GOOD AND BAD HAIR DAYS

When I went to the Hillsboro class reunion last June, Carole Sexton said that one thing she remembered about me in high school was that I cut my own hair. And then she asked me if I still did that. The answer I gave was “Yes and no.”

I usually get my locks trimmed at some kind of cutting place, sometimes an exorbitantly priced one where I also get it colored, or at a walk-in place for $10.00. But I have also been known to take the scissors to it myself if I’m ready to go somewhere and there’s a tress that just won’t behave. And for some strange reason, the hairdressers can always tell!

The sad thing is that the reason Carole probably remembered was because of an incident our freshman year involving Kate Pritchett. I really did cut my own hair back then and could usually get away with it because I had lots of body in it and a natural wave. So it didn’t usually look too bad afterwards. But one time after I cut it fairly short and it came out pretty well, Kate asked me to cut hers, too. So she came home from school with me and I proceeded to cut hers like mine. But Kate’s hair wasn’t LIKE mine; it was straight as a stick and somehow it didn’t look the same as mine at all. Nevertheless, she went home with her new do.

The next day Kate and Jane, her sister, avoided me like the plague, and someone told me that her mother had had to take her to the BARBER SHOP, back then reserved for boys only. I was pretty mortified and sorry I had agreed to ruin her hair – when I finally got to see her, it really was as short as a boy’s.

And while we’re on the subject, I’d like to describe the “beauty parlor” of those days. There was a waiting room, just like those of today, but each operator had a three-sided booth with a sink in it under a pull down slab of marble (or something like that). We could go in one of these cubicles, get our hair shampooed and set in a somewhat private atmosphere. Then we would be led back to sit under the dryer. And of course, there were NO MALES at all, either as customers or stylists. This was a female world and we wanted it that way. Just like in Steel Magnolias.

So what happened? How did we let the men invade our privacy in this area of our lives? I don’t LIKE for them to see me with my hair wet or with foils all over my head. Bring back the old days and let it be a place for women to gather and discuss the latest gossip with the regulars. Let the men get their hair cut in the barber shop with the striped pole. Somehow, I don’t think anyone is listening, but I did like it better back then.

RUFUS AND THE NEW BED

When Jesse came to visit on Christmas and again two days later, she had a fleece lined bed that Jim and Laurie had bought for her. Whenever she wanted to rest, she would climb into it and sit or lie down for a while. We took her to Sonic and she stayed in it the entire trip until we got back; even when Rufus would try to get her to play, she stayed put. In fact, she seemed to like it so much that we decided to get one for Rufus.

So it was off to Petsmart. We found one just like it - - - a round blue quilted bed with sides and lined with white fleece. It even has an egg crate mattress under the fuzzy stuff. We brought it home and set it on the floor beside him.

Rufus began a systematic sniffing job, beginning on the cushion, itself, and then proceeded to the sides both inside and out where he covered every inch. I don’t know if another dog had tried it out in the store or what, but he was fascinated with the odors.

The next thing he did was to pick up the entire bed and shake it like he does his bear. If we came near to try to rescue the bed, he growled. After a few minutes of this activity, he began scratching it inside as if he were digging a hole. Then, lastly he started biting off chunks of the fleece. I was thinking, “Why can’t he be normal like other dogs and just sleep in it?”

I don’t know whether he can read my mind, but about thirty minutes later I couldn’t find him; there he was curled up asleep in his new bed. This morning I took him out in the car and at first he started out curled around the back of my neck like he usually does. Then he moved to the passenger side and got into his bed and stayed there for the duration of the trip.

I guess he just had to initiate the bed and show it who was boss.

REFLECTIONS ON A YEAR

Looking back on the year 2007, I realize one of the best things that have happened to me in this new adventure of retirement is writing the blog, Pegtales. The children had been after me for years to write about my childhood experiences so they would have a family record, and I admit I had tried to do that a time or two. But there’s something about putting memories online for others to read daily that has clicked with me and I’m glad it did. I’ve had a ball doing it.

I have Larry Blumen, a high school classmate whom I saw at our high school reunion last summer, to thank for getting me started. He wrote me from Atlanta, sending me tutorials about how to begin, etc., and I was on my way to blog city. I really appreciate his willingness to help me and especially his patience in teaching me how.

