The Day We Ruined Our Kids

I think it was 1976. Our two youngest kids were in a double stroller, and we had brought an umbrella stroller along just in case our older one got tired. It was a Sunday afternoon and we thought we'd do some quick holiday shopping and then go home to eat dinner.

We were on our way to the car, walking through Sears in Sioux City, which is now the location of the city's only skyscraper (actually only a cloud scraper), and spotted two TV sets that had joy sticks wired to them. Jay and I each picked up a joystick, wondering how this would work. It was exciting! It was challenging! It was really fun! Our oldest child whined at us and we unfolded the umbrella stroller. The two babies fussed and I dug out bottles for them. We took advantage of their quiet and continued to play.

Finally our oldest nearly screamed, "I want to go home!!!!" Both Jay and I looked around and there was no one in the store. We noticed that most of the lights were out, and we headed for the main door. It was locked. We nearly ran to a side door and came upon a security guard. He kindly led us to the back door which he unlocked so we could proceed to our car.

Neither of us had noticed the shoppers leaving, the doors closing, Santa leaving his chair, or the announcements that must have been made. We had fallen deeply into the coma induced by one of the first video games. Our children are now adults with children of their own, and they cannot resist a computer game. They have given them to their own children. We have noticed, perhaps because of our parental failing, that they time how long their own kids can play, and closely monitor the games that they play. But, after the kids are in bed, we suspect that they are drawn into that deep dark world that drew their parents in and created an example that influences their own lives. Then again - they probably don't remember at all!

Putting Up (With) the Christmas Tree

I remember the excitement of decorating the Christmas Tree for the holidays, first as a child, and then as a young wife, and later when our children were growing up. Choosing the tree, putting on the strings of lights, choosing the exact placement of ornaments. It was so much fun.

As the years went by, it became more difficult to find a tree and fit it into or onto the car with the kids along, and it wasn't that much fun without them helping to choose just the right tree, so we resorted to an artificial tree. The ritual of decorating the tree was only slightly diminished.

Our front windows are two floors high, and so we eventually purchased a 12' ft. artificial tree, and that at first seemed like fun. The staircase is next to our annual placement of the tree, and so decorating its higher branches was not too much trouble.

The kids moved out, and we took in pets (five of them). The breadth of the bottom branches became a real nuisance as the tree became a curry comb for the collie, and a source of frantic playfulness for the cats as branches crossed their paths. We replaced the tree with another very tall tree, but of "slender" stature. Because I prefer to change the colors of the light strings from year to year, we choose an unlighted tree. As my age crept on, I discovered that garlands do not have to go around the tree, but can be hung from the top, so that they cascade vertically down the sides of the tree. The need for additional ornaments was a result of "vertical decoration", so they have been eliminated, as long as the treetop ornament is sufficient to cover all of the ends of the garlands.

This year, getting the tree out of storage, into the house, and assembled was a major project. With my husband and I working together, it took several hours just to get the tree standing in the living room. It stood for three days before I found the energy to hang the lights. Then it stood for another two days before I placed the decorations on it. I plan to take it down Christmas Day after the family and grandchildren leave.

We've decided. The tree has to go. Perhaps, after Christmas when they are on sale, we will purchase a six foot pre-lighted tree. For the years we will not have a Christmas celebration with grandchildren at our house, we'll probably elect to not have a Christmas Tree. Maybe we'll get one of those pre-lit, pre-decorated tree that pulls up from the center, although that seems like it could be intense exercise.
Well, smaller tree disposal can't be too difficult. Now, how do I get rid of the old one after Christmas?

