Once Upon a Time In a Land Far Far Away from Now...

Today was spent mostly looking through boxes and boxes of family pictures and memorabilia   It began as a hunt for an obituary from 57 years ago.  I haven't found what I was looking for, yet.

But what I DID find were a few boxes of pictures that had been my parents.  Mostly of their eight grandchildren.

I do not remember having seen these before.  This doesn't mean that I HAVEN'T ever seen them, I just don't REMEMBER having seen them.

This was one of the pictures.  Oldest Son at 10 months on his first Halloween.

And I DO remember crocheting the clown hair for him.  He did not like it, not one little bit.  This is his "I'm not happy about this" face.  Oh, and that is my happy face.  Because I was most happy to have this little clown in my life.  And I still am.

More Ghosts of Christmas Past

THGGM claims that this is his most favorite Christmas decoration.  It is a pillow I made for him around Christmas 30 some years ago.  Daughter has our cat, Dude, behind her.  Oldest Son has his favorite bear and a book, and Youngest Son has his Ernie doll and his blanket.  Those are the clothes they were wearing that day.  Although we didn't have that wallpaper until decades later, or pained windows, or even that large of a tree.  The picture was colored on a plain sheet of paper with fabric crayons and then ironed onto a piece of white fabric and stitched into a pillow with some Christmas theme fabric on the back.
I remember that we made this as a project with some very good friends of ours.  Their mom was homeschooling them and did not consider herself very crafty, so they all came over and we had ourselves some fun!
On Sunday, Daughter sent me a picture she had received from her friend, the daughter of the family.  It was a picture of three little pillow depicting various scenes from the Christmas story.  She had been to her grandma's, who was the recipient of their pillow creations, and saw the three pillows lined up on the back of her grandma's couch, just where she has put them for over 30 years.
Of course, I remember that day we made those.  We lived in a tiny little house in the city.  Quite awhile ago I found this picture at a thrift store.  It took my breath away.  In my mind, this is what that day looked like to me.  Oldest Son in the chair (eventually we had that chair!).  Oh, and DO note the doily on the armrest.  Youngest Son  in bib overalls wishing he were in that chair.  Two girls on the couch.  Daughter with wispy blonde curls and her friend with straight long hair with bangs, reading her a story.  It could have been us.  It took a while, but now we have two fire places.  And three blanket chests.  I gave our rocking chair like that to Youngest Son for his kids.  We had a rocking horse.  We also always had toys all over the floor.  We still do.  Gingerbread boys, wicker baskets, candles, quilts.., not much has changed here.  Except that the children are all in their thirties.
I can only hope that dear to their hearts are the scenes of their childhood when fond recollection presents them to view.

The Ghost of Christmas Past

Last night I finished reading Dicken's "A Christmas Carol".  It was like reading it for the very first time.  Or maybe it was the first time I've actually read it, I really can't remember.  I've seen the movie in several different versions, but as everyone knows, NOTHING compares to the book.
Anyway...
Here is a picture from my past.  That is me on the left.  I was two.  The other two are my first friends and cousins, who are three.
Memories...

Remembering My Dad

It has been five years since my dad died.  He is missed by many every single day.
This picture is from a C&O Railroad family picnic where my dad won the pie eating contest.  The prize was a green Coleman cooler, which I'm sure is still around, somewhere.  I'm guessing this would have been in the late 1960's.
Does anyone ever really get used to the loss of someone?  It's been five years yet it still seems so unreal to think that he is not here anymore.
I miss him.  But the memories are all good, which is truly a gift, and I am thankful.

On This Date

I found this picture today.

It was taken on this date quite a loooong while ago.

Oldest Son turned 33 three days ago.

And he still makes great cookies!

Fifty Years Ago Today

Where was I when I heard the news that John F. Kennedy had been assassinated?

I was five years old at the time and was at home since I went to kindergarten in the morning.  My mom, who wasn't feeling well at the time, and I were watching TV in the living room.  I remember it all very clearly.

Presently I stopped watching TV (still recording to view later) because there is just so much to take in.
Besides the fact that I am extremely overwhelmed with the thought that this all happened 50 years ago.

I miss my mom.  I miss our old living room.  I miss black and white news reports.

What I Found at the Thrift Store and Where It Led Me

Look what I found for 50 cents at the thrift store.

I bought it for one reason and for one reason only.  To save a child's life.

One glimpse of this and I was brought back 29 years, when Daughter was a baby.

And an adorable, sweet, energetic baby she was!

At eleven months she took to torpedoing out of her crib, head first.  This was like some weird sort of game for her.  I would put her in bed, turn around, and hear THUMP.  Repeat. THUMP.  Repeat.  THUMP.  Repeat.  You get the idea.