And - - - an added advantage has been getting to know Larry and his wife Betty, also a former classmate. We have exchanged emails all year and I’ve really enjoyed getting better acquainted with them. I fervently hope this will continue for the years to come.

So thanks to all of you out there in readerland, first of all for reading, and secondly, for encouraging me in this endeavor. I hope to have a fruitful year of writing in 2008.

THIS CHRISTMAS

As Christmases go, this was at least a seven or eight. The only way for it to be a ten would be if Ashley and all her family were with us or we were with them. What a madhouse, but what fun it would be. But this was a good one and enjoyed by all.

The first to arrive were Brenda and her children, Payton and Michael. The lamb was already basted and cooking so the house smelled good. Brenda brought a spinach casserole, and a bean salad, plus lots of good cheese spreads. Then she and I wrapped presents while the kids hung out, watching TV.

Next to appear were Jim, Laurie, Jay, Annie, and --- JESSE! What a treat for Rufus. Of course, he was jumping all over her and barking. His whole back end was wagging so much that I’m surprised he didn’t throw his back out. Jesse began chasing Rufus all over the house and this continued until both were exhausted. Laurie brought potatoes and chocolate silk pie, Jim’s favorite dessert.

The dinner was a success even though I didn’t have the usual beef and scalloped oysters. I had made it easier on myself by having the lamb. Then came the opening of the gifts.

The genius and I received the usual Gator gifts: a set of plates, magnets for the fridge, even a light switch plate. We also got gift certificates for our favorite restaurants and a great photo book on Nashville. And Brenda, showing her creative side again, had several copies of Pegtales printed and bound into books for each family. I was really touched. She had printed Volume I on the front. So I guess I can’t quit now.

After the mess was cleared away, a very complicated, but fun game that Jay received was opened. Several people played while others sat and talked. I ended up on the sofa exhausted, but happy. Both Rufus and I slept soundly that night!!

THE GENIUS AND DRUGS

The genius and I are on two different planets when it comes to taking medication. If I’m going to have any kind of medical procedure I want to have all the drugs I can get, especially if it involves pain. He, on the other hand, has resisted taking anything, aspirin or otherwise, ever since I’ve known him. (“It’s not nature’s way.”)

But about three weeks ago he was tired of fighting the pain of a consistent back ache, so he began taking Advil. He didn’t take much, about 4-6 a day, but it was enough to cause some internal bleeding. So off he goes to the doctor to have some tests run.

I have had both a colonoscopy and an endoscopy, so I tried to tell him what to expect. “You won’t remember a thing. You’ll just go to sleep and wake up and it will be all over.” I went with him to the doctor so that I could drive him home.

When they called me back to the recovery room, I expected to see him all dopey and shaky, but no, he was as alert as ever. He said, “I didn’t have the sedative; I told them I didn’t want it.” So all he had was a little bit of pain killer for the endoscopy in order for them to get the tube down his throat. The colonoscopy was done without anything!! I was amazed, but I don’t know why; I should have expected it.

Later, I asked him why he did it that way and he said he didn’t want to fog up his mind with medication. And he also wanted to know what was going on during the process. He asked the physician questions throughout the examination about what was taking place, etc. I’ll bet that the doctor doesn’t see many patients like him.

I’ve thought about this since then and I’ve come to the conclusion that he has much more courage than I have, or most anyone, for that matter. He would rather endure the discomfort of the exam than to harm his brain, or to waste a day sleeping off the drugs. How brave is that??

The good news is that the bleeding was caused by the Advil and there was no sign of anything else. And the back is better due to a cortisone injection.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

from

The Genius, Rufus, and me

NEW KID IN THE FAMILY!

Yesterday a very exciting event occurred in our family. Jay and Annie received an early Christmas present, a charcoal Shih Tzu female dog named Jesse. At last Rufus has a playmate the same size and age as he is!

We went over this afternoon to meet Jesse, and even though she wasn’t feeling too well because of surgery yesterday (she was neutered), she responded very favorably to Rufus. Of course, HE responded as he always does to other dogs – he went crazy. But he finally calmed down and they were able to get acquainted peacefully. Each rear end was sniffed and accepted and they even ran around and played a little. We had to be careful that Jesse didn’t overdo.