Peas

      Here's the thing about peas, which I really hated as a child, and only merely dislike now unless they are fresh or frozen and cooked very slightly. They are dark and dreary. 
      Imagine you are a child like I was: You can't even chew them because they mush up in your mouth. They taste like army green or dark greyish purple. They are like dirty hair or gray hairy bugs. They are like low notes in a minor key with a few wrong notes. Peas are not so bad by themselves, but the thought of them can make a child gag. 
      If you spill them on the floor even the dog, who will eat them, doesn't snarf them up, so you get caught dropping them on the floor. If you mush them up under the plate, Mom finds it in the dish water, which she finds ugly, (but not so ugly as you would find them if you actually ate them). Peas are grown-up food, because grown-ups have lost the sensitive perception to hate them. 
      Let's face it, most vegetables taste like their color. It's that color/sensory perception thing that has been studied scientifically in many ways. Green beans are okay when their green color is somewhat appealing. Carrots are okay when orange is considered okay. Cauliflower is not okay when they are perceived to be dirty green. A grey-green color leaches out of broccoli, cabbage, and brussel sprouts. And turnips are the color of dishwater. Corn is a bright, usually safe yellow, just as tomatoes are a bright, usually safe red.
      Peas, to a child who hates them, are not worth anything. The nutritional value in peas is totally negated by the trauma of eating them. 
      Mommies trying to be smart try to package "nutritional" foods in cookies, brownies, or pizza. It sounds deceitful to me, and if, when I was a child, I found peas in my brownie, I would never eat a brownie again!

     

5 or 50 Kinds of Drivel on FaceBook That Can Drive You Crazy

         
          Most of the posts I see on FaceBook make me cringe. Some of them make me want to scream.
Then there are the posts that offer motivational sayings. They never motivate me to do anything except to avoid posting similar wisdoms. Many of them post a political viewpoint. I won't even post an example - we've all seen them, and they are disturbing to many of us. 
          Other posts are express a religious viewpoint (almost always Christian) or implore the reader to pray for something. Worse yet, they might say "Share if You Love God." I don't think God cares if I share such a message on Facebook, so I don't share those posts.
         Every child belonging in some way to a FaceBook member is the smartest, the most beautiful, the most athletic, or the most charming, of course. If that isn't enough, readers are constantly reminded why we love our daughters, our sons, our parents and our grandparents, and we are expected to share those reasons if we agree. I wonder how many people who disagree share anyway? Some, I imagine. I might agree with the posts, but don't share what I think is drivel. 

        There are posts that document a weight-loss battle. "I Lost 7 oz. today" or "I ran around the block this morning in the RAIN." Even more ridiculous are the ones that list how many inches he or she has lost on various parts of the body.  I'm sorry, but I don't want to know how much some guy has lost around his thighs.        
         Other posts offer to test my IQ (I already know what it is), my personality, my grammar, which Star Trek character I am, or what city in California I should represent. If there is anyone who believes these tests have any merit, trust me, they are not scientific. I could never be Spock. Then there are the posts that offer motivational sayings. They never motivate me to do anything except to avoid posting similar wisdoms.

       The largest percentage of posts tell me what I supposedly do not know, or a reaction I will have.

• 15 Things You Didn't Know About (insert name of a movie or TV show). This is stated as though I needed to know these 15 things. I've actually looked at a couple of things and I did, for some strange reason, know about 8 of those things.
• 10 Celebrities who have pronounced signs of aging (don't we all), or 8 Celebrities who have had dental work (thank heavens).
• 20 Ways to Improve Your Eating Habits. I haven't looked at this one, and I suppose this is the one that I should read.
•  A story that will make me cry. Why would I want to cry?
•  10 Scary Facts that Will Make You Pee in Your Pants. Oh, good! I just logged onto FaceBook hoping I would find something that would make me pee in my pants. I wonder, should I read them all at one sitting, or should I read one a day?
•  20 Ways that Dogs are Better Than Cats, or 20 Ways that Cats are Better Than Dogs. I suppose I should expect to someday also find 20 Ways that Monkeys are Better Than Pigs.

So - after all this complaining, why am I on FaceBook? Because there are some posts that I do like to read, including funny stories, information about my community, information about a friend or relative I haven't seen for months, some recipes, and occasionally an off-color joke or cartoon (an admission I didn't want to make, but I'm trying to be honest).

I joined FaceBook because I think it's a nice way to connect with friends and relatives that I seldom see. I like the private message capabilities of FaceBook because it's often easier than finding someone's email address. Finally, it's a nice break from concentration and tasks of the day.

Sometimes It Comes to This...

