Flashback: early 1950's

Image: Wikipedia;  article

This morning, while starting to brush my teeth, I remembered why I always start with my front teeth; the upper incisors, to be exact.  Although I've been brushing my teeth this way for 60 years, the routine process did not always begin this way. 

Flashback:  Our first Arkansas home was in the country, about five miles outside the nearest town (population appx. 400).  City-supplied water, if there was any,  stopped at least 4.9 miles from us.  When we moved to the farm we drew what water we needed from the well on the screened porch outside the back door.  Many hundreds of buckets of water were pulled out of the ground before my father was persuaded that an electric pump and, at least, a cold-water line into the kitchen were in order.  And so it was done.

Daddy installed a large sink on one wall of the kitchen. I think it came supplied with two faucets, but only one was operational (as I remember, Sister); I had already left home for college before hot water was available inside.  If we needed hot water, we heated it on the stove.

A mirror and a substantial open shelf were on the wall above the sink.  These served as a sort of 'bathroom vanity' (the 'bathroom' was about 50-75 feet away, a privy in the chicken yard).  Daddy's razor, shaving cream and brush, the family toothpaste, our individual toothbrushes,  my younger sister's cosmetics, and other personal grooming items required by two parents, three girls and one boy were on the shelf. 

One morning, as I was getting ready for school, I selected my toothbrush, absent mindedly reached up on the shelf, grabbed a tube and squeezed a ribbon of white paste onto the brush.  As was my practice in those days, I inserted the toothbrush all the way back into my mouth to the vicinity of my left molars.

Gag! Sputter, Gag, again! 

Of course, you already know what I had squeezed onto my toothbrush, don't you?  Yep!  Brylcreem! --used by my father on the few hairs he had left on his head, and by my younger brother.  The tube was the same shape and size as the toothpaste tube and, as I expected it to be toothpaste, I didn't even read the label.  That experience changed forever the way I brush my teeth.


You can take my word for it: a little dab'l do ya!

Tomorrow is also a day.

A Treasure Rediscovered

Ceylon Elephant Sculpture - Designed by Carolyn Kinder
Image - Amazon.com

Both of my parents were avid readers. As far back as I can remember, there were always shelves full of books in our homes.  As soon as we children learned to read, we were given full access to the family bookshelves, and were allowed to read anything that was there. If my parents had any books that our mother didn't think quite suitable for us to read (yet), she kept them in her cedar chest or another 'off limits' place.  Most of my father's books were theological, mathematical or scientific; however, his collection did contain a number of volumes of classic literature.  Mother's books were fewer in number, and tended to be books of poetry, literature, and current fiction.

Among the family books that I loved to read when we lived in New Mexico was a volume containing a collection of prose and poetry.  I don't remember if my mother started reading aloud to us from this book and thus piqued my interest, or whether, when I was a young teenager, I just picked it up one day and started to read.  The book contained many amusing stories, poetry (some of it of the tear-jerker variety,) and many writings of an 'inspirational' nature.  One of the poems I especially liked, and read it again and again, until I had memorized it.

When we moved to Arkansas in 1950, the book came with us.  It stayed on my mother's bookshelf after my father died, and eventually came to have a place on the bookshelf in my own home. I read from it many times over the years.

It came as sort of a shock to me when one day several years ago I was looking for this book and I couldn't find it. I looked in every nook and cranny where a book of standard size could have been. No book. After a few days, I quit searching, and the loss of the book gradually faded from my mind. (I still have no idea where it might have gone; I'm quite sure I would not have given it away.)

A couple of weeks ago, the poem that I had loved as a teenager suddenly popped into my mind. That made me want to have again the book that I no longer possessed.  Truthfully, I had forgotten the title of the book, but not the first lines of the poem.  What to do?  Answer: Google!  And, there they were!  With the title of the book in which the poem was contained and a helpful link to Amazon.com, as well.  (Have I told you how much I love the Internet?)

Click. Click.  The book,  Ted Malone's Scrapbook (used, but in 'good' condition with slightly damaged dustcover) could be mine for a few paltry dollars.

Click. Click, again. The book is paid for and on its way to me.

It arrived this past Saturday.  I learned from examination that it was first published in February, 1941 and had its tenth printing in March, 1944. The material for the book was selected from Ted Malone's radio programs and a feature column in Good Housekeeping Magazine, both of which (radio program and feature column) bore the name of "Between the Bookends."

I could hardly wait to find 'my poem' (which I did; it's on page 181). I'm going to copy it below.  As you read it, please keep in mind that I was only 13 or 14 years of age, and probably in the angst of my first infatuation with a member of the opposite sex, when I read and memorized this poem.
 
