Ideas for Sharing Stories and Photos

I thought I'd share the way I used  Mommy's Piggy Tales  as a framework for two projects I completed this month for our grandchildren.   I'll write the normal MPT entry later.  K

 

Ideas for Sharing MPT Stories and Photos 

with Grandchildren

Karen and her Dad in 1946

One motivation for my joining the Mommy's Piggy Tales (MPT) project was to record the stories of my youth to somehow share with our grandchildren. Our 8-year-old granddaughter (M) seemed interested in stories, so I put together photos of me from 60+ years ago with similar ones of her. Amazingly, I was able to coordinate many photos such as the two with our dads playing in the snow in 1946 and 2005.

M and her Dad in 2005

I adapted the text from MPT to make it more personal for her with phrases like "I played with dolls just like you do with your American Girl doll"  or "My school building was much older than yours." 

Several websites can be used to compose the book such as Shutterfly, Kodak, and others.  I used Shutterfly because I have done several other projects and I'm familiar with the quirks of their system.  I'm sure the other companies have similar capabilities.

I decided on the short, basic book, the 8x8 twenty page version.  I titled mine "Sharing Family Stories, Part I:  The Early Years" which fit nicely on the three lines of the cover.  Since M is now in 3rd grade, I decided to include photos and stories of the two of us through 2nd grade.   Part II will be "Your Great-Grandparents," and hopefully other parts will follow. 

When my copy arrived just before Christmas, I was totally THRILLED with it.  When other family members enjoyed it as well, I felt the project was definitely worth the effort. My daughter-in-law commented about how much she had learned by reading the book.

My second digital photo project this fall was a personal alphabet book for each of our younger grandchildren.  Although websites (like Shutterfly) have formats for this type of thing, I found them too restrictive for the reasons I explain below.  For some people, though, the pre-designed book might be just fine.  I thought the little book was sturdier for toddlers and since I have the info, replacing a page, if necessary, would be simple.

When Granddaughter M was 3, I had made a book for her and designed a template.   My experience gave me ideas for this year's projects for our three younger grandchildren.  I bought a little 4x6 inch photo album that had 32 pages (although a few more would have been nice) for each child.  On every page I put a photo of the child or a family member with the letter.  After looking at some favorite photos of the child, I was able to come up with something for each letter.  In my box of scrapbooking scraps, I had some colorful mats to complete each page.  A paper cutter is helpful too.

Sample Pages from Children's Alphabet Book

By having more than 26 pages in the album, I could have multiple photos for 5 letters plus a cover page.   "M" is the initial letter for several family members as well as "Mommy" so I needed extra pages.  Thus it all worked out well.  I'll admit, though, that I did plan ahead a bit and got photos of each child with a toy xylophone!  Fortunately none of them had any "x-rays."


If you'd like more information about either of these, feel free to contact me.

MPT Part 10: Eighth Grade Memories

This is the tenth in a series of blogs I'm writing for Mommy's Piggy Tales .  Janna has provided a forum for members to write and share stories from their youth.   This episode relates the memorable  family events in 1956 and my eighth grade year in school, 1956-57.

A Challenging Year with a Good Ending

The year 1956 was one with many emotional swings for all of us.  Fortunately, the year ended on a high note that continued. 

Although we never had discussed this as a family, my parents, M and I all thought that little Joe might grow up feeling like an only child.  M and I both hoped that maybe we'd have another baby, even though Mom was 39 at the time.  So in the early spring, we were delighted when (again) Mom and Dad told us after a Sunday night dinner that we were having a baby, this time due in late September.   M and I wanted the baby to be late and arrive on Joe's Oct 9 birthday, so they could share celebrations like we did.  Wouldn't that be fantastic to have four children (non-twins) with two birthdays?   It was a cute joke for us.  But mostly we were happy that once again, the family would be growing.

This pregnancy turned out to be a most difficult one as Mom had a lot of sickness and other complications.  She needed to be hospitalized (20 miles away) for 6 weeks in the spring which concerned all of us.  M and I took care of ourselves and we had suitable arrangements for Joe.  Dad visited Mom every night, a long drive after working hard all day.  I wrote to her daily because I was too young to visit her by the hospital rules.  However, one night Dad and M suggested that if I wore a scarf and lipstick and I could pass for 14!  Dad got me in to see my mom and we all felt a bit better.  As I think about this now, I'm guessing that my dad had asked the staff to "look the other way."  I'll also note that Mom saved all my letters and gave them to me in her later years. 

Mom improved and was allowed to come home and was told to do "almost nothing" throughout the summer.  She took a leave of absence from playing the organ at church and her other activities.  We all helped with Joe and continued praying for the new little one.

While these events were happening in our household, my mom's sister (my cousin D/best friend's mom) was also pregnant.  They were due in July so again the extended family would have two cousins the same age living in the same town, going to the same schools.  How neat is that?    Everyone joked, that D and I wouldn't need to play with dolls any more, we could play with real babies!  It really was exciting for us to talk about these things as we walked to school.  We knew it was an unusual and special situation. 

On July 16, my aunt gave birth to a baby girl.  All the talk was about baby equipment, schedules, clothing, and similar things.  There was excitement in the air for sure.

Then less than a week later, Mom got a terrible phone call.  Her father, who lived 3 hours away, had had a sudden heart attack.  No warning, he just slumped to the ground in front of their house.  The message my mom got from Grandma on the phone was "no news is good news."  I had never heard that expression before... so Mom explained that if we didn't hear anything, that meant Grandpa was doing OK.  In several hours, the phone rang and dear Grandpa had died at the hospital.

The next few days are still very clear to me.  Although my grandparents then lived in a city 3 hours away, they had been in our small town many years, so Grandpa would be buried in our local cemetery.  My dad and uncle drove to the funeral but my pregnant mom and her sister with a newborn and all of us kids stayed home.  They did have a service for him in our town that we could all attend.  This was the first time I had experienced the death of anyone close to me.  Now, as an adult who lost both parents when I was well over 50, I have tried to imagine what this summer was like for my mom.  She was having a difficult pregnancy, lost her father, and had three children at home.  God was looking after all of us, as only He can.