Night, after night, after night.

It got so bad that I lowered the crib rails (in the early 80's we could still do that), put a chair by the crib, told her FIRMLY to NOT climb out of bed, but that if she did TO USE THE CHAIR.

We tried EVERYTHING.

So, since I was already pregnant at the time, THGGM and I went out and purchased bunk beds.

This, we were sure, would solve the problem.

Not so.  Not so at all.

That led us to attempt to wear her out every evening.  This worked great for everyone BUT her.  She just did not wear out.  I was by now very pregnant and could no longer feel my legs, let alone see my feet.

So one day a kind-hearted friend, whose children NEVER propelled themselves out of their cribs just for kicks, brought me one of these baby harnesses. She told me that her mom had used it with one of her sisters many long years ago.  I thought I had won the lottery.

That very night I attached it to Daughter's mattress per the instructions.  The wide middle section was pinned securely to her tiny middle section.  It certainly did the trick!  It held her securely in her bed.  She would struggle for a bit, but would eventually settle down to sleep.

Then one night, after using the baby harness for several weeks, something just did not seem right.  Even though everything seemed peaceful and still in the house, I just sensed something was wrong.  Although I did not hear a voice, somehow I knew that I had to go into the bedroom.

The bedroom door was an old squeaky French door but I managed to slip into the room quietly.

At first everything seemed to be fine.

Then I heard the most terrifying sound of my life.  Something like gasping and choking.

Kneeling down by the bottom bunk I could see Daughter trying to sit up, but she couldn't.

Quickly I ripped the baby harness off the bed, fumbled around to untangle Daughter, who once out of that contraption vomited profusely.  Once that happened, she was perfectly fine.  No further ill effects whatsoever.  She had apparently twisted herself around so many times that the pressure from the fabric around her tummy had caused her to vomit, but she could not sit up to do so.  I do not want to even THINK about what may have happened had I not felt prompted to go into her room right at that moment.

I am thankful to God, a vigilant guardian angel, and mother's intuition for alerting me to the situation.  Very thankful.  BEYOND thankful.  Eternally grateful.

Fifty-cents well spent so I could photograph the box (it does have cute graphics), write a blog post about it, and then throw it away.

And just so you know, ABSOLUTELY NONE of Daughter's four children EVER even climbed out of their cribs.  EVER.

By the extreme reaction I had to just seeing this box at the thrift store, Daughter may have been fine, but I am still not.

There are SO many things wrong in those pictures on the box that I cannot believe the thrift store was selling this.  A pillow?  Blankets?  Straps?

Caveat Emptor.

This really happened. (a rerun)

In the early 1980's, when I was young, I had three small children. Three. I only had two hands, so this made life difficult. I should have looked closer, noticed that I only had two hands, and then waited a few years before adding the third child. But, I was young. And so were they.

Then, oldest son went off to the first grade. Without the 'hall monitor' to give me periodic reports on daughter and youngest son, I was on my own. My season of migraines gave those two an overabundance of opportunity do get into trouble. Deep, deep WET trouble.

On the occasion of a very bad migraine, I curled up on the couch, tightly wrapped in an afghan. I distinctly remember hearing the happy playful sounds of D and YS. This should have been a clue to me, but, one must remember that my head was throbbing, my stomach was churning and I wanted to die.

Ah, but I just laid there. Listing to the strains of 'row row row your boat'. What could be wrong with that? How could that be a sign of impending disaster?

Suddenly, the joyful singing turned into excited shouts of alarm! Running towards the sound, I quickly encountered two very frightened, very WET children. Very wet. Lots of screaming.

Okay...now here I will slow the story down. I must slow it down, as the memory has caused my head to begin throbbing again. (okay now judy, take a deep deep breathe and go on with your story).

Upon entering the bathroom, I note that the lovely old-fashioned bathtub, that stood on legs, is leaning in an odd position. Of course, that is not the first thing I note. Water is GUSHING from the pipe that USED to go into the bathtub, but is now just pointing up out of the floor, spewing forth water at an alarming rate.

Again...I pause in this story. And I ask, do you know how to shut off the water to your house? At this point I will tell you, that I did not. If you do not know how to do this, stop reading NOW and ask someone to show you.

Now besides having a migraine, I am also drenched, as the water was hitting the ceiling and raining down all around. As I ran, slipping and sliding all the way to the basement, I discovered upon arrival that after the water hit the ceiling, it flowed freely into the furnace ducts, and was also waterfalling EVERYWHERE in the basement through all the joints in the duct work.

There was no arrow pointing me to the place to turn the water off. Children are now screaming even louder, and I am joining them.