You've been champing at the bit to ask me, I can tell.  Just what does the photograph of an elephant have to do with all this?  It will become clear; read on.

BITS OF LIFE I'VE MISSED

While walking down an avenue, I came upon a shop;
'Twas small, exclusive, quiet, dim, what could I do but stop?
I saw an ivory elephant up high upon a shelf,
"I'd like to have that elephant," I murmured to myself.

I priced the ivory elephant and sadly sighed to see
That little ivory elephants were never meant for me.
Sometimes I pause before the shop and there upon the shelf
The lonely little elephant still stands all by himself.

For you, O Unattainable, my love is much the same;
I know I dare not love you, but I thrill to hear your name.
I dream of your lips pressed to mine, although we've never kissed.
You... and my ivory elephant ... are bits of life ... I've missed.   ~UNKNOWN

Tomorrow is also a day.

A Memory - 1953

I have previous admitted I am a pack rat, and tend to hold on to a large and diverse number of items that have some value to me, sentimental or otherwise. While working in a bookcase a couple of weeks ago, I ran across a journal "Don't Forget to Remember" that has been part of my pack rat's nest since Albuquerque days (we moved to Arkansas in 1950).  Embossed on the deep brown faux leather front cover is "Strong's Office Supply, 403 West Copper Ave, Albuquerque, New Mexico."  The book belonged to my mother, but the inscription stating such seems to be in my own juvenile handwriting, and as far as I can determine, she never made any entries in it. 

Inside are a number of list of facts, as they were in the 1940's. Included are lists of such things as land areas, continental populations (the continents listed being Asia, Europe, North America, Africa, South America, and Oceania.) North America's population was shown as 175,800,224.  That must have been from the 1940 census. The list also includes longest rivers, largest lakes, biggest deserts, largest cities (London was listed in first place with a population of 7,742,212,) largest islands, biggest seas and highest mountains.  There follows a list of states (neither Alaska nor Hawaii is included), a two-page spread of the Declaration of Independence, a list of presidents and vice presidents of the United States, ending with Harry S. Truman, a list of national parks, and an extensive list of major world events, ending with a short list of events from 1946.  The book must have been printed in late 1946 or early 1947.

The address book portion of this journal seems to be written by several hands, none of which were my mother's.  I recognize both of my sisters' and my own in the compliation of the list.

I must have taken this book with me to college, since in the Memoranda section are listed two line items of income dated 9-8-53 and 10-5-53, the first being $1.00 for babysitting for Mrs. Carter (who was my boss at the college post office where I worked), and the second being my paycheck from the post office in the amount of $18.60. That was probably for the month of September, since I went to work there on September 6 or 7.  As I recall, I was paid 40 cents an hour.

Although the entries are sporadic, with many blank dates, on a whim, I looked at September 1 (1953) and found a full page entry in my handwriting:

       "Well, today was the great breaking off point. Through am I with my job for the duration of college. How I hated to leave; practically cried all over the place. Everyone has been so sweet to me.  "M" came back Monday. Tonight she gave me a pair of beautiful nylon (unmentionables) as a farewell gift. I wonder how they are going to get along without me?  Probably very well.

        Jo B is back from Glorieta. She saw Betty quite a lot. I really enjoyed talking to her. How I would like to see Betty. I wish I could be going to school with her this year at UNM (University of New Mexico.)  B.M. has offered to show me around the school campus and help me register, but I think I will decline the favor.  P.S. No bonus. H.J. broke his promise to me and I really needed it, too."

My job had been as a bookkeeper/teller at the local bank, where I had worked for about 14 months after completion of high school.  The college to which I was going was Arkansas State Teachers' College in Conway, Arkansas, now known as the University of Central Arkansas.

If I remember to remember (heheheh), I may dip back into this book from time to time to share a few glimpses of my life from over 50 years ago.

Butterflies and Memories Part 2

Butterfly on Abelia, 2009

Although I am unsure of the exact date, but probably in the summer of 1942, we moved to Albuquerque after my father went to Grand Junction, CO. Other than remembering that we came on the Trailways bus, I don't remember anything about the trip, nor of moving into the furnished house at 706 N. Second St. (now disappeared forever, along with many blocks surrounding it, to make way for big banks and other commercial buildings.)  The address, 706, placed the corner lot on which the red brick house stood at seven blocks north of Central Avenue, or Route 66, which was the "Main Street" of Albuquerque.  Mama's place of employment was also on Second Street, probably in about the 300 block, so it was very well placed so that she could walk to and from work.

