided that I would do this story in her memory. That's the thing about stories---and why I'm so passionate about telling them. When you tell a story, you provide a bit of immortality to the person the story is about! Think about that. If we tell the stories, the people live on. That's what it's all about---well and the "hokey pokey" too.
This one's for you mom. When we were little, mom dressed the twins and I alike---like even though we were the same size, people might think we were triplets. Janice and Jennifer are identical, so I just looked like I was adopted into that threesome---plus, the name Barbara didn't fit either (mom went on to name all the other girls in the family with "J" names---I should have asked her what that was about---I just wasn't part of the "J" club---maybe I was adopted? That would explain why I didn't inherit the "drinking" gene). Anyway, as we got a little older, the twins passed me up in the size department. Then I got their hand-me-downs. Since I had multiples of everything, my friends teased me that I didn't wash my clothes. Seriously, though, the worst was the homemade crop tops mom made for us out of the leftover kitchen curtain material. She even put the leftover, red, ball fringe on the bottom. Believe me, running around in our kitchen curtains wasn't much fun. I opened myself up for a lot of ridicule, but what was a kid to do? Mom was all proud of her sewing abilities and it those days, you didn't dare complain. So wear the kitchen curtains I did!
By the time I got to 5th grade, I'd had enough of those twins and having to dress like them. Mom brought home green velvet Christmas dresses for all of us. I said I didn't like the dress. It caused a really big stink because the twins loved it (at least Jennifer did---Janice didn't like dresses, so she just went along with Jennifer). Dad kept asking me why I didn't like it---I kept saying I didn't know, I just didn't like it. Inside myself---the part that would never verbalize what I really thought---I was thinking, "I'm not going to dress like the twins anymore." We were starting to have some sibling issues---a lot of fighting and I pretty much hated them. I secretly took great delight in the fact that mom had to shop for them in the "chubby" department (yes, it was actually called that back then).
Anyway, as dad kept quizzing me about the dress, mom was in the background saying, "individuality, Gene, individuality!" I didn't know what that meant, but dad let up. And I didn't have to wear that dress. Nor did I ever have to dress like the twins again. Mom recognized what I wasn't even aware of. I'm glad she did, but I still got their hand-me-downs.
Here's a recent picture. Jennifer is not in it. My sister, Jeanne is on the left and my sister-in-law, Janet is in the back. She was welcomed in to the "J" club 35 years ago. Janice is next and I'm on the end.
I have to say, sibling rivalry aside---I love those girls now!
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Storytelling Sunday---Me and My Big Fat Mouth!
My big fat mouth has gotten me in trouble many times at school through the years. But I'd say the very first time was 1963 when I was in the 6th grade. I had the meanest nun of all, Sister Richard Maureen---most were pretty mean in the 60's, but she was the meanest. We had just come back to the classroom from lunch. Dick Hoffmeyer---we grew up with him as Dick, but suddenly when we entered high school, he became Rich---go figure! Dick did something that made us all laugh hysterically. Sister came in and asked, "What was so funny?" Dick raised his hand and she called on him. He said, "Sister, I cut the cheese." We all cracked up again. Sister quickly put a stop to that. Well, I couldn't stop giggling. Sister got out her roll of masking tape with the blue stripes. She put it over my mouth. Of course, I was mortified and very near tears. So what does a 12 year old girl do to hide embarrassment? She continues to giggle.
Completely frustrated with me, Sister put me in a corner out in the hallway. There, I was able to have my own private little pity party. I was still out there at 3 p.m. when school let out. I looked a sight with that blue-striped tape over my mouth. I was embarrassed all over again as the kids filed out for the day. Even worse was knowing that my brother and sisters couldn't wait to get home to "tell" on me. Back then, if you got in trouble at school, you got in worse trouble at home. That gave me something else to worry about.
Around 4 p.m., Sister Richard Maureen was leaving our classroom for the day. As soon as she stepped into the hallway, she gasped when she saw me still standing there. She didn't admit it, but I realized that she completely forgot about me. She wasn't exactly nice or apologetic, but told me I'd better learn to control myself in the future and then sent me home.