 A very nice, cheery friend of mine posted this today on social media:
OK--so I'm in a WalMart today--a lady riding in a store electric cart decide to cut me off in an isle (I had nowhere to go)--she looked Mean!! She said get the F---- out of my way--Now!! Well I'm not in a very good mood in the first place, so her attitude kind of ticked me off. I said, could you wait your turn--she said--Do you want me to kick your A--!! I said, well, you gotta get off that seat first, but ok--bring it on!! I finally just laughed at her. Now that really made her mad--she said she was going to slap that smile off my face. Now I am really ticked, she is not going to mess with my new teeth!!! She had a really little man right behind her--he said to her--why don't you calm down honey. she grabbed his arm and he was toast!! I kept going----

Oldpeopleitis

-->

        I had a friend tell me that she feared she was already suffering from oldpeopleitis. Oldpeopleitis is a chronic, terminal condition for which there are aches and pains that cannot be otherwise diagnosed, nor is there any specific treatment. A symptom of oldpeoplitis is celebrating Sunday, a day of very literal rest, four of the seven days of the week. When an oldpeopleitis sufferer is asked what he or she did for the day, the answer is always, "one thing." Mealtime at home is a non-event, but daytime trips to the bathroom at home are an Event.

        Oldpeopleitis occurs in many forms, but there are two prominent strains: oldladyitis and oldmanitis. Oldladyitis is often preceded by a loss of height, and a tendency to blurt out opinions at times when they are unwelcome. Oldmanitis has symtoms of eating food of any age that can be found in the refrigerator, and sitting in an overstuffed chair with eyes closed. Getting up in the middle of the night and heading for the bathroom may be symptomatic of both strains.

        Further evidence of oldpeopleitis can be found in pets as they age. Oldkittyitis has some similarities to oldmanitis because of the tendency to sleep 23 hours a day. Oldcanineitis is more subtle in that the sufferer doesn’t complain, but merely begins to limit activities. This is rarely found in oldpeoplitis.

        I too, have wondered about having oldpeopleitis, but have remained comforted by the fact that i don't have all of the symptoms, and my assumption that it generally occurs after oldbesity. So far…

Honey, I Shrunk a Friend

         Okay, maybe I didn't shrink my friend, but she is now short! I had lunch with a long-time friend today. As we stood at the cash register to pay our tickets, I realized I was looking down at her. Naturally, I pointed it out, and she said, yes, she was now 5 feet tall! I didn't ask, but I'm sure that's at least 5 inches.
         It shouldn't change our friendship, but somehow it changes how I look toward the future. I plan on keeping her around in my old age. She bakes the most fantastic breads and cookies.
         Will I need to purchase a little stool for her someday so she can properly knead bread? If we go shopping, will I need to carry her bags so they don't drag on the floor? Will I have trouble seeing her through bifocals?
         I'm wondering if one loses weight as a person gets older. For example, if I weigh 180 lbs. when I'm 5'6', that's almost 2.73 per inch. If I lose five inches in height, will I also lose more than 13 lbs.? I think the height loss is probably along the spine, which supports more body weight than the total of each leg. So, maybe 15 lbs? 20? It might be worth investigating.
         I do wish my feet would shrink.

Reunions

         I recently attended two high school class reunions. The first was my own 50-year reunion, and the event left me with gratefulness and appreciation for knowing such a loving and caring community of people. The second was a brief visit to our son’s 20-year reunion, and I saw the beginnings of the same loving and caring among adults.
         The relationships that develop sometimes transcend childhood friendships, yet they are rooted in shared youthful experiences, in successes and defeats that will forever connect the classmates.
         Most people from small towns come away from their class reunion with a sense of satisfaction and joy in the time spent together. They talk about “fun,” but a reunion is beyond fun. It is acceptance, love, mutual respect, and comfort in the company of those who were childhood friends, and who now, with their spouses and partners, deepen those friendships. The sense of security and serenity of a class reunion is a lifelong richness unique only to those fortunate enough to have attended a small school.

My cousin, Richard Gehrman, recently wrote a book that is available on Amazon. It is called Cow Creek and is a fictional cowboy adventure with our grandfather as the main character. It's a great story, and is based on situations that actually existed in the 1880's in Northeast Nebraska. Be sure to search for it on Amazon to read more about the story and the author.

The Turtle, Uber Senior Citizen

        About a year ago, I came upon what at first appeared to be an accident. At a bridge repair with a stoplight, a large pickup truck was stopped with the front end slanted just over the center line. I stopped quite a way back as the light was red. Oncoming cars had to move to the edge of the road to get around the pickup. The light turned green, but the vehicle didn't move. I stayed where I was, speculating about an accident. 