 About all I remember of the house itself was that it had a few steps leading up to an open front porch, a living room which contained a piano (to our delight), probably a couple of bedrooms (although I remember only one), a kitchen, bathroom, and back porch.

 The bedroom that I remember contained a brass bed with a tall headboard. That bed is where I spent a great many days during my "Childhood Illness" about which I wrote at length last year.

My memories of "706" are somewhat limited, probably due to my being so sick most of the time we lived there.  But, I wasn't sick the entire time, and the memory butterflies have left me with a few snapshots.

At some time after moving from Las Vegas, we must have acquired a "wringer" washing machine, which was housed on the back porch.  I was too young to participate in the laundry process, other than probably hauling dirty clothes to the machine, but I do remember that I was fascinated by the wringer.  So much so that, at age 8, I considered it an appropriate instrument of punishment for the younger sister who simply would not mind me when I told her to do something. This torture (as she now describes it), which was applied only once, was to have her hand and arm inserted into the turning wringer until she agreed to comply.  I thought it was a dandy way to bring about cooperation, but she squealed on me, and my mother applied suitable persuasion upon another region of my body, which compelled me to abandon the practice.


It was in the yard of this home that I first explored smoking.  Real tobacco not being available in our house, my friend Helen and I discovered that Rabbit Tobacco, which grew in profusion, could be picked, dried, crumbled and rolled up in toilet paper to create a substitute cigarette.  This practice was not long continued because my father, upon one of his visits to Albuquerque from Colorado, caught us.

Another memory is of my mother's "Jewel Tea" dishes.  Jewel Tea dishes were a free gift, or at least of very low cost, that came with the purchase of Watkins products, such as vanilla, spices, and other food stuffs.  Watkins products were personally delivered to one's home by "the Watkins Man" who drove a small commercial van with "Watkins" emblazoned on the side.  I suppose Mama had been buying Watkins products for some time, for she had quite a collection of Jewel Tea "Autumn Leaf" dishes, probably a service for six. The dishes were glazed pottery, with red, brown, orange and gold designs.  I understand that they are quite "collectible" these days.  We used the Jewel Tea dishes on Sundays; I don't remember any other dishes, although we must have had them.
 

Example of "Jewel Tea" ware

On one fateful Sunday afternoon, Mama had washed the Jewel Tea dishes that had been used for dinner, as the noon meal was called in our household, and as she dried them, had placed them on the "drop leaf" kitchen table prior to putting them away in china cabinet.  Said table had the leaf extended and the leg to support the raised leaf was in place.   Younger sister, full of energy from lunch, was running through the house at breakneck speed, probably being chased by yours truly, and was just short enough to run under the table in her getaway efforts.  She ran under the table, all right, knocked the supporting leg from under the leaf and all the Jewel Tea dishes came crashing to the floor.  There may have been one or two surviving pieces, but that was it.  For all intents and purposes, Mama's hard won collection of Jewel Tea dishes was gone, gone, gone! 

Same sister had a penchant for playing with Mama's dishes, some of which, I learned later, were wedding presents.  At least two pieces that I remember suffered disaster at my sister's hands -- a platinum banded stemmed compote, and a peach-colored crystal sugar bowl.   She maintains to this day no memory of these occurrences, but I do!

Another thing I remember was a huge fire at a lumber yard which was located perhaps 6 blocks from the house.  The fire started after dark, and I recall standing outside in the front yard, hearing the fire truck sirens, smelling burning wood, and watching burning embers and smoke shooting into the sky.  The lumber yard was completely destroyed, and the fire believed to be arson.

One last memory before I wrap this segment up.  After my "illness" I was occasionally allowed to walk my sisters and baby brother, who was about 2 years old, to the neighborhood park. about three blocks away.  Exposure to sunshine was deemed to be a contributor to my recovery.  It was on one of these excursions that I found, lying next to a trash barrel, a copy of "Sunshine and Health" magazine, which had some very interesting photos in it.  Turns out it was a nudist publication.  I took it home with me, where it promptly disappeared.

It's funny what one remembers.

We moved from "706" to 607 N. Second during the summer of 1943, before I entered the third grade.  The new house was somewhat larger, and it was closer to Mama's workplace.  We lived there for over two years, and I have lots of memories of that place to share.

Until next time, I leave you with a few more 2010 lily photos.

Butterflies and Memories Part 1

I have decided that memories are quite a lot like butterflies. Some flit in and out again, darting between receptive brain cells but never staying long. However, others sit for a while and leave permanent impressions, light and airy as they may be.