Right now she weighs seven pounds, the same as Rufus, but she wasn’t very well cared for and is underweight. They will be perfect for each other, I believe, and they look soooo cute together - - - one almost black and the other white. Naturally, I have volunteered to be the chief dog sitter while Laurie works her thirty hours per week.

I look forward to many days of watching these two become fast friends!!

NEW KID ON THE BLOCK

By Rufus and Y’Mommy

About a week ago I was sleeping peacefully on my perch on the back of the sofa when I detected a new smell drifting around. I was immediately awake and alert to anything that might invade our house and harm Y’Mommy or me. And there outside was a NEW DOG walking down our street. Of course, I jumped off onto the floor and flew to the door barking loud enough to wake the dead.

Things were very peaceful until Rufus set up a racket like a bear was in the yard. I looked out the window and there was a young woman walking a beautiful greyhound. He was so stately and dignified and looking toward our house with a puzzled expression on his face, wondering I’m sure what all the shrill barking was about. The noise continued until the two were out of sight.

Y’Mommy didn’t seem too worried – in fact, she kept talking about how handsome that big dog was. For the next few mornings the same thing happened. That dog just kept coming into my territory to take his walk. Then one morning, there was a knock on the door and there they stood - - - on OUR porch!

The greyhound’s owner had seen a little white dog running loose up the street and wanted to make sure that Rufus was safe inside and hadn’t gotten loose. Of course, this was all said over the LOUD barking of Rufus --- he was going crazy over this blatant invasion of HIS house and yard.

Then yesterday Y’Mommy carried me out to the street to meet him. His name is Hulk and he didn’t seem very nice to me. In fact, Y’Daddy came out and took me back inside while Y’Mommy stayed and visited with them. I didn’t like this idea at all and I let them know it.

I went out to meet the dog (and owner) to see if he was a former racer because I had heard that greyhounds that have raced are not very keen on small white animals. I was right to be cautious. The young woman said that he had indeed raced and was “funny” about white cats and dogs (and also rabbits, I’ll bet!). So we will just continue to bark and wave at them from inside our house and not up close!

THE FRANK SCHOOL OF MUSIC

When we were growing up in the forties and fifties in Nashville, there was a music school downtown that my mother used to take us to at least once a week. Mr. Leon Frank, the owner, had given Mother piano lessons when she was in high school and college, and she was continuing the tradition with us.

The school faced Eighth Avenue between Church Street and Union and when you opened the door, all you could see ahead were dark stairs leading up. I’m sure it was only two flights, but it seemed twice that far; by the time we reached the top we were always out of breath. We approached the door at the top with terror (or at least dread) --- because the formidable Mr. Frank might be somewhere lurking about. (Occasionally, I dream about those stairs and turning to the right to go up two more steps to the waiting room.)

This school was not just about the piano – one could also take violin, dance (ballet or tap), or even something called elocution lessons. This last was really feared because those students also performed at recitals, sometimes in a play, or even in solo. All of us girls took piano and elocution (or speech).

When we first began the music lessons, we didn't have Mr. Frank for a teacher. He only taught the advanced students. And after what my two sisters said about him, I didn’t really want to. They said that he had a ruler in his hand that he would use to lightly tap on their knuckles when they made mistakes. Can you imagine anyone trying that today?!? The school would be out of business in a heartbeat.

While I was working up to Mr. Frank, I also took speech lessons (I was rooked into it because BJ flatly refused and Mother had already signed her up). So I agreed to do it on one condition - - - NO RECITALS!!!! But I hadn’t counted on the relentless nature of the teacher, whose name slips my mind. She was an Indian woman who wore her hair severely in a bun and had excellent posture. She seemed about nine feet tall to me. Needless to say, I was in every recital, taking the lead in several. I still remember rubbing burnt cork all over my face when I played an African American child who was dressed in rags. From outside, I looked through the window into a warm room and said the following lines:

Da wind is hollerin’, dare you to da shutters and da fire!
Da snow is sayin’ “gotcha!” to da groun’.
For da winter weather’s come without a’askin’ our desire,
And he’s laughin’ up ‘is sleeve at what he foun’.

Don’t ask me how I remember that little speech. It just proves that learning poetry and bible verses when one is young, stays with a person for a lifetime.