        Just as the last oncoming car passed, the pickup moved in a large arc so that both of its left wheels were on the center line, but moved no further when the light turned green. Then I saw the biggest turtle I've seen "in these parts", nearly as big as my tire, although agreeably a Prius tire isn't all that big. The pickup moved slowly forward and stopped, and I thought the driver finally determined the turtle to be dead. "Big T" was flat to the road, and his head, feet and tail were out of his shell. 

        I pulled up close to the pickup, but near the outside of the road, and the car behind me, seeing the turtle, stopped. As I looked down at the turtle, I saw no gore, and pulled up so that the turtle was a few feet behind my car. The car behind me was about two lengths away. The light turned green, the pickup stayed, and my stopped car went to energy mode, running silent on electric. That was when the turtle became wild and crazy (for a turtle). His head stretched out, he rose on his feet and (very slowly) finished crossing the road between my car and the car behind me. 

        After another green light, then red, then green, the pickup slowly pulled ahead across the bridge and I followed, watching the rear-view mirror. The turtle disappeared into the roadside weeds, having lived another day.

Housedresses

       When I was a little girl, women wore dresses - all the time! The dresses they wore to do housework were called housedresses. They were the same fabric as men's dress-up shirts, usually had a small print design, and they had waistlines, often with little belts that matched the print of the dress. I remember my mother wearing her dresses a little below the knee, but that could vary with fashion or with what she could find for her 6' height. They had to be ironed so they wouldn't be wrinkled. Ladies rarely wore pants, which were called "slacks." If a farm lady helped her husband on the tractor, she might have worn pants, but usually they were their husband's pants. My mother didn't do that, however. First of all, she didn't usually help with the farm work because she taught school, and second, it wouldn't have worked - my mother was much, much taller than my father and his pants wouldn't have fit.

        Most ladies wore regular stockings with their housedress - like pantyhose or tights, but without a panty attached. The stockings were somewhat see-through and skin colored. They were held up with straps called garters. Actually, if you cut pantyhose straight across just below the leg holes (including some of the heavier fabric), and then connect the legs to the top section with a kind of thin, flat bungee cord, you'd get the idea.

        Women wore slips. Slips for dressing "up" might have been made of nylon or rayon with lots of lacy trim. Everyday slips were usually white and were made of cotton, but might have some lace trim at the top. Housedress slips were rather plain. They were worn as a liner for the dresses, and instead of shoulders and sleeves, they just had straps. They covered a lot and were the same length as a dress. A sundress today doesn't cover as much skin as a slip did when I was a little girl.

        My mother and all my friends' mothers did not wear shorts. It would have been considered very improper. Most homes weren't air conditioned, and clothing sometimes made doing housework very uncomfortable. On very hot days, when we were not likely to have company or dad was not likely to have helpers, my mother would just wear her slip without her housedress. Ladies who lived on the farm could do that, but I wonder if women in town ever wore only slips.

        A man from the creamery stopped every other day to pick up cans full of cream skimmed off the cows' milk, and boxes of eggs we gathered from the hen house. My mother would be wearing her housedress because it was fairly early in the morning and still cool. Other times, salesmen would stop in to sell various products, but we would hear the car and mother would run and put on her dress. One very hot afternoon, the Watkins salesman came in a brand new car! It was very quiet. When he knocked on the door, my mother had to run past him in order to get to the other room where her dress was. She was so embarrassed because she considered her slip underwear.

        When she returned to the door (in her dress), she apologized, and the Watkins man said, "I have to report to my wife how many ladies I have seen in their slips, but other than that, it's a pretty ordinary thing."

        As a very little girl, I didn't have to wear dresses, although I often chose to do so. When I went to elementary school, high school, and college, girls were required to wear dresses or skirts and shirts (which we called blouses). A lot has changed.

How to Know You're a "Senior Citizen."