M was driving at this point, so she gladly took over many family errands.  We were riding along in a blue and white Oldsmobile.  M and other teens would often wash the car in the driveway so that anyone else who was out "riding around" would stop and chat.  And sometimes she'd go off with friends, leaving me with the mess to clean up.   That was the thing the high school kids did -- be seen and fun would just happen!  These local traditions seem funny to us now.  But that's the way it was in our small town.

Our baby sister, A, born Sept 25, 1956.  A precious little girl.

September came and Mom seemed to be doing OK with her swollen feet, salt-free diet, and uncomfortable figure.  And on the morning of Friday, September 25, Dad woke us up saying that they were headed to the hospital.  M and I took Joe to a family friend and we were off to school.  Hadn't we done this three years earlier?   I was sitting in my 8th Grade English class shortly after noon, when I heard the school office phone ring.  Immediately, I thought, "I hope that's my dad."   Sure enough, someone came to the door and got me for a phone call.  I ran to the principal's office.  Dad's cheerful voice told me what I wanted to know most.  Mom and Baby A were doing just fine!  We had picked out her name, three years earlier.  She was a beautiful baby with thick, curly black hair.  According to my mom, she was the best baby ever, who seldom cried and always smiled!  What a blessing!

So now I'll end this with a fun family photo in the familiar setting taken in March 1957. We think our adult personalities are subtly depicted!  M is the stylish HS senior, ready to move on with her life. (Great skirt, eh?? )   I am the scientist, the practical one, who actually enjoyed babysitting.  Joe is the analytical and logical engineer.  And adorable A, the free spirit, who grew up to be an able writer.  Please note that A does NOT have huge feet.  The shoes are Joe's.   My parents referred to us as their two families of two children,  "The Girls" and "The Kids."   We think that our age differences kept Mom and Dad young as they raised their two families in two different eras.  They rolled with the punches and loved every minute of parenthood. 

M graduated from HS in the spring of 1957 and went away to college in the fall.   I finished 8th grade and was ready to ride along to the big world of high school!

MPT Part 9: Seventh Grade Career Explorations

This is the ninth in a series of blogs I'm writing for Mommy's Piggy Tales .  Janna has provided a forum for members to write and share stories from their youth.   This episode is seventh grade 1955-56.... a looonnnngggg time ago!

Seventh Grade:  Early Career Explorations

Karen before first band trip, 1955.

In the summer before 7th Grade, I was thrilled to be invited to join the High School Band.  In our small system, sometimes the band director would select junior high students to play with the Senior High band.  I'm sure my piano lessons and sight-reading skills helped (thanks, Mom). It also meant a fun summer with saxophone lessons, band practice every Monday night (an important social event), learning how to march, and traveling to county fairs in nearby towns.   My sister, a junior in HS, was the drum majorette.  She made it very clear to me that I was "on my own" with the junior high crowd on all trips.  At that time, I preferred to ignore her anyway. 

Speaking of piano lessons, finally I decided to speak my piece. It had to end.  After years of lessons, I couldn't even play "Happy Birthday" without music...and where can you find such music at the spur of the moment?   On the other hand, my mom, who had only a few lessons as a child, could play anything after hearing a few bars and she could change the key to suit voice ranges!  I would never be able to do that.  My piano teacher, Mrs. S who was also a family friend,  probably had some clues that I wasn't enjoying the sessions , since I usually cried.  I didn't mean to, my crying genes merely took over.  I'd practice and she'd say "too mechanical" or "needs more feeling."  She was right, of course.  So it was a happy day for all when Mom finally agreed that piano wasn't going be my profession!  (A side note: Since my mom was our church organist, we had to get an "outside" musician for our own family events, like weddings.  Mrs. S agreed to play for my wedding years later.  Fortunately, my mom asked her, I probably would have cried.  I don't know if Mrs. S cried or not at the ceremony, but I doubt it!  I did send her a Christmas card for the next 40 years, with no crying.)

###

The following happened while I was in Junior High.  In my later years, I was asked to think of youthful experiences that had some bearing on my professional career.  This was the one that came to mind.

One day on a trip to our farm I asked my dad,  "Why do you buy seed corn?  Why don't you just save some ears from the last crop and plant the kernels?"

He answered with some information about better qualities in the seed corn like percent germination, disease resistance, etc.  But he realized that I wasn't really believing him.  So he suggested that I design an experiment to gather my own data.   I knew this would be fun.

Mechanical Adding Machine circa 1930

He gave me some mature earns of corn that I could use in any way I wanted.  He suggested that I start with the simple "rag wrap" experiment.  I placed some kernels in neat rows in an old towel, wrapped it up and kept it wet.  Then I unwrapped to check for germination at various stages.  I kept all my results in a notebook.

After a couple of weeks, my dad was pleased (maybe surprised) that I was still interested in the experiment.  He said  "Karen, would you like to use the adding machine to analyze your results?"  This was the best part.  Dad often had our grandfather's adding machine on his desk  but we were never supposed to play with it.  (Had I ever touched it?  Well....)  Anyway, now I was able to use some simple statistics to make conclusions about my experiment.  I played with the numbers and the adding machine for weeks.

The reason I tell this story is that it was the first time I had used "technology" to analyze experimental results.  I also tell the story because it shows how my dad encouraged me to investigate on my own.  I cannot remember my results from the experiment, but more importantly I remember how much I enjoyed doing it and how supportive my dad was for me as a budding scientist.   In those days, science wasn't a popular career path for a girl.

###

As I've mentioned previously, our paternal grandparents lived near us.  Grandma had declining eyesight, so I read to her and did other things to help her.  I especially loved talking to her about her life as a young girl.  How I wish I had asked her more or that I had written her stories.  She was a very special lady.  One task I could help with was writing her Christmas cards.  She would dictate messages for me to write to various friends.  I used my very best handwriting.  The messages would start with "My granddaughter is helping me write this..."  Then I addressed the envelopes, stamped, and mailed them.  Long after Christmas, I found out that I had misspelled her family name (her own maiden name) to all the relatives!  How embarrassing, how could I have done that!!   

M age 16, Karen 13, and Joe 2.

Here is our birthday photo, November 23, 1955.  Mom came up with a clever idea, bridges, for our shared birthday. M was  excited to get her driver's license. So sometimes I was now riding along with my sister at the wheel, whether she wanted me or not!

MPT Part 8: Sixth Grade and Noises

This is the eighth in a series of blogs I'm writing for Mommy's Piggy Tales .  Janna has provided a forum for members to write and share stories from their youth.  Here we are at 6th Grade already!