Eventually, I entered into the music room of Mr. Frank, himself. I had heard stories from my sisters and also from Mother. She had been playing in a recital when she was in college, and Mr. Frank interrupted her and told her she wasn’t playing her piece correctly. She turned around and told him, “If you can play it better, come and do it.” When he sat down on the bench next to her, he whispered to her that he didn’t care if she talked to him that way in the studio, but not here. And good old spunky Mother said, “Then don’t you talk to me that way either.”

I began taking from him when I was in the eighth grade. I was never very good about practicing, but I did for him. He inspired me and I wanted to please him. I wasn't afraid of him, and occasionally, I even joked with him. I think he really liked me because of that; at any rate, I never saw any ruler.

One day late in the spring, we climbed those stairs for my lesson, but when we got to the top, we knew something was wrong. Everyone was red eyed, some openly crying. We learned that Mr. Frank had died that morning of a heart attack in his hotel room (he lived in a hotel!). It was a very sad day for all of us. The school closed a few months later – without Mr. Frank there could be no Frank School of Music.

MORE CHRISTMASES

Two more memories have drifted to the surface. Number one was the first Christmas after we were married. We were living in Memphis at the time for three weeks while the genius was at a job site on an island in the Mississippi River. He was an engineer working for Chicago Bridge and Iron Company traveling around to different locations inspecting the various work situations. So at that time we were living with BJ and Jerry who lived in Memphis then. This was in 1960 and the interstate system was only partly built between Memphis and Nashville.

The genius put in a full day’s work and we started out about 6:00. Somewhere the interstate ran out and we were traveling on Highway 70 in the dark when we noticed the snow beginning to fall. It’s great to have a white Christmas if you’ve already arrived at your location, but not so nice at 9:00 with no snow tires or chains and you have to navigate the hills of middle Tennessee.

We made it to Centerville (about 50 miles from home) and we just couldn’t make it up one long steep hill. So we parked the car and trudged to someone’s house on the hill and knocked on the door. Thank goodness those were the days before people were afraid to open their house to strangers, and the people invited us in. They turned out to be singers for the Grand Ole Opry, part of the Carter family singers. We put in a call to our parents for help and they said that someone would be right out. Those nice people insisted that we stay in the house until time to go wait for help to arrive. It made me want to go right out and buy Opry tickets (it was several years before we would do that). But I’ll always remember their hospitality.

Footnote to that story: Our two fathers did arrive with chains, helped us put them on, and we were able to get home easily. The only thing is that they put them on upside down, the tires were ruined, and we had to buy new ones.

Number two memory is from a few years later when Ashley was three and Jim one. Ironically, we were living in Memphis again. A lot had happened in those years. The genius had served in the Army for 2 years at Fort Sill, OK (where Ashley was born), then he had worked for and earned a Master’s Degree from the University of Florida (where Jim was born), and we were now back in Memphis where he was employed by an engineering firm.

This time our trip home was different. Because of the children, our car was loaded to the hilt not only with all of their baby stuff, but with Christmas presents as well. And we didn’t have snow!!

Buried down in the Christmas presents was a toy stove with burners that lit up. This little jewel came from Sears and of course, had to be assembled. We were staying with my in-laws on Christmas Eve and then we would go to my parents on Christmas Day. About 10:00 p.m. the genius and his brother-in-law Sam, who was a pathology resident at the time, began to assemble that little cardboard stove. I mean you have two very smart men to put together a toy that came from Sears!! How difficult could that be? Well, it was the most intricate looking apparatus I had ever seen. So many wires were in that box - - - it looked like the inside of a computer. They worked on that stove until 2:00 a.m. and finally it was done!!

Of course, the children were awake four hours later to see what Santa had brought. I still have pictures of that morning – all the adults look terrible and the children are happily playing with the toys. I seem to remember that that little cardboard box with its mess of wires didn’t last very long, but putting it together made for some good memories.

CHRISTMASES PAST

When I asked the genius what his most memorable Christmas was, he said the one we all were sick. Why is it that we always remember events that have negative connotations to them? That was one day I want to forget; instead, that’s the one we remember.