But that's not the end of the story. I got my chance to confront Sister Richard Maureen about 40 years later. It was the closing of our childhood parish and school, St. Aloysius in St. Louis, MO. The whole family came. We were delighted to see old classmates and teachers. I would never have recognized Sister Richard Maureen. When I found out she was there, I marched right up to her and said, "Hi Sister, I'm Barbara Zimmermann (Eads) and you were the meanest teacher I ever had!" She said, "Was I really?" We started talking. I was sure that she would want to apologize to me for what she did all those years ago. But before I even got to remind her of her "crime", she told me that at the time, she was a brand new teacher---22 years old and had 59 students in my class. She had to be tough in order to keep that many kids under control. I remembered that our classes were huge, but I had no idea she was so young---nuns always seemed old to me---and she didn't have any helpers either. Suddenly, I felt a little sorry for her.
I never did remind her of what she did to me. I figure, just like all of us, she made a mistake and probably has enough of her own regrets. She didn't need to be reminded of just one more. If something like that happened today, parents would be "all over it." That teacher would have been in so much trouble. But you know, I was none the worse for it. I learned to behave. And a little humbling is good for the soul. I wasn't harmed for life. I'm pretty well adjusted and happy. In fact, I think I owe Sister Richard Maureen a big thank you. Because of her, I'm still a rule follower. It might drive some people nuts, but I like myself this way.
Completely frustrated with me, Sister put me in a corner out in the hallway. There, I was able to have my own private little pity party. I was still out there at 3 p.m. when school let out. I looked a sight with that blue-striped tape over my mouth. I was embarrassed all over again as the kids filed out for the day. Even worse was knowing that my brother and sisters couldn't wait to get home to "tell" on me. Back then, if you got in trouble at school, you got in worse trouble at home. That gave me something else to worry about.
Around 4 p.m., Sister Richard Maureen was leaving our classroom for the day. As soon as she stepped into the hallway, she gasped when she saw me still standing there. She didn't admit it, but I realized that she completely forgot about me. She wasn't exactly nice or apologetic, but told me I'd better learn to control myself in the future and then sent me home.
But that's not the end of the story. I got my chance to confront Sister Richard Maureen about 40 years later. It was the closing of our childhood parish and school, St. Aloysius in St. Louis, MO. The whole family came. We were delighted to see old classmates and teachers. I would never have recognized Sister Richard Maureen. When I found out she was there, I marched right up to her and said, "Hi Sister, I'm Barbara Zimmermann (Eads) and you were the meanest teacher I ever had!" She said, "Was I really?" We started talking. I was sure that she would want to apologize to me for what she did all those years ago. But before I even got to remind her of her "crime", she told me that at the time, she was a brand new teacher---22 years old and had 59 students in my class. She had to be tough in order to keep that many kids under control. I remembered that our classes were huge, but I had no idea she was so young---nuns always seemed old to me---and she didn't have any helpers either. Suddenly, I felt a little sorry for her.
I never did remind her of what she did to me. I figure, just like all of us, she made a mistake and probably has enough of her own regrets. She didn't need to be reminded of just one more. If something like that happened today, parents would be "all over it." That teacher would have been in so much trouble. But you know, I was none the worse for it. I learned to behave. And a little humbling is good for the soul. I wasn't harmed for life. I'm pretty well adjusted and happy. In fact, I think I owe Sister Richard Maureen a big thank you. Because of her, I'm still a rule follower. It might drive some people nuts, but I like myself this way.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Storytelling Sunday---The Neighborhood Bully
When we were kids, we had a neighborhood bully. I guess everyone did. Our bully was named Roger. I'm not saying his last name so as not to slander his family. But this kid was mean. He put rocks in the middle of mud clods and kept us from getting to our house by bombarding us with them when we were called home. In those days, mom and dad would stand in the backyard and yell all of our names. We were supposed to be within shouting distance. When you heard them call, you better have high-tailed it home. In our house, late for dinner could mean no dinner at all as the food would be gone. With 7 kids, we rarely had leftovers.
Anyway, back to Roger. He was always picking on us girls and beating up the boys. He chased us with sticks and threw our shoes in the weeds. Back then we only had 3 pairs of shoes, play shoes, school shoes and church shoes, so losing a pair would get you in big trouble. Finding those shoes in the weeds was really hard. The worse thing Roger ever did to me was to shoot his bb gun at me while I was looking out of my 2nd story bedroom window. It made a hole in the screen and hit me right below the eye. I was more concerned about the hole in the screen than the mark near my eye. It hurt, but not that bad.