Sixth Grade Noise
 

 

Wheat Harvest June 1954 with Dad and three kids on the big John Deere combine

Riding along in 1954 for the family meant including a baby in all activities, even a ride on the big John Deere combine.    In a previous post,  I discussed summer picnics in the wheat fields.  

January 1954  Karen Age 11 and Joe 4 months

Our home life was very exciting these days with a baby.  Joe probably thought he had four parents the way we doted over him.  Although I realized that other families had had new babies before us, I had no idea how wonderful it was to have a baby to love and watch grow.  (Years later with our own children and now with grandchildren, my Baby Joe memories come back very easily.)

My dad had a very distinctive laugh that was frequent, loud, and sincere.  In a group of people, you always knew he was there!  Joe had to learn that these were "friendly" noises in the family.  Often, Mom, M and I taught Joe little tricks to show Dad when he got home.  One day we had worked hard to teach him one of the cutest of any baby's tricks, the "fake cough."  Joe knew that we would respond to his "illness" and he'd do it again and again.   When Dad got home and saw the performance, he spontaneously let out one of his trademark laughs.  It totally scared his baby son!   And then we all laughed and cried together. What fun memories!

At this point,  my parents had realized that my sister and I had VASTLY different methods to get what we wanted.  M was very open, stating her opinions clearly, and sometimes with dramatic flair.  On the other hand,  I was compliant and waited patiently for a good opportunity to make my point, or (as was the case for the following story) I might even use other people to help me out!

A plaid flannel shirt for a piano duet???

Most students in our school system, started band in the summer before 5th grade.  I had really wanted to join, but Mom was somewhat against it.  She was pleased with my progress in piano although I really don't know why.  I had some basic skills, but not much musicality.  However, Mom truly believed that "real" music lessons were on the piano.  Throughout the 5th grade, I brought home requests from the band director soliciting new members.  I used these notes to keep the topic on Mom's mind, although it seemed to me that she ignored my hints.

Band was a love of my maternal grandfather.  He played the trombone in city bands throughout his life.   On one visit, in front of my mom, I asked Grandpa to tell more of his band stories.  Then he mentioned that our cousins (who lived in yet another town in Nebraska) were all playing instruments fairly well:  the flute, the saxophone, and the trombone.   We had known this, of course, but when Grandpa talked about learning teamwork in an instrumental group, Mom listened.  Shortly after that visit, I decided to bring up the band issue to my parents separately.  Dad was easy, he agreed to anything.   But Mom didn't pull out her usual remarks.  In fact, she merely said that the summer before 6th Grade would be a good time to start.  Then by the fall, with all my good music-reading skills, I'd easily be caught up with the other kids!   SUCCESS!!     And so it was, I started with saxophone lessons in the summer before 6th Grade and by fall I was ready for Junior Band AND Junior High.  For the next seven years of school, band was an important part of my life!  (Thanks, Grandpa.  I really appreciated your help!)

In the fall of 1954,  I nervously walked to school with my cousin and other friends four blocks south to the Junior High School (Grades 6,7,8 for our system).  Even in a small town with only two schools merging and friends I already knew, I still found things to be anxious about.  We were going to change classes and have multiple teachers.  Math was replacing Arithmetic,  and English was the former Language, Reading, and Spelling all in one.  But what I dreaded most was Physical Education.... did we really have to shower in a big room, all of us?  Yes.

MPT Part 7: Fifth Grade and Keeping Secrets

This is the seventh in a series of blogs I'm writing for Mommy's Piggy Tales .  Janna has provided a forum for members to write and share stories from their youth.  This is the post I have been most eager to write!

----But Don't Say Anything, Not Just Yet

1953 was an incredible year.  In fact, I cannot begin to capture the powerful emotions  I felt myself and experienced with my family.  So I'll go with the facts of the events and hope you can smile between the lines with me.

In late winter one Sunday night after dinner, my parents told my sister and me the best news we had ever heard!  In October, we would both be big sisters!  Our mom was having a baby.   We were absolutely thrilled.  "But  don't say anything, not just yet. It is too early in the pregnancy."  Wow, what a secret to keep!  But we did until a few more weeks had passed.  And by then, my parents had told the extended family individually and close friends.   In our small town where everyone knew everything about everybody, the good news spread quickly. 

Throughout the summer, we had family discussions about names for the baby, boy or girl.  And again, "Don't say anything ... in time, everyone will know."   I loved these discussions, thinking of all sorts of names: cute, meaningful, or just some that we liked.   And one night,  I remember it well, my mom suggested the perfect name for a boy that combined some family ties using initials and a special middle name with a traditional first name. All four of us loved it!   Fortunately, it was not a "leftover boy name" that they had chosen years earlier for either of us two girls.  For a baby girl, we talked a lot longer and agreed on a lovely name satisfying all our personal quirks and standards.  At home we called the baby "J or A" but I didn't say anything to anyone else.  Amazingly, I didn't even tell my cousin/best friend the names we had selected and she really wanted to know!

On Friday, October 9, Dad woke us up early saying that they were headed to the hospital (20 miles away). The baby would probably be born this day!   "But don't say anything, not just yet. " (Well, to be truthful, our grandparents and my cousin's family knew they were off to the hospital...but we were not to talk about this.)  We went to school as usual.   I couldn't begin to concentrate on my lessons.

About 11 AM, the elementary school principal came to the 5th Grade door.  Guess who had a phone call?   I rushed down the steps to the little phone booth in the central hallway.  Dad was calling, long distance, person-to-person for ME!   The news was wonderful, I had a healthy baby brother and mom was just fine!  He weighed 8 pounds and 14 ounces.   I cleared my tears and walked back to class beaming!   While I was out, my cousin had "accidentally" whispered to classmates "It's the baby!"   But I had the big news, "It's a boy!  His name is Joe." Oh, what a day!

Coincidentally, Friday October 9, 1953, was Homecoming for our high school.  In our town everyone went to all the games, always.  My sister, a 9th grader, was in the half-time show and was going to the dance afterward.  I went to the game with my cousin and her family because Dad was still with my mom and new brother 20 miles away.  I was talking to friends at the concession stand on the beautiful autumn evening when I saw my beaming Dad arriving.  Immediately, I ran up the hill to give him a big hug!  He was carrying a box of cigars to give out with the blue "It's a Boy" banner.  We made our way to the home side of the little stadium where we usually sat.  Suddenly the public announcer spoke to the crowd while waving to my dad, the former AHS football player.  He said  "Hey, congratulations Big Guy on the new Bulldog born this morning!"  Finally we could talk about our baby brother.