Two days before Christmas that year all of my extended family gathered at my cousin’s house for a pot luck feast. We had a great time, but between my parents and sisters and their family and us (seventeen of us altogether), fourteen of us were violently ill on Christmas Day. For some crazy reason, the five of us gathered on the king sized bed in the master bedroom and opened our presents. Every few minutes one of us would run to the bathroom and we would all moan and groan until he/she returned. I don’t know why we didn’t just put the gifts off until we all felt better, but noooo, we had to stay with tradition and open them that morning.

As we called to tell the other people in the family we wouldn’t be there for Christmas dinner, we learned that most of the others were ill, also. Amazingly, my parents had escaped.

One thing I remember from our high school Christmases was the sending of Christmas cards. In those days, the mail was delivered twice a day up until the 25th and then it was delivered only once. Yes, they actually delivered the mail on Christmas Day! The trick was to see if you could time the mailing so that your cards would be delivered on the day, itself. And it was awful to miss it and have them come a day late. So we usually played it safe and had ours delivered a day or two before. I remember the joy of receiving those cards. One year I even put them in a scrapbook which I still have.

When I was a child, my family had two traditions the memories of which I still cherish. One was that on Christmas Eve day, we three girls would pile into the car with all our presents, and Daddy would drive us to deliver them to our friends. He would work out the route ahead of time so we wouldn’t be doing any backtracking. It was so much fun to run to the door and present our gifts and usually receive our own. When we returned home, we had as many gifts as we started out with, but they were ours to place under the tree. We wouldn’t dream of opening them until the next morning.

The other ritual was to visit Lizzie late in the morning on Christmas Day. She was an ancient African American woman who had worked for us until she became too old to work anymore. She lived in a nice house with her niece who worked in a bank downtown. We always took her tons of food – fresh fruit, home baked goodies, a ham, and above all, some fresh fish. She loved fried fish. Her niece would tell us that Lizzie was always sure that “this year they won’t come.” And she was sooo glad to see us when we did get there. And we loved seeing her as well. It was a very sad Christmas after her death which occurred while I was in high school and we couldn’t visit Lizzie anymore.

So these are some of the memories I have dredged up about Christmases past. If others come to mind, I’ll write some more.

CHRISTMAS REVISITED

There are so many things about Christmas that sneak up on me. Just when I think I have it all done, something pops up that I realize I had forgotten. Like the extra tip for my nails lady or for the bartender and waiters at the club where we belong. And you can’t just write a check out to them either; how gauche is that? You have to go to the bank and get nice crisp bills and then get an appropriate card to go along with the gift. So I find myself, in spite of my best efforts, running around doing last minute things.

Now my sisters, especially MA, have it all together. They shop all year long and by the time October rolls around, they are done. I can just see MA making a list that she probably keeps from year to year and checking it all off as each thing is done. Me, I keep it all in my head, and that’s why things sneak up on me.

I am enjoying myself this year. I said in my first blog about Christmas that I was going to concentrate on the spiritual part of Christmas, and I have. I have listened to the Messiah and other favorite songs, and I have decorated a little at a time. When little things come up, like last night when Fernando, the bartender, told us that he was leaving for Chile in two days to visit his 98 year old mother, I don’t panic. I will just go to the bank today and tonight we will have another meal at the club, something I always enjoy.

One thing that has helped me tremendously this year is that I did something I had been meaning to for a long time. I organized my closets. For two weeks we had piles of stuff upstairs sitting around the bedrooms and hall while I decided what to do with all of it. And now it is almost finished. I can’t express in words how much better I feel because of that finished job. I still have the downstairs closets to do, but I’ve learned something. It’s okay to take my time and not feel like I have to do it all in one day. Of course, we have to put up with a little mess while I organize it all, but it is soooo worth it when I get through.

So now all I have to do is plan the Christmas Eve dinner for all the in town folks (about ten of us) and finish shopping and then get ready for New Year’s Eve with the sisters and husbands. That’s the part I really like about this time of year - - -entertaining and being entertained. And speaking of that, I have to mention my Christmas attire for this year.

While Rufus was getting groomed at a Petsmart in a shopping mall, I wandered into a department store that is known for its cheap prices. But usually, the quality is not so good, so I don’t do much shopping there. This time, however, I just happened to notice a bright red satin top with jewels around the square neckline. Since it was only $15.00, I bought it. I have worn that red top to every party we have been to because the parties have not had the same people at them. I’ve had to hand wash it each time, but I don’t know when I have ever gotten so many compliments on an outfit. I have dressed it up with black velvet pants and satin heels or down with plain black pants and flats. Of course, it helped to still have a little tan, but I will wear it one more time on Christmas Eve. Isn’t it funny how you can search and search for something to wear and then you come across a bargain like that?