Most of the boys just became his friends to avoid his wrath. Mom told all of us girls to gang up on him and beat the crap out of him. She says we did it, but I don't ever recall doing it. We were too darn scared of him.
No one was on the receiving end of Roger's wrath worse than his brother, Danny. Literally, Danny was his slave. He had to do anything Roger said---fetch things, give him money, take any dares---you name it, Danny had to do it. I often wondered how his family could NOT know how badly Danny was treated. Roger was constantly hitting and beating on him.
One summer, all of us kids decided to dig ourselves a swimming pool in the empty lot between and behind our houses. It got to be pretty big---maybe 10 feet wide and about 3 feet deep. We were so excited after the first rain that filled it up about half way. Of course, Roger made Danny go in first---pushed him, actually. Danny got up, and was completely covered with mud. We all laughed and so did Danny. But there was no way the rest of us were going to get in---we knew we'd get in trouble if we came home covered in mud. But those Schultz kids NEVER got in trouble for anything (ooops, looks like I let loose of the name)! After that, we abandoned the pool idea and dug ourselves an underground fort.
When there was trouble, you could pretty much bet that Roger was behind it. We got caught playing doctor by our babysitter under the steps in the basement---his idea. We were all quizzed by mom and dad. We were giving each other shots with those clamp clothespins in the butt like at the doctor's. I was the only one marched up to confession on Saturday afternoon, because, after all, "I was the oldest and I was supposed to be setting a good example for my younger brothers and sisters and what was I thinking, committing that sin of impurity." Lesson well learned.
We were constantly trespassing on Mr. Thiel's property---he had horses. We spent countless hours down at Thiel's lake. One time, we discovered millions of tadpoles in the lake. Roger convinced all of us that we would be doing old man Thiel a favor by killing the tadpoles with bb guns---all the boys had bb guns and they usually let us girls shoot too. Actually, our gang consisted of Roger, Danny, Ronnie, me and Reenie. Sometimes we included the twins, Janice and Jennifer, Karen and Denise, but not often. Anyway, we shot the heck out of those tadpoles. I have no idea how many we killed, but it was a lot. Mr. Thiel came to our house one night complaining to dad about what we'd done. Turns out, he had stocked his lake with the tadpoles so his friends could go frog gigging. Of course, we got in big trouble---Schultz's, nada! We stopped shooting the tadpoles and eventually trespassed some more to go frog gigging. I never did it, that was too gross for me.
I think it was about 5th or 6th grade, when Gene Schuermann moved in and joined our gang. Finally, a kid tougher than Roger. Suddenly, Roger calmed down and wasn't quite the bully he had once been with Gene keeping him in check. Gene grew up in the "city" and had street smarts. He was not a bully and didn't pick on anybody. He was just tough and wouldn't take any bull from anyone. His parents were as strict as ours were.
Roger finally got his comeuppance in the 8th grade. Ronnie, Roger and Danny (and I don't know who else, but we girls were not there) were out in the woods with their bb guns. They found an unused shot gun shell and propped it up on a fence post. They took turns shooting at it. Roger finally hit it. It exploded causing Roger to lose an eye. Still, that was a sad time for all of us. Roger was an excellent pitcher and it looked like he just might have a future in baseball. Although he played through high school, his career aspirations were ended with that one shot.
I'm not sure when it started, but those teen age hormones took over. Suddenly, Roger didn't look so bad to me anymore. He really was cute. We grew up together and now he could barely talk to me. We were actually boyfriend and girlfriend through freshman year. He was a changed man---got really shy. In fact, we "went together" for about a year. Not once did he ever attempt to kiss me. About a week before we broke up, he had just started holding my hand. What a naive time it was back then.
I'd like to take credit for taming that "bad boy" but I don't think I had anything to do with it.
A few years later, I found another "bad boy" and tame him I did!!