 Here we are a few days later. 

What an exciting time!

In November,  Mom made our traditional two birthday cakes, mine larger than M's.  This photo was taken in our breakfast room with the 50s style ivy wall paper. This is where we were when they told us about the baby.  Mom embroidered the coordinated curtains and table cover.  We're wearing our new birthday outfits. M sported a very stylish lavender sweater and was now into lipstick!   My plaid suit was three pieces, a skirt, vest, and jacket with a belt.  The second photo shows the vest of my outfit, but more importantly our little brother, Joe.

November 23, 1953 Ages 14, 11 and 6 weeks.

What a year for our family of FIVE!

MPT Part 6: Fourth Grade Rides and Thanks

This is the sixth in a series of blogs I'm writing for Mommy's Piggy Tales .  Janna has provided a forum for members to write and share stories from their youth.   THANKS Janna and THANKS to Wanda who inspired the wonderful project!

Fourth Grade, Riding Along and Thanks to Many

Family with Buick in 1952                               Internet Photo of my Dad's Jeep Willys (but his was always dirty)

In 1952 the family was  riding along in a blue Buick.  And on the farm, my dad sported a versatile little Willys Jeep that reminded a lot of people of Pat Brady's Nellybelle (from the Roy Rogers movies). 

Dad was expanding the cattle part of our farming operation and often needed to count the animals in various fields. On Sunday afternoons, one of us usually went to the farm with him to check things out.  I loved those times together.  We'd drive the Jeep up and over the terraces counting cattle as we went.  (If one was missing, it could mean a cow was having a calf off by herself, or maybe some animals had escaped due to a broken fence.)    I might say,  "Daddy, should we count heads or tails?"  "Well Karen, how about ears and divide by two."   "Or legs and divide by four?"  This is an old old joke that still makes me smile because I can hear us laughing together!

During wheat harvest, we had memorable picnics in the fields. Mom cooked huge meals, packed everything up (including a jar of soapy water for the men to wash their hands), and off we went in the car to locate my dad and the other workers.   We'd find a shady spot if possible in the harvested stubble, stomp it down as best we could, and spread out our blanket with a tablecloth on top.  We had the technique down to a science.  Then, we'd gather together, say grace and enjoy a family meal.  I'll always remember these special moments.  We would stay for a while when the men got back to work waiting for them to need to empty the hopper on the combine.  Dad would drive the machine beside the big truck and lower the spout.  Then the fun began.  As the grain was emptied into the truck, Daddy had a shovel to spread it around while the kids jumped barefoot in the grain.   It was amazing to see the hundreds thousands of grasshoppers with the wheat!  When the truck was full, a driver (perhaps my grandfather) headed to town and the grain elevator.  Farmers had to be very efficient at harvest time because the crop needed to be at the right stage and the weather cooperative. They couldn't waste time coming in for a meal.   (Thanks, Beth, for your recent post that reminded me of this fun time.)

The following story might be classified as a childhood event having some relevance to my adult profession. Perhaps that why I even remember all this! (Thanks, Denise, for your recent post which prompted this.  "It's so me." )

In our neighborhood, everyone had "green" lawns that were kept mowed, but not the manicured lawns of today.  No one watered or fertilized the grass, and everyone had a fair amount of clover. 

A fun activity for children was hunting for four-leaf clovers, perhaps inspired by the catchy song.   The game took a new turn for me when we had summer contests to find the lucky charms.  On one evening my friends each found one or two but I found six.  The next morning I looked more closely at my "secret" spot in the yard and observed the little vines and patterns closely.  When we played the game again a few days later, most kids found one or two and I came up with ten!  Now this was really fun!   Of course, I didn't tell the others what was going on.   I just nurtured my special vines and waited for another game.  The next time we played, my dad was observing.  Again, I won the game by a huge margin.  Dad had a twinkle in his eye and smiled at me.  He knew my secret.  I wasn't finding 4-leaf covers, I was cultivating them!      This is my first memory of an observation leading to a real scientific experiment and predicting the results!   

In the 4th grade that year, my teacher,  the wonderful Mrs. Emma Russell, made learning interesting and fun.    I loved ciphering in math and the Friday spelling bees.   Among many worthwhile projects, each child wrote an autobiography.  Since Mom saved my copy, I'm attaching a sample of my handwriting.   I remember what a big task it was, writing with a fountain pen and ink (not ballpoint), and endless copying to get it just right.   As I look at my penmanship now, I remember the HUGE controversy about the "new" handwriting style we were taught.  Instead of the traditional Palmer method, we learned a style that has an "open" letter p.  My mother was very upset about this... and when I wrote thank you notes for gifts to relatives, she made sure I "closed the p's."  And she also made sure I wrote promptly!

Folding Paper Word Game

During the presidential campaign that fall,  the candidate, General Dwight Eisenhower, came to our little town for a few minutes. And I was there!  A campaign train traveled from Omaha to Kansas City and it actually stopped, for us!   We got out of school for the 11 AM visit.  Crowds stood at our little Missouri Pacific Station and the train pulled in.  (Often the trains did not stop, so this was important.)  Eisenhower spoke briefly from the special caboose and we all cheered.  While there, we 4th Graders saw an unusual "I  LIKE IKE" sign that I remember distinctly.   When we went back to school that afternoon, we played word games with folding paper somewhat like the sign.   I suppose if a student wanted to do a word game with "I Like Adlai Stevenson" Mrs. Russell would have allowed it.  She was that kind of teacher!  Hundreds of students can thank her for a good year in school.

Thanks to Gretchen and All-American Sue for a recent post that reminded me of this story.
  
And in this season of Thanksgiving and my theme of this post, thanks to anyone who happens to be reading!

MPT Part 5: Third Grade, Pudding, and Progress

This is the fifth in a series of blogs I'm writing for Mommy's Piggy Tales .  Janna has provided a forum for members to write and share stories from their youth. Believe me, this is a lot of fun!