So, up to this point, I am happy to say that the Christmas season has been good this year. I’m not just waiting for it to be over and done with – I’m actually enjoying it and living each day as it comes.

FRIENDSHIPS

I mentioned Connie and Carolyn in yesterday’s episode. We had such a good time together, just hanging out. By the time I reached high school, Mother began to work outside the home, and Carolyn’s mother worked, also. So that left Connie’s house whose mother was still at home all day.

I don’t remember much what we did; girly things like trying out new makeup or hairdos. And it was at Connie’s house that she and I sneaked a smoke now and then. Carolyn was not a part of that; I’m happy to say that we didn’t talk her into that one.

Connie had a little brother, Louis, who was quite a bit younger than we were. When he was two years old, he thought it was fun to slip up on one of us girls and try to sneak a peek up our skirts. That usually happened only once to each of us; we were onto him after that.

And one thing I do remember that happened often. Connie’s mother would pop us up some really buttery popcorn (and not the microwave stuff either) --- it was the best I ever had. And she would also make what she called orangeade, made out of fresh squeezed oranges with a little sugar and water added. I can’t begin to describe how that drink and popcorn tasted together. I have tried to duplicate them, but can’t get it quite right.

She also made a white cake (from scratch, of course) and then while it was still warm, poured white icing (that kind that was cooked on top of the stove, not the butter cream type) hot from the pan on top of the cake. It is definitely my all time favorite cake.

One summer Connie and I took a biology class at Peabody Demonstration School. We thought it would be smart to get it out of the way and not have to take a whole year of it at Hillsboro. One day we decided to skip class and ride the bus to town. I don’t remember what we did once we got there, probably went to a movie or shopped. Then we were back in time to ride home with my mother.

The next morning we appeared in class and handed our teacher a note that we had each written for the other that was supposedly written by our mothers. At the end of class he told us he wanted to see us and said that he knew we had just skipped class and not been sick or whatever we had said in the note. Then he told me that he hadn’t meant to get me into trouble, but that morning he had seen my mother who was helping the principal that week with some task. The conversation had gone like this:

Teacher: “We missed your daughter yesterday; is she all right?”

Mother after a pause: “Why, that little dickens just cut class!”

So I knew I was in trouble. And I was right. My punishment was instead of getting to take a few days off the next week to go early to Mississippi to see my relatives, I had to wait and go later. I can’t think of a more effective way to teach me a lesson. I only wish it had taken. That was definitely not the last time that I cut classes, either in high school or college

And here’s what really got me --- Connie’s mother never found out!

STOPPING BY WEST HIGH SCHOOL ON A SNOWY DAY

I had two really good friends from the sixth grade all the way through high school. We lived close to each other and saw each other frequently outside of school. Connie lived across the street from me and Carolyn lived about three blocks away. All of us actually lived closer to West High School (a city school), but we attended Hillsboro (a county school) because we lived just outside the city limits. Invariably, when it snowed in Nashville, the county schools were closed because of the hazardous outlying roads, while the city schools remained open.

I attended church with many West students, and in fact, when I was a sophomore, we three girls had our eye on some boys we knew at that school. Somehow, one of these boys learned we would be out for a snow holiday and phoned me the night before. I forget the exact details, but we devised a plan whereby the three of us would walk to West High School and meet up with the boys. Carolyn, always the sensible one and follower of rules, was skeptical about the whole scheme, but Connie and I, who lived more on the edge, convinced her that it would be OK.

So the next morning we set out in our warm clothes. We actually had on jeans which were not allowed to be worn to Nashville schools, but somehow we got away with it. I don’t remember what Connie and Carolyn did after we sashayed into the school about 10:00, but I do recall that I attended English class with Mike, the boy I was interested in.

He had already told his teacher some cock and bull story about his cousin visiting him and his family, and that I might drop in. I was welcomed to class and I had the privilege of sitting through class taught by the famous Mrs. Bowen, a revered teacher in Nashville. (I wish I could remember what lesson she taught, but alas, I don’t --- I’m sure I could have learned a lot from her if I had been in the right frame of mind.)