Anyway, back to Roger. He was always picking on us girls and beating up the boys. He chased us with sticks and threw our shoes in the weeds. Back then we only had 3 pairs of shoes, play shoes, school shoes and church shoes, so losing a pair would get you in big trouble. Finding those shoes in the weeds was really hard. The worse thing Roger ever did to me was to shoot his bb gun at me while I was looking out of my 2nd story bedroom window. It made a hole in the screen and hit me right below the eye. I was more concerned about the hole in the screen than the mark near my eye. It hurt, but not that bad.
Most of the boys just became his friends to avoid his wrath. Mom told all of us girls to gang up on him and beat the crap out of him. She says we did it, but I don't ever recall doing it. We were too darn scared of him.
No one was on the receiving end of Roger's wrath worse than his brother, Danny. Literally, Danny was his slave. He had to do anything Roger said---fetch things, give him money, take any dares---you name it, Danny had to do it. I often wondered how his family could NOT know how badly Danny was treated. Roger was constantly hitting and beating on him.
One summer, all of us kids decided to dig ourselves a swimming pool in the empty lot between and behind our houses. It got to be pretty big---maybe 10 feet wide and about 3 feet deep. We were so excited after the first rain that filled it up about half way. Of course, Roger made Danny go in first---pushed him, actually. Danny got up, and was completely covered with mud. We all laughed and so did Danny. But there was no way the rest of us were going to get in---we knew we'd get in trouble if we came home covered in mud. But those Schultz kids NEVER got in trouble for anything (ooops, looks like I let loose of the name)! After that, we abandoned the pool idea and dug ourselves an underground fort.
When there was trouble, you could pretty much bet that Roger was behind it. We got caught playing doctor by our babysitter under the steps in the basement---his idea. We were all quizzed by mom and dad. We were giving each other shots with those clamp clothespins in the butt like at the doctor's. I was the only one marched up to confession on Saturday afternoon, because, after all, "I was the oldest and I was supposed to be setting a good example for my younger brothers and sisters and what was I thinking, committing that sin of impurity." Lesson well learned.
We were constantly trespassing on Mr. Thiel's property---he had horses. We spent countless hours down at Thiel's lake. One time, we discovered millions of tadpoles in the lake. Roger convinced all of us that we would be doing old man Thiel a favor by killing the tadpoles with bb guns---all the boys had bb guns and they usually let us girls shoot too. Actually, our gang consisted of Roger, Danny, Ronnie, me and Reenie. Sometimes we included the twins, Janice and Jennifer, Karen and Denise, but not often. Anyway, we shot the heck out of those tadpoles. I have no idea how many we killed, but it was a lot. Mr. Thiel came to our house one night complaining to dad about what we'd done. Turns out, he had stocked his lake with the tadpoles so his friends could go frog gigging. Of course, we got in big trouble---Schultz's, nada! We stopped shooting the tadpoles and eventually trespassed some more to go frog gigging. I never did it, that was too gross for me.
I think it was about 5th or 6th grade, when Gene Schuermann moved in and joined our gang. Finally, a kid tougher than Roger. Suddenly, Roger calmed down and wasn't quite the bully he had once been with Gene keeping him in check. Gene grew up in the "city" and had street smarts. He was not a bully and didn't pick on anybody. He was just tough and wouldn't take any bull from anyone. His parents were as strict as ours were.
Roger finally got his comeuppance in the 8th grade. Ronnie, Roger and Danny (and I don't know who else, but we girls were not there) were out in the woods with their bb guns. They found an unused shot gun shell and propped it up on a fence post. They took turns shooting at it. Roger finally hit it. It exploded causing Roger to lose an eye. Still, that was a sad time for all of us. Roger was an excellent pitcher and it looked like he just might have a future in baseball. Although he played through high school, his career aspirations were ended with that one shot.
I'm not sure when it started, but those teen age hormones took over. Suddenly, Roger didn't look so bad to me anymore. He really was cute. We grew up together and now he could barely talk to me. We were actually boyfriend and girlfriend through freshman year. He was a changed man---got really shy. In fact, we "went together" for about a year. Not once did he ever attempt to kiss me. About a week before we broke up, he had just started holding my hand. What a naive time it was back then.
I'd like to take credit for taming that "bad boy" but I don't think I had anything to do with it.
A few years later, I found another "bad boy" and tame him I did!!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
