Third Grade, Historic Pudding, and Progress

Third Grade in our elementary school was upstairs...big deal, in my eyes!  My teacher was also the principal, the dreaded Miss Corners.  She was the stereotype stern spinster school teacher who scared most children (and their parents).   I didn't have any problems with her, but I tried my best not to test her patience!  Since she was the principal, she had more "student helpers" than other teachers...for jobs like answering the school phone (in a booth in the stairwell half a flight downstairs), taking notes around the building to all the teachers and waiting for an initial (no intercom in those days), and everyone's favorite -- operating the "lost and found."  Now these may not seem like huge tasks, but 3rd graders were eager to help on a rotating schedule.   All 3rd Graders were learning to be good citizens in the school community!   In fact, these responsibilities are my most vivid memory of school that year. 

My mom (far right) and siblings who loved pudding in1920s.

Throughout our school days, we always went home for a delicious lunch.  A real treat was having warm cornstarch pudding.  Sometimes Mom made red circular "moons" on top of each bowl which reminded her of her own childhood in the 1920s.  I loved the old stories she told and the pudding too.  Similarly, our children enjoyed cornstarch pudding and now I share it with our grandchildren.  I smile thinking that  four generations have had the same favorite lunch dessert.  My grandmother used cherries for the red color.  Mom and I turned to food coloring.  Our granddaughter has suggested a swirl technique.

2010 version of the moons (left).  Granddaughter prefers a swirl pattern.  Gotta lick the bowl, too.

In the 1950s our small Nebraska town was really progressing with two new technologies.  The first was dial telephones that replaced the old switchboard system.  When I picked up the phone, the operator would say  "Number, please."  And to call my cousin, I'd say very clearly  " Five two one" not five hundred twenty one.  "Thank you."  "You're welcome."  Telephone etiquette was very important!  Otherwise, you might get the wrong number.  Our home phone was 469; Grandma 403, St. Joseph's Church 345, the Farm 1731.  Rural numbers were party lines and had four digits.  Our farm was 1731.  The area was "17" and our ring was "3 longs and 1 short."   Why do I remember these things??? 

And the other technology was of course, TV!  The larger cities like Omaha and Lincoln had TV stations, but reception was weak in towns like ours. People installed an outdoor antenna and it helped if you had a higher elevation.   My grandparents were among the first to get a TV set, a Zenith with a round screen. Fortunately, they lived at the top of a hill.   My grandfather was eager to try latest thing.   My grandmother was totally delighted because  suddenly they had more frequent visitors like their sons(!), cousins, and friends.  She wasn't that interested in the shows, but the company was fantastic. Popular shows were "What's My Line?"  "The Ed Sullivan Show" and everyone's  Monday favorite, "I Love Lucy."

1951 birthday, the day of TWO parties.  Ages 12 and 9.

My sister and I turned  12 and 9 on our November birthday, 1951.  Our house remodeling was completed.  Here we are seated on the painted radiator with a padded cover that Mom made.  Again, my cake had to be bigger that M's.  I loved my dress, a navy blue with flower appliques.  This year we each had a party.  Mine was with 3rd Grade friends in the afternoon.  M had a sleepover that night with junior high classmates.  Now that was a full day!   Over the years, we had several birthday parties, but not each year. 



On a serious note from this era (1951-1953),  I remember how frightened parents and children were by a national epidemic of polio, also called infantile paralysis.  In our town, two girls slightly older than my sister, were stricken and disabled the rest of their lives.  A boy one year behind me in our grade school had his arm paralyzed, and he wore an unusual brace for some time.  But by the time we got to Junior High, he had regained his strength.   The radio newscasts had daily updates on the scary number of cases. I recall overhearing my mother and aunt talking about polio and both were in tears.  How could they protect their children?   People thought the disease might be spread in swimming pools, so we did not swim one summer. They may have actually closed the pool for a while.   Incredibly by the end of the decade, the Salk vaccine was available as a shot and a few years later we had the Sabin oral polio vaccine.  Thankfully, this crippling disease was effectively eradicated by the end of the decade.

The Crying Genes

I'm a cryer, and I know why.  I inherited an ability to cry not only at all the "appropriate" times but also at some unusual times with real tears!  My paternal grandmother had the "crying genes" along with some of her sisters and probably other ancestors going way back.

Grandma, a cousin and me in 1951.

Grandma always cried when someone visited her and then left, whether you were going to the grocery store for 30 minutes or a 6 month trip!  No difference.... when you told her "good-bye" she cried.  Actually, it was rather sweet.  It always made me feel loved, because her tears were sincere and plentiful.

Basically,  I was a happy child, but I could cry easily.  For example,  during my piano lessons.  In fact, when I'd walk in, my teacher would excuse herself and come back with a box of tissues that she put on the piano.  And I did use them!  On occasion, I even had to wipe the keys.

I may have cried at school a couple of times, but it wasn't a major problem.  Usually I cried at home, perhaps telling my mom about a school event--even when I wasn't involved.  The stories go on and on.

As an adult, I do remember crying once when stopped for a traffic ticket.... and I got a warning instead!  Now those tears were useful!   For our daughter's wedding, my brother-in-law was the self-designated "mopper."  He told family members that he had sponges and tissues handy and he would follow me throughout the week-end!  What a team player!

However, there are situations when you really don't want to cry. A friend, also a cryer, taught me how to deal with it.  She and I were planning for a meeting with the school principal regarding our 2nd Grade children.  There was a real possibility that we'd both cry and not be able to handle the issue at hand.  She suggested that we practice what we were going to say, cry a lot in the "kitchen rehearsal,"  have a good supply of Kleenex in our pockets and be business-like.  We did exactly that.  Fortunately, we were able to stay focused for a productive meeting.  Good strategy.

So for the rest of my life, I had a plan.  Rehearse out loud (just thinking about it won't work), have tissues handy, and remember that the plan works!  Now I'm glad to say that I never cried in a professional setting but I won't divulge the number of times I used the special procedure.

To switch the roles, as a professor I was aware that some students might have the same crying fear when coming to see me with a serious matter (like grades, graduation, scholarships, being dropped from a program.)  So I was prepared for a "tear attack" if it might occur.  I put out the tissues and said something like "If I cry, please ignore it.  And if you cry, I'll ignore it.  Let's just talk honestly about this situation."  Amazingly, this worked.   A little laugh initially, then we got down to business.  I did have students cry, and I did ignore it. 