Afterwards, we went to lunch in the cafeteria and ate with some of our friends we knew. At the time, we thought we had really put one over on the teachers and principal, but how naïve was that? I feel certain today that they knew and just tolerated our being there as long as we behaved. And we did, of course. We would only push the rules so far.

We left after lunch because we had not miles to go, but at least one mile. (My apologies to Robert Frost)

THE GENIUS AND CHESS

Watching the genius play a game of chess with Jay, our grandson, brought to mind another chess experience from the past.

He was definitely into the game in the 70’s. He was playing by mail with some guy from Massachusetts (they sent their moves one at a time on a postcard back and forth; talk about slow games!).

Also, there were a group of IBMers with whom he worked who got together for chess once a week. They had a schedule of how they played and even had chess clocks to keep the slower players in line. He really enjoyed these nights.

So one Christmas I gave him a beautiful hand carved wood set. He opened it up and looked at reverently; I could tell he was very grateful for the gift. That night he suggested that we break it in and play a game. I was very hesitant to do that because he was the expert and I rarely ever played. Besides, I really was not that fond of the game because it was too slow for me. But I finally agreed when he said it would be appropriate for the two of us to play the first game because I had given it to him (unfair tactics).

And so the game began. It went fine for a while, and then the genius got careless in taking one of my important pieces (a rook, I think) and left his queen exposed. I couldn’t believe it, but of course, I moved right in and captured it. And the game went on until it came down to where I had a choice of two moves --- and I made the wrong one! Instead of checkmating him, I stalemated. That meant, in laymen’s terms, that I tied with him instead of defeating him.

But I have to tell you that I felt like I had won. And I vowed then that I would never play him again. And I haven’t.

SHOPPING DAYS IN THE FIFTIES

When I was a little girl, there were no malls or shopping centers in the outskirts of town. The only place to really shop for anything other than hardware or groceries was downtown. When we did “go to town” it was a big deal.

First, we had to get ready – than meant dressing up in our best clothes. This custom continued even when I was going with friends to town without an adult accompanying us. (One friend always had to wear a dressy hat and white gloves which she promptly removed as soon as we were out of sight of her mother.)

Next, we had to walk to the bus stop. We had two choices – we could walk a shorter distance and wait for the “shuttle bus,” which only came once every hour, or we could walk about a mile and catch the direct route downtown. With mother, we usually took the shuttle, but when I went with my friends, we would opt for the walk.

Mother would herd the three of us onto the bus for the ride to town, and although we didn’t much like the smell of the exhaust, we were excited to be spending the day shopping.

We loved to go to Harvey’s Department Store where there were carousel horses all around. I seem to remember live monkeys there, too. They were the first store in town to have escalators and we loved riding them as well. And eating at the lunch counter in the basement was a treat, also. I usually got a grilled cheese, but sometimes I chose a hot roast beef sandwich instead. Other choices for places to eat were the Woolworth’s lunch counter (the one featured on national news when the sit-ins were held in the sixties), the Krystal, or for really special times --- Cross Keys Restaurant. Later on the in the afternoon we would stop at Candyland’s for a chocolate drift or “chipped chocolate” ice cream.

Actually, Mother didn’t like Harvey’s as much as she did Castner Knott’s and Cain Sloan’s. She usually bought most of her sewing fabrics and patterns or “ready made dresses” from those places. I think Harvey’s was probably for us girls since we liked it so much.

I remember once when I was about eight or nine we were shopping at one of the stores and I became separated from the rest of the family. I looked all over the floor and then got the bright idea that they had left the floor. So I got on the elevator and went down to the second floor and searched and searched. I went back to the elevator and told the operator about it and she asked me what my mother was shopping for. When I told her clothes for my sister, she took me to the third floor (where I was originally). The door slid open and there was Mother wringing her hands. I thought she would be mad at me for leaving the floor, but she took all the blame herself. And she was probably so relieved that she didn’t have room for anger.

Those three department stores were all together on Church Street, but we had to walk down Fifth or Sixth Avenue to get to Loveman’s on Union. That’s where Mother always bought her hats. There was a milliner there she especially liked named Harry. He always treated her like she was the only customer he had. He was quite a salesman.