        The term "senior citizen" is just silly. First, in order to be a "senior citizen," one must first be a citizen of something. I suppose that a person could make a case for anyone to be a citizen of any kind of political/geographical organization. Second, the term "senior" implies some kind of priority, and I'm not certain that older "citizens" are placed in highest priority by members of younger generations, at least in our culture.
          Here are clues to help you decide if you are a "senior citizen."
 1.  You don't like FaceBook, but go to it every day. You have lots of young parents as friends, just to laugh at their parenting skills.
 2.  If you're a woman, you wear 4" heels just to show off - or you wear ugly shoes just to walk.
 3.  Employees at places that offer "senior discounts" no longer apologize for asking if you qualify for the S.C. discount. In fact, they no longer ask, and often just tell you that you've received the discount.
 4.  Your hairdo is designed for ease of care, not for improvement of appearance.
 5.  You silently respond to a young person's opinion with "I can't wait until you get to be my age."
 6.  Your iPod contains recorded books.
 7.  Your doctor is a kid.
 8.  Your biggest regret at a reunion of high school friends is the number of old people that attended.
 9.  You discovered that "thongs" are not shoes.
10.  You know, with absolute certainty, that Elvis is dead and the moon landing really happened.
11.  Your face and hands have uber freckles, and you have never once obsessed about them.
12.  Admission that you are old came on suddenly as a surprise. 
13.  At least one spot on your body hurts, itches, grows unwanted hair, is lumpy, or bends oddly.
14.  You've decided that the best wrinkle reduction approach for your face would be pleats. 
15.  Each day you accomplish one thing on your to do list.

Drive to Night Classes

        The picture in the header of this page shows the Missouri River as it divides South Dakota from Nebraska. While completing my doctorate a few years ago, I saw this particular view nearly every day as I drove to my classes or to study at the University of South Dakota library. Rarely did I see a view on my way home (except for the one night that the Northern Lights were glorious) because my travels home were after dark. A one-way trip on paved roads was 55 miles - about 60 minutes. It was possible to drive in 30 miles, but that would be on gravel roads that were narrow and, as they approached South Dakota, winding. The trip was much longer (75-90 minutes) because of farm vehicles moving to and from fields, and many ruts in the road.
        I would leave home and my town with stoplights (albeit 3), sidewalks and paved streets, and I would literally "head for the hills." After 15 minutes, I would arrive at another time, another place. There were occasional farms or acreages, but the homes, whether old or new, had an eccentricity about them that articulated a desire to live in that area. The cornfields, for the most part, dissolved into open fields of wild cedar trees, and the ground would be spattered with rocks. (It was as though God held back a handful when he created the Rockies, just to lightly toss them a few hundred miles to the east.) 
        Contrary to the typical opinion of "outsiders," Nebraska is quite hilly. Not only does Nebraska have a panhandle, but it is actually shaped like a pan, with rolling hills along the borders in all directions. In fact, in the very northwest corner of Nebraska (the Panhandle), there are mountains! The middle of Nebraska, which welcomes visitors to the state with man-made constructions that depict history and provide for the watching of migrating birds, is flat, just as the interior of a pan is flat.
        Even though I intellectually knew better on repeated trips to South Dakota, the crest of each hill held the vision of a new, higher hill. Climbing higher and higher, I passed two very small towns and a rustic roadside cemetery. I looked at the scenery in awe, imagining that Native Americans of 200 years ago watched me just as they must have watched Lewis and Clark. Finally, from high above the flat plains of South Dakota, the river came into view from the Nebraska bluffs.
        On several occasions, I began the trip early so that I could climb the Mulberry Bend Scenic Overlook constructed near the bridge. From there I could see the colors of the current season, and the beginning of the long, wide turn of the river toward the south. This part of the river, between the dams to the west and the channeling to the south, is much like the Missouri of the past.
        Wildlife abounds in the region. I saw bald eagles several times, but the trip requires a driver to stop looking up and remain watching the road in order to avoid pheasants, wild turkeys, badgers, coons, skunks, and deer. At night, I sometimes saw a deer nearly every mile. One night, something began to move onto the road, and then backed into the weeds along the side. As I got closer, I examined the spot where I had seen the animal, and a vicious creature glared at my car with bared teeth, gleaming eyes, and ears flattened to its head. It was a coyote. I had heard coyotes many times, even from my house back in "civilization," but never had I seen such a nasty-looking creature. 
        I consider the route a curious one that compares to being in the middle of a cornfield, or for me, on a plane. Cell phones do not work in most places there. At night, lights are seen sparingly or not at all. When driving the route, I have never been able to emotionally reconcile that I am no more than a mile or two away from a phone, and no more than 15 minutes from a large town and 30 minutes from a city. It is one of those minuscule adventures that revive the day.