Our adult daughter has the crying genes and her own set of stories.  Recently we were both delighted to see that her second daughter will be a carrier for the next generation.  My husband and I had been out of town for 3 weeks and returned on a Monday.  Our daughter called and said that she and her two little girls just couldn't wait until the week-end to see Grandma and Grandpa.  They were going to stop over for a short visit.  I heard their car in the driveway and ran out.  The older granddaughter was all smiles, laughing and jumping around. But the baby, all of 14 months old, and still strapped in her car seat, had huge tears running down her face at the mere sight of me.  Ah, her great-great grandmother was surely smiling from above and crying with all of us. 

MPT Part 4: Second Grade, Bigger House and Music

This is the fourth in a series of 15 blogs I'm writing for Mommy's Piggy Tales .  Janna has provided a forum for members to write and share stories from their youth.  I'm really enjoying thinking about things that happened decades ago!

 
 A Bigger House with Music Everywhere

My home from 1950 onward.

On a sunny day in late August 1950, my dad brought in the big truck from the farm and backed it up to the front porch of the Little House.  All our family belongings were packed  to "ride along" a mere two blocks to the place that would be home for the next 16 years.  This was a major family milestone!

My mom's dream kitchen

We REALLY needed a bigger house.  My sister M was about to enter junior high (6th grade for our system) and certainly she didn't want to put up with me any more than necessary.  Similarly, I didn't want her touching my dolls.  Mom needed space to sew and she had dreamed of  a modern kitchen.  And my dad wished for a "farmer's office" in the basement where he could come in from a hard day wearing his dusty and sweaty overalls, relax, keep his records, and shower before dinner.  After extensive remodeling (much done by my parents), this house was perfect for us. We were all tremendously excited and oh so happy with the big move.

Fall 1950 in newly wallpapered living room.

I was entering 2nd Grade.  My cousin was allowed to walk a block out of her way to our house and we could still skip, run, and talk as we headed to school, rain or shine. We knew the route very well and where to avoid the scary dogs! Two other friends often joined us.  We had a very caring teacher that year with a soft and kind voice.  We were becoming good readers and progressing in all the academic areas.

Ages 11 and 8.  November 23, 1950 in our new house.

We always laugh at this set of birthday photos because the new radiator cover had not been installed and we are sitting on piano books!  As always, Mom came up with some appropriate cakes.  If you read music, it's OK to hum the song to us! M loved chocolate cake but I normally chose something "bigger than hers" like angel food this year.

Did we like sharing a birthday?  For the most part, yes. (The only bad part was that I have no photos of me on my birthday without M.... and I felt guilty when I photoshopped her out recently. ha ha )   Our parents made sure we had a fun, appropriate celebration every year, always on the right date, the 23rd.    In 1950 our birthday was actually on Thursday, Thanksgiving Day.  We had dinner at our grandparents and Mom volunteered to bring her usual homemade dinner rolls and two desserts!

Something I didn't like, though, was the fact that M and I were three years apart in age and four years apart in school.  When she started school, children were sometimes allowed to skip a grade and she did.  By the time I began, the schools no longer allowed the practice (good thing.)  However, as a child,  I thought it was weird that I was four grades behind M in school.  As we got older, it didn't matter as much.  Our personalities and interests are quite different (but we are very close as adults).  I was certainly happy that we were not in high school together.  So was she!

As a second grader, I was now old enough to begin piano lessons. My teacher was a dear family friend and an accomplished musician.  My sister took from her too.  I find it hard to believe that my mother enjoyed listening to us practice, but she actually did. And she definitely noticed when we repeatedly hit a wrong chord!  She was eager for us to have the lessons that she didn't have as a child.  However, her natural music talent plus determination was far more important in her progress than formal lessons.  

Also at this time I began singing in the Children's Choir at church under my mother's leadership.  Mom played the organ using her hands and feet and directed with her elbows and head while singing!   In Catholic churches at that time, the choir was in a loft at the back of the church, so no one saw her unusual (and effective) technique.  Mom loved the choir, teaching us Latin hymns and High Masses. She dedicated herself to liturgical music for many years.  Most parishioners were eager for their daughters to participate from 2nd Grade through High School.

At home, we sang around the piano frequently.  I remember Mom teaching us to hear the parts.  M inherited more of the "music genes" than I did and she could hear the harmony.  But it was sooo hard for me.  Mom would say,  "Karen, just sing the melody and hold the tune."  I'd put my hands over my ears to do my best and I tried very hard not to cry.   Once we had it,  Mom would join in as a third part.  My dad always asked for an encore from his family trio. Then he'd hug his girls.  Actually all this was fun.

Diagram of Grandparents staircase

When we visited our grandmother, she often asked us to sing. In their house, the staircase was partially enclosed with a big opening where kids could line up on the stairs and perform.  Mom played the piano from down below in their living room and we stood on the steps to sing for dear Grandma.   She always smiled, clapped, and cried.

In time, I realized that I had inherited more "crying genes" from my grandmother than "music genes" from my mother!

*********

MPT Part 3: First Grade and Accurate(?) Memories

This is the third in a series of 15 blogs I'm writing for Mommy's Piggy Tales .  Janna has provided a forum for members to write and share stories from their youth.  Since I now have five young grandchildren, I want to develop my personal history for them.  These stories are targeted for an 8-year-old granddaughter for now.  She loves playing school and actually has asked me about how schools were run long, long ago!

Grade School and Accurate (?) Memories

August 1949.  Looks like my sister had already had her new perm!

Here we are ready to ride along in the Kiddie Parade on the first night of the annual County Fair.  Children decorated their bikes, wagons, and scooters with crepe paper and rode all the way from the Courthouse to the Fairgrounds with "gigantic" crowds cheering along the way.  Well, that's how I remember it.

This photo was taken beside our "Little House" with our new car, a 1949 Dodge,  parked in front.  That's important because now we had a family car (the new one) and our dad drove the old Chevy to the farm daily.  For several years we packed 8 people, 4 adults and 4 kids,  into that car for a 2 hour Christmas morning drive to be with my mom's family.  And then we drove back home late that night... once in the snow!