It's amazing how many butterfly memories one can recall, given the opportunity.  Having recently undergone an extensive period of quiet, restful sitting and slumbering,  I have remembered quite a number of things that have occurred during my lifetime.  It's not that I've just remembered them, nor has my life "flashed before my eyes"; most have been floating in my brain cells for many years. However, I've been putting them in an order of sorts.

Most of these remembrances have no historical significance whatsoever, and will be boring in the extreme to most who read them, but they are occurrences that have shaped my life. Some memories are of historical happenings, and readers of similar age will have similar memories -- when I finally get to the historical stuff (H) -- but there is only one (H) in this Part 1.

My earliest memory (don't laugh or doubt) is of my first (as in one year old) birthday party, cake and all. At age 6 or 7, I began to describe it to my mother. She told me there was no way I could have remembered it, but my description of the room and the view from the window was so exact that she finally had to agree that it truly was a memory, as there were no photographs of the occasion, and our family lived in that house only a few months past that date.

I have lost any memories of things that happened from then until I was about 4, except discovering my first pet, a cat named Black Pepper, doing his "business" in a bushel of peanuts on our back porch. I must have been about 3 at that time.  

I have only  "snapshot" memories of happenings from age 4 to 6 when our family lived in El Paso, TX.   These include:

       * Mama taking me to the first movie I ever saw, starring Deanna Durbin. I still remember the melody and some of the words to a song she sang in the film.
       * seeing the lit-up 1938 community Christmas tree in downtown El Paso after we left the movie; it was a thrilling sight for a 4 year old, and seemed to reach to the vaults of the sky.
       * moving from a room in a rooming house to a big house on Hill Street, which had about 25 steps from street level to front door (I recall I fell down them several times).
        * visiting the little girl across the street even after Daddy told me not to (my little friend had German measles, and although I didn't know it at the time, Mama was pregnant with my baby sister, born 1/1/1939).
        * the spanking I got (with a razor strop) from Daddy when he found out I had played with my sick friend.
         * seeing my baby sister's bald head in bed with Mama.
         * my two year old sister putting Black Pepper in a dresser drawer, where he stayed all day. We could hear him crying, but didn't find him until bed time.
        * playing with the boy next door and getting stuck in the cactus bed between our houses.
        * losing my first tooth in a piece of apple during a supper with my parents' friends, Mr. and Mrs. Pollard.
        * Mr. Pollard teaching me to eat the skin of the potato because that's where all the vitamins are (I still do that);
       * Mrs. Pollard, "Podough," giving me the Minnie Mouse quilt blocks.
        * going to Juarez, Mexico on the bus with Mama when she went shopping for  groceries (Mama told me when I was in my 40's that Juarez was the only place she could afford to buy meat, and she didn't know if she bought beef, pork, horse, dog or cat, or something else entirely, and she didn't care - meat was meat).
      * seeing wild canaries nesting in the trellises over the patio of our home on Montana Street.
      * eating stucco sand with a spoon with my friend, Edna (is that called pica?)
      * starting kindergarten and my first school book, which was in Spanish, "Juan y Maria en Casa" (I've written about my first day in school in my diatribe against a certain brand of canned evaporated milk.)
      * a strange landlady who stood on a chair in our kitchen and stuck her finger in an open light socket -- on regular basis (I think we didn't live there very long).
       * packing up to move to Las Vegas, New Mexico, and Mama crying because she couldn't take our furniture.

I was almost six when we moved to Las Vegas. I don't remember the move at all, and I don't remember my first day at school, first grade, but I do remember:
       * my teacher, Mrs. Kole.
       * my good friend, Cherry, the only black girl in the class, perhaps in all of Las Vegas.
       * a boy named George, who called Cherry the "N" word and made her cry, and I punched him in the nose and made him cry, and bleed, and Mrs. Kole sent me home with a note.
       * Christmas of 1940 when I got a pair of roller skates and a doll with jointed legs and arms, held together inside with rubber bands. The doll was dressed in a red dotted swiss dress with a white apron, and had long black braids, tied on the ends with red ribbons. On that same day, my younger sister "wound up" her legs and arms until the rubber bands broke and the arms and legs fell off. Mama couldn't fix it. That was the last doll I ever got as a present. When I get to heaven, I want long black braids and a red dotted swiss dress with a white apron. Do you think God will let me dress that way, or will I be content with what I get?;
       * Mama accidently pushing a fine crochet hook through the palm of her hand, and having to cut off the hook end to pull it out.
       * getting a new baby brother in April, 1941.
       * having to move from our furnished apartment because the baby cried too much to suit the landlord, who lived upstairs.
       * our wonderful new landlords, Mr and Mrs. Carpenter, who loved all of us and the baby; we loved their big house, where we lived in the entire upstairs.
       * Daddy coming home from the CCC camp on a Friday night after dark and Mrs. Carpenter's Chihuahua bit him on the leg, tore his pants and drew blood.
 (H) * December 8, 1941. I sat on the stairs and listened to the radio when President Roosevelt announced that Congress had declared war on Japan.