By the time we had traipsed all over town (probably only five or six blocks altogether), we girls were worn out. So we would drag ourselves back to Church and Sixth to wait for the bus. Then another walk home from the bus stop. All of us were worn out.

It must have been quite a chore to take all of us to town for the day; no wonder Mother didn’t do it very often. But those trips stand out in my mind as being very special occasions.

CELEBRATING CHRISTMAS

In the last few years I haven’t had a very good attitude toward Christmas. As a matter of fact, the negative feelings about this wonderful holiday began when I became a Christian some thirty odd years ago. Each year I ask myself, “How can I get through all the messes of this time of year and really gain a new understanding about Jesus and His birthday?” So far I have had only partial success, at best.

When I was a child, of course there was that amazing magical quality of Christmas that continued through my teenage years. And when we married and had children, we enjoyed watching them experience that same magic. Somewhere along the way during my adult years, I became frustrated with the busy-ness of the season and I just wanted to say, “Whoa, stop this merry-go-round and let me off.” So what would it take for me to get the magic back and still be thankful for what the holiday is all about?

For one thing, I love the Christmas decorations, especially the lights, but I don’t want to go to the trouble to put them up and take them down. It’s not an option to leave them up all year – that’s too redneck for the genius. And it’s too expensive to hire someone. So maybe I’ll invite the grandchildren over to help.

The second thing that would help is for me to play GOOD Christmas music, not these “I saw Mama kissing Santa Claus” jingles. The Messiah or other classical Christmas songs would help tremendously. Nothing makes me want to leave a store or mall more quickly than to hear the same holiday trash songs. So I’ll shop online and listen to my music at home.

And finally, I can try to concentrate on my relationship with the One whose birthday we are honoring, even though it was not on December 25. Above all, this is certainly what I desire; I pray that it will be done.

Meeting My Love

He and I knew each other in high school but not well. He was two years ahead of me and our paths didn’t cross that much. So it was while he was in college that I first spoke to the genius at his fraternity house one night.

I had a date with one of his “brothers,” who was strictly a friend to me, and we stopped by the frat house after a movie. There was the genius sitting at the piano --- and playing it! On the black keys!! I was fascinated – all of the songs were played in f sharp (or g flat). He claimed not to know how to play, but he obviously did – and well. I later learned that he had taken piano lessons for several years when he was younger, but he was playing that night by ear. I remember sitting down on the bench beside him and watching him, captivated by his musical talent, but also by his incredible good looks.

As my date and I left the house, he told me not to be surprised if the genius called me. According to him, the genius had a habit of dating girls that my friend asked out. I found out later that there was a reason for this. It seems that my future husband asked my friend one day, “Who was that girl you were with the other night?” The answer he received was “I’m not telling YOU because I know you will try to steal her away.” Since that was NOT his intention at all, the genius was highly insulted and from that point on, he began to ask out any girl my friend did.

So that’s the story of how we began our relationship. He did call me, he did ask me out, and I did accept -- with alacrity! Eleven months later we were married.

Post Script to MA

I was going to put this in comments but decided it was worthy of another blog spot.

MA informs me that she was never pinned to her boyfriend, Wayne -- they just went steady. She was later secretly pinned to another boy, Jimmie, (that meant that she wore the frat pin on her bra instead of the outside), but Mother found out. In MA’s words, Mother “always knew everything.” Mother had noticed that Jimmie had quit wearing his own pin, so she figured it out.

About her office work, she said that there were 19 girls whom she had hired who were working there when she retired and 3 periodontists, not 2. I know those girls were sorry to see her go because she was like a mother to all of them, helping them with their personal problems as well as training them for their work. MA has always been a great listener and can be trusted implicitly to keep a secret, so I know her second “daughters” really missed her when she left.

Then she told me a story about when she was in college and all the girls were given firecrackers to light at 10:00 p.m. and throw out into the hall. She lost her nerve and flushed hers down the john. That action just proves my point about her -- she always toed the line. I probably would have been the one to come up with the idea of the firecrackers in the first place.

She writes, “I was no angel and did lots of things I shouldn’t have done.” Well, I don’t know what they were (except for the smoking) and don’t want to. I prefer to think of her as the one who always obeyed the rules and set an example I should have followed.