My cousin and I walked to school (about six blocks) for First Grade with the neighborhood children to arrive at 9 AM.  Then we walked home for lunch at 11:40.  And back to school at 1 PM.  If there was a reason, we sometimes ate lunch at each other's house, but only very rarely did we take a bag lunch.   The lower grades got out in 10 minute intervals beginning at 2:45 PM.  We walked home slowly, through the downtown area and sometimes stopped at her family's drug store to say "hi" to her dad and grandfather.  In a small town, you often knew the extended family of your friends. They were always delighted to see us (as I recall).

Here's a partial photo of our school, actually a two story building built in 1897, our desks,  and general things. My memories are not necessarily from First Grade, just general thoughts about my six years in elementary school.

For some crazy reason, I have always loved school supplies!  I did years ago and now as a grandmother, I wander through the Back-to-School aisles chuckling at what a big business is it now.  I was able to find photos of the standard supplies we used.  In my memory, we had the 16 pack of crayons, maybe 24.  The fold-back tops came out when I was in 5th grade, what a great packaging advancement!  Students in lower grades used the Big Chief tablet, wide ruled.  We did a lot of writing because we didn't have worksheets or workbooks.  We copied the math problems from the book to the tablet (being careful to copy correctly!) and then worked them.  We always used No. 2 pencils and sometimes they were sharpened by a parent (never a child) with a knife. The schools had rotary pencil sharpeners.  We didn't get one at home until I was in Jr. High.  Did I say that I've always loved school supplies???

The best item of all, and oh I remember it well, was "school paste."   The teacher, perhaps kind Mrs. Humphrey or stern Miss Corners,  opened a gallon-sized jar of thick paste. Then with a stick,  Mrs. Humphrey gave each student a "cute plop" or Miss Corners a "glob" of paste on a piece of scrap paper to the students standing in a line near her desk.   Oh, it smelled so good as we held it carefully walking back to our desks.  We used our fingers to put the sticky stuff where needed.  Well, that's how it was supposed to work.  The truth is that nearly everyone tasted it.  Some kids, like me,  were discrete and merely licked their fingers as they worked.  But those silly boys ate a mouthful when the teacher wasn't looking! And we all giggled and licked more.  Who could forget those days?  

Typical school clothes in front of the Little House;  Birthday Nov 23, 1949, Ages 10 and 7.

My mom got a new electric Singer sewing machine about this time.  She made the skirts we're wearing here in front of our Little House as well as school outfits for us. Often she made doll clothes to match.  She crafted costumes for numerous school programs. That machine logged many miles and was still functioning in our house 50 years later!

My sister and I have differing memories as to whether our mom made the "gorgeous" matching birthday dresses that year.   I thought the tartan plaid pinafores were stylish with the ruffled underskirt but my enthusiasm waned when I outgrew mine and a larger one was waiting for me in the closet!  These were the dresses we wore when two families squeezed into that small blue Dodge riding along on Christmas Day 1949.

MPT Part 2: Toys, Fashion, and More Riding Along

This is the second in a series of 15 blogs I'm writing for Mommy's Piggy Tales .  Janna has provided a forum for members to write and share stories from their youth.  Since I now have five young grandchildren, I want to develop my personal history for them.  These stories are targeted for an 8-year-old granddaughter now.  I have similar photos of her with her toys and tricycle.  In time, I hope to modify and personalize the stories for the younger grandchildren with their coordinating photos.



Preschool/Kindergarten:  Toys, Fashion, and More Riding Along

Our young family moved back to the small Nebraska town in 1944 where we were "city farmers."  

During this time span my dad initiated a major change for the farm by building terraces.  He had to convince my grandfather (and it wasn't easy!) to finance and support the project.  Actually, it took several years of improved yields by conserving water to make the case.  In time, my grandfather agreed to expand the terracing throughout the farm, although, he never learned how to drive his car over them!  My dad and the other workers shook their heads and chuckled to themselves when they had to stop work to rescue Grandpa and his blue Plymouth hung up on yet another field terrace!

I worked hard on my own driving skills, on the farm and in town! The John Deere was quite a challenge, but  I mastered the coolest tricycle ever invented, a stand-up three-wheeler.

Age 2 and 3

We lived in what we affectionately call the "Little House" in town with two bedrooms, living room, kitchen and bath.  It did have an unfinished basement and a garage under the house.  I played outside whenever possible usually with my cousin who lived just two houses down around the corner, my sister, and other children in the neighborhood.  We played dolls, made mud pies and had tournaments in jacks.  My sister and her friends could easily beat the younger kids.  Maybe that's why they were the organizers!

For indoor fun, I remember playing while my mother sewed on her treadle Singer machine in their bedroom.  I spent hours arranging the buttons that were kept in a cigar box.  They were "people" with distinct personalities based on their size and shapes.  I made families with the larger buttons for adults and the smaller ones (probably cut from my dad's old work shirts) as the children.  Then I built houses from wooden blocks leaving spaces for the "button people."   Hmm, did Fisher-Price get their idea for  "Little People" from observing children like me?  These days children wouldn't be allowed to play with buttons for fear of a choking hazard,  but I don't remember ever trying to put them in my mouth.

My mom and dad told this story about me when I was four.

Karen often played with the cans of food in the kitchen, arranging them under the table and on the step stool.  She would be totally absorbed in her imaginary games.  

One day she was upset and cried, "Where's Herman?" 

"What do you mean, Karen?"  my mom asked.

"Herman is gone. I cannot find him anywhere. He's my favorite person."  

We looked in the trash together and found an empty can of pumpkin, my missing can.  At the same time, we could smell dear "Herman" in a pie for dinner. I did not eat dessert that night.

As I grew older I wondered why they retold this story so often.  Friends and family have heard it many times...like whenever we had pumpkin pie.  Now I realize that it was my mom and dad who laughed the most.  They enjoyed linking a childhood event for their second child to a favorite food.   Now that I am a parent and grandparent, I realize that sometimes ordinary things are handy ways to preserve precious memories.

Me at ages 18 months, 4 years, and 5 years with two "top-knots," high top shoes and pig tails.

It's fun to look at old photos to notice the hair, clothes, and shoes.  I wore a "top knot" which was held tightly by four bobby pins.  If the pins came out, I couldn't see and it was very uncomfortable.  I don't know why, but my mom didn't like bangs on me.... and I never had them! Children wore "high-top" shoes until we were about 4.  In those days, people thought children needed support for their ankles, and all kids wore high tops:  white for girls, brown for boys.  The shoe laces broke easily!