I run back up stairs to check if maybe, just maybe there is a shut off valve to the bathtub. Of course, I had already looked and there wasn't one, but in the midst of the insanity, it seemed worth another shot.

Meeting me on the way to my new 'rainforest' themed bathroom, was youngest boy. He had a book in his hand. He looked at me and said, in a choked up little boy who has been screaming voice "Why don't we sit down and read a book? THEN we will all feel better".

And, to think that I thought that my life was not having an impact on my children.

Oh, and if you ever rent a house with an old-fashioned bathtub on legs, please check to see that all FOUR legs are attached. Singing 'row row row your boat' in a bathtub standing on only THREE of the four legs just may cause a scene like the one above. And believe me, you would not want that. No. You would not.

Chicken Feet

This is a rerun from 2005. My aunt died on December 31, twenty eight years ago. I miss her.

When I was a child, I had the awesome opportunity to stay with my cousin on her family's farm. It was the kind of farm from the picture books - a big red barn full of cows and cats, a pig sty full of snorting hogs and extreme stench, and the most curious place of all, the chicken coop.

The chicken coop was interesting to say the least. But, one day, what caught the attention of Suzi and me were the extremely dry condition of the chicken's feet. After a brief consultation with each other, one of us figured out that the chief problem was that their feet were dirty. To remedy this, we ran off for a bucket of soap and water. Being the caring souls that we were, I even remember that we got warm water, and also a towel.

If you have ever tried to catch a chicken, I will tell you that they do not come when called. Even if you know their names, they still won't come. But, they are somewhat curious birds, and did seem a tiny bit interested in what was in the bucket, so that helped us some.

After much running and flapping, Suzi was able to catch one, and we proceeded to attempt to wash her feet. She was NOT amused. This chicken must have been able to call out some sort of chicken-language warning, as chickens (which i am told do NOT fly) started to head for the roof of the coop, trees, fence tops - anything to avoid the bucket. I really DID try to get her feet dry, but this was not even appreciated.

Trying to catch the second chicken was even harder. But, Suzi wasn't the sort to give up easily, and we did get another one, and another, and another. Funny thing though, the chickens seemed to know how to speak with humans in a way Suzi and I had yet to understand.

I can still see my aunt running from the farm house. Her head was wrapped in a scarf. She didn't look friendly, like the farm wives in my books.

Upon seeing her, the chickens rejoiced. Rejoicing chickens sing a totally different song than terrified tattling chickens.

Suzi and I learned that day that we hadn't yet procured enough words to convince an adult that what we were attempting was truly a righteous and noble endeavor.

Jesus told us to wash one another's feet. My aunt just didn't 'get it' that day.

I'm sure egg production was down for a few days, but if my aunt had wanted to stuff a mattress or two, she certainly could have.

The amazing thing about it is that the chickens were somehow comforted by the lady who was well known to have chopped off heads when their egg production dropped.

Life is SO like that.

She Remembers...

My memories of December 1980 (notice date on figurine) come mostly with a particularly unusual smell.

It came from a yellow quarter-moon pomander made by Avon.

And, from an electric space heater.

THGGM and I lived in the second story of an old old boarding house. Behind one of the numbered doors was a very small nursery. An artist friend painted a mural on two small walls. The room was beautiful.

It didn't have a register for heat, so when Oldest Son was born we heated it with a small electric space heater.

The space heater smelled like electric heat, the Avon pomander smelled pleasingly sweet like baby powder, and the baby smelled like Heaven itself.

I remember.

Why I Never Accomplish Anything

What a difficult time I'm having completing tasks today.

There is treasure everywhere!

Anyway. I opened up Pandora's Box, I mean my cedar chest, and OH the things I found.

I knew I had my "Good Night Richard Rabbit" book in a safe place, but I never came across it when packing (unless, of course, i blogged about finding it and have since forgotten i did, which is a distinct possibility in my frazzled state of mind.)

This was a favorite book in our family.

Richard Rabbit and his mother even ended up being featured in birthday posters of yore (i seem to be growing fond of the word 'yore').

I even remember reading this to my children and changing it a bit to say that there really IS an elephant in the room, but we don't talk about it. This would always make THGGM roll his eyes waaay back into his head.

Enough already.

When I think of it, I check Amazon.com for copies. Mine is in sad shape.

In the past I have found it in 'flip book' form. Those were and still are in the $60 range. But, I want a nice hardcover like this one.

Couldn't find one.

Although, there is a PAPERBACK going for somewhere in the $260 range.

I'll just be happy with the taped up copy that I have. I'm sure I have some white gloves somewhere that I can wear while turning the pages.