I have posted earlier about my Daddy going to the Army sometime after Pearl Harbor. In reviewing some old documents just this past week, I discovered that he did not actually go to the Army until May, 1942.  He was sent to an Army base at Grand Junction, Colorado, to teach automotive mechanics.  Mama and the rest of us moved to Albuquerque, some 75 miles away, where Mama had obtained employment as a bookkeeper/secretary at a large electrical wholesale company, as there was no employment available in Las Vegas.  My memories of the actual move are sketchy, at best, but I remember that we "moved" on a Southwest Trailways bus, all of our household items (no furniture) in boxes in the luggage compartment. We rode together on the back seat of the bus, and my poor mother, who all her life suffered from motion sickness, had to manage 4 children age 7 and under and be sick at the same time. I cannot imagine how she did it.

End - Part 1

If you have endured this far, your reward is a photo or two of my 2010 day lilies which, for the most part, have bloomed without benefit of my hovering presence. Several varieties have already "shot their wad" and I'll have to wait until next year to enjoy watching them bloom.

       "H-14"

Back to Basics

I've now logged over 200 posts since I first began my blog in April, 2008. Whodathunkit? I've recently been having great fun taking photos of my day lilies and other flowers in my yard, and posting them for all the world to see and yawn over -- yeah, yeah, another flower! So what?

However, I recently had an email from my youngest daughter, who currently resides on the island of Okinawa, Japan, telling me that my flowers were "pretty" but she would really like to have more "stories." That comment reminded me of why I started a blog in the first place. Forgive me, I quote myself from Post #1:

"It's the discovery of those other sites which has encouraged me to begin my own journal of remembrances. At age 73, I am still blessed to have a good memory that, at present, goes back quite a long way. I decided that while I still have that capacity, I'll jot down a few random remembrances of my life, along with some current happenings. Fear not! I'm not going to post a chronological listing of all my life's events. Some are best forgotten, anyway!

I hope at some time my remembrances will be of interest to my family, and perhaps to others, as well. I don't make any assurances that they will be "fascinating," however!"

My father used to tell me (regularly) during my formative years that if I could not excel at something, "for heaven's sake have the decency to be an abject failure. Nothing's worse than being 'average.'" (Daddy had very high standards, for himself, his wife and children, which was a bit hard to tolerate at times, and made nervous wrecks out of several of us. Daddy died when I was 30, but his words had a lasting effect: at the age of40, I received an "average" performance rating from a supervisor for whom I had worked for one whole month. I was devastated and, I'm sure, shed more than a few tears -- in private, of course. It was the only such performance rating I had ever received, or did in future receive, in my entire career.)

So...I've done a bit of soul-searching during the recent blog-dry period. I have accepted the reality that I will never, ever, ever, take as beautiful and beautifully composed photographs as Kate, Abe, David, Hilary, Klaus, Mojo, the East Gwillimbury WOW, and myriad other wonderful photographers, nor will I ever be able to put into words and share the deep, heartfelt and beautifully expressed thoughts of Janine, Ruth, Jeannelle, and countless others, nor be as witty, funny and clever as rhymeswithplague (who is also erudite), Arkansas Patti, and Flurrious, nor write poetry like Jinksy. (Note: most of the myriad 'others' have links in the sidebar of my blog.)

Therefore, I am taking cowardly refuge in something I know I can do better than any of the above mentioned -- to write the remembrances of my life, since no one else has lived my life, and no one else can report my memories. Whether or not they are written "excellently" is of little import. They will be what they will be.

How strange! I think that's what I intended to do in the first place! How easily I was led astray!

Oh, I'll still post some flower and other photos, but I'll (try to) save those for Today's Flowers on Sundays.

I'll close this post with one very recent memory: I distinctly recall having called the refrigerator repairman before noon yesterday. He assured me that he could have my problem fixed before the day was out, but he would have to pick up some parts in Little Rock. At 5:30 I called to remind him that I needed to leave for my mid-week church service. I distinctly remember that he said he would be here at 10:00 a.m. this morning. My clock says it's almost eleven, and I haven't heard from him. Am I losing my memory?

Tomorrow, Lord willing, a story.

P.S. The repairman just called. He's on his way. Guess my mind wasn't playing tricks, after all.

ADDENDUM: He came, he stayed, he fixed it and it set me back $160.00 (notwithstanding the "senior discount." Oh, well!