In the third photo above, it had to be summer because my hair was in pig tails (what we called braids then).  I would have been wearing sandals with buckle straps, either white or red.  If mine were white, my sister's were red... or vice-versa.  As you can see below, we wore socks with the sandals, too.


The piano was always an important center in our household.  My mother was a naturally gifted musician, although she really didn't have much formal training.  She played the piano and served as church organist and choir director for 47 years.  We sang for as long as I can remember.   My sister inherited many more of the family "music genes" than I did!  However, I took the required piano lessons for years (stories later) and  I have always enjoyed music.


 
I started school at age 5 in one of the two elementary schools in town.  We always wore dresses to school.  For the first day of school, I chose one with lots of little clocks on it.  I loved that dress! Before school began each fall, my mom gave us the dreaded Toni home permanent.  It was smelly, took all day, and was no fun at all.  Thankfully, she only did it once a year!  Usually we wore saddle shoes to school but we had only one pair at a time.   Something that we had which little girls today still enjoy were the "days of the week" panties.  I always wondered what would happen if I wore the wrong day.  But I never tried that! Perhaps this was an early indication that I had an analytical mind.

    My cousin and I were in the same class from Kindergarten through High School, usually in the same section.  We walked to school together in the morning and played together in the afternoon.  I am 7 months older than she is.  We're still very close and e-mail regularly.  But now we talk about our grandchildren!

These photos were taken on a Sunday in the summer of 1949 at the end of our first visit "alone" to our maternal grandparents house, about 3 hours away from our town.   How do I know that?  My hair is in pig tails, we're wearing sandal shoes and my cousin is in her "Sunday" dress! We had finished kindergarten and were deemed old enough to take a trip without our parents!  We had our suitcase and dolls and we were ready to jump into Grandpa's Studebaker.   Soon we'd be riding along home!

What's a "City Farmer?"

Recently I used the term "city farmer" and found that others didn't understand the concept or found it confusing.  So I'll explain what it means to me.

"City Farmers" are families who live in a small town and work full time on a farm that totally supports them. The term is merely descriptive and has no further good or bad meaning. Usually someone else lives on the farm to watch the property, animals, and crops 24/7, such as a relative, farm hand, farm renter or outside renter.

My great-grandfather was a homesteader in Nebraska in 1867.  The land was passed through generations until 2009. The "home place" was 300 acres and four different houses were present over the years.  My grandfather and my father were among those born on the farm.

In the 1920s my grandparents decided to move to the nearby small town (2500 people) and continue farming, thus becoming "city farmers."  The small town was hardly a "city" and they were truly farmers. The next time I'm with some of my cousins,  I'll ask them what factors they thought entered into this milestone decisions.  Clearly, though, everyone was very happy with the decision.

The farmhouse on our place was occupied by a hired farmer who worked for the family.  We had a number of reliable families on the farm for quite some time.  The original house was replaced with a more modern one, and other improvements over the years.  So someone was living on the property all the time.

My dad in 1982.

For many families, living in town meant better schools for the children and convenience for other family activities.  But there were lots of other factors as well.

In the end, people made their own decisions for various reasons.  My dad and 3 of his brothers were career farmers.  In time, they each bought land of their own  and continued working parts of the family acreage as well.  My dad and one of his brothers chose to live in town while two brothers lived on their own farms.

MPT Part 1: Sharing a Birthday

This is the first in a series of 15 blogs I'm writing for Mommy's Piggy Tales .  Janna has provided a forum for members to write and share stories from their youth.  Since I now have five young grandchildren, I want to develop a personal history for them.   As a child, I loved hearing about the "olden times" from my grandparents.  Now I wish I had asked them even more questions!    I hope our grandchildren will enjoy reading my reflections.  In truth, the things they say and do remind me of favorite activities from long ago that I haven't thought about for decades.  Also I'm enjoying memories of things our children said and did.   Now is the time to write the family stories!


In the banner, I am second from the left.  The others are my cousins and a neighborhood friend.  We lived in the little white house somewhat masked by the tree until I was 7 years old.  My theme will include forms of transportation, as much as possible, as we start Riding Along!

**********Sharing a Birthday

My sister had quite a surprise on her third birthday, ME!  Although I was due about a week later, I arrived, naturally, on the same date as she was born.   Throughout our lives, we've had an annual celebration of "our" birthday with two cakes and two songs.

In November 1942, my father was a young athlete/coach and my mother a talented musician/homemaker.  On the night before I was born, he played his last football game with a semi-pro team.  On the day I was born, she sang to me!

I was named Karen Margaret.  Karen was a name they liked and Margaret was honoring a dear friend. Karen was quite popular from 1940 to 1970, even in the Top 10.  However, now it is much less common for newborns.

Here is our family car where I rode home from the hospital in my mother's arms.  They didn't have car seats then so the adults just held children which seems unsafe to us now.   Also in the photo are my dad and my sister.  I probably wore that snowsuit three years later.  In those days children always shared clothing!  Sometimes, though, we had matching outfits so I got to wear mine until I outgrew it and THEN I could wear hers!  Yet, I did survive!

We lived about 400 miles from other family members, so it was impossible for the grandmothers or aunts to come and help my mom with the new baby.  My parents managed fairly well and appreciated some support from dear friends and neighbors.  I didn't meet my extended family until I was about 9 months old.

I was born during World War II which affected everyone in the country.  Anticipating that my dad would be drafted, my parents moved back to the small town in Nebraska where all of my dad's family lived and several members of my mother's family.  However, after they relocated, my dad was told he should work on the family farm because his four brothers were serving in the military all over the world.  As things turned out, the family continued to live in the small Nebraska town the rest of their lives.  My dad dedicated himself to a career he loved utilizing new farming methods and serving others.   My mother shared her musical talents in the church and community activities.

In our area of the country, a number of farm families, chose to live in town rather than on the farm itself.  My grandparents made this decision in the 1920s to take advantage of the schools and conveniences in town for their six children.  Similarly, my parents followed suit and bought a small house as "city farmers."  My dad drove five miles daily out to the farm for the next 60 years.

My hometown was typical of many in the Midwest.  Everyone knew everyone else as well as their parents and grandparents.  We walked everywhere.  I graduated from high school with most of the same people who were in my elementary school.  One set of grandparents lived near us.  My best friend was my cousin.  All these stories lie ahead as we begin Riding Along.