Winter? I wonder.............

Everyone knows that the Northwest has been hammered with snow and wind for the past two or three weeks but this is getting to the point of rediculous! Can you imagine Seattle and Portland coming to a complete stop? And, Spokane too? Last winter was enough to last for the rest of my life; apparently, Mother Nature doesn't care what I think. I'd take pictures of what's happening this very minute but you'd can't see anything because of the heavy snow falling.

Reports are coming in every few minutes of more road closures. Luckily, I am off work for the next three days so I don't have to worry until Tuesday morning of how to escape from this snowy prison, otherwise known as my driveway. There is three feet of snow in front of my garage door so my poor vehicle is having to endure this pounding out in the cold. Oh, how I long for the flat lands of the Boise valley!

This storm is supposedly coming from the south Pacific, near Hawaii, causing the air to warm. By noon, the snow is reported to be turning to rain. Straight across the road from my driveway, is a road that is quite a steep uphill grade. Now, my imagination is limited; however, visions of a river invading my garage keep running through my head. This is troublesome since I have procrastinated building that Arc I've been planning all my life.

I don't mean to be a complainer, many people are suffering from this onslaught, but my arms and back can't get enough Aleve for the pain resulting from all the shoveling I've done recently, not to mention the cold feet and hands that barely get warmed up before the next round.

The environmentalists say the globe is warming. The proof is at the North and South poles. Well, I believe them because the North Pole is sliding over Moscow and the whole Northwest as I speak.

Winter? I wonder whether (no pun intended) it will ever end.......another something to visualize and hope for. In this case, life WILL be good again, the sooner the better.

A Bundle of Joy for Christmas

December 22, 1970 was a cold, snowy Winter day. I was nine months pregnant and tired from all of the Christmas preparations for the big day coming up. Darrell and Michelle were out of school for the holidays so the they, Sandee and I slept past our normal 6 AM arising time that morning. When I did get up, heading for the bathroom to empty what seemed to be an extra full bladder, I noticed something I'd never seen with my other pregnancies; I had a (don't mean to be gross) bloody mucus on my panties. You'd have thought I had never had a baby before, but this scared me so I called my Mom, who was a nurse, to ask what this meant. "Well, Honey", she said, "you are starting labor and that mucus is what is known as "show". She advised me to call my GYN, which I did. I was so sad to find that his mother had passed away so he would not be available to deliver my baby that day if I was in labor. His nurse told me I should go to the hospital to be checked, just in case.

I didn't really want to have a baby that day, being so close to Christmas and, with three young kids whom I wanted to be with to celebrate the day. However, I always (at least in those days) listened to my doctor or his nurse, so I took a bath & made myself beautiful, got the kids dressed and fed, then called my husband at work to tell him I needed to go to the hospital. He was home in a flash, we took the kids to his sister's, and headed for Pocatello, about thirty miles from our home in Moreland. By the time we arrived at the Bannock Memorial about 11:00 AM, I no longer had any doubt that I would give birth on that day.

We were so happy to be having this baby, and we were absolutely certain it would be a boy. My only disappointment was that Dr. Olsen would not be there to do the delivery. I had such absolute trust in him and knew nothing about the on-call Doctor which made me a tad uncomfortable. However, it was also the "new" thing to allow fathers into the delivery room for the birth, which we thought was pretty cool and made me feel better because I would have at least one person in the room with whom I was familiar.

I really had a pretty short, but very hard labor and was glad to be wheeled into the delivery room around 3 PM. The doctor gave me a Saddle block, numbing me from the waist down to my toes and the work began. Between contractions, Archie and I were having a little argument about whether our new son would be David Craig or Craig David. I wanted the latter. However, much to our surprise, Craig David didn't have the right plumbing for that name. I'm so darn smart, I figured that out as watched her delivery in the overhead mirror. It didn't matter...we were thrilled to have her. The doctor did give us a fright when she slipped out of his hands toward the floor, but he caught her and all was well. She went to the nursery and I stayed on the table for the tubal ligation that followed her birth. She was the last precious baby I would ever give birth to. Again, on the advise of Dr. Olsen.

Oh, how beautiful this little angel was. She was my biggest baby of the four, but she seemed so tiny and fragile to me. I don't know why, but I was a nervous wreck with her, like I had no clue what to do. I would watch her every breath, worried that her tiny nostrils were too small too breath enough air. My doctor basically told me to get a grip on that one.

She was born on my oldest sister, Carol's birthday, and it was nearly Christmas, so we named her Cristie Carol. Because of the Ligation, which was considered an operation in 1970, I had to spend four days in the hospital so we didn't get to be home for Christmas that year. I was feeling sorry for myself on Christmas day because I missed my other kids. However, early in the afternoon, Archie brought them to the hospital with their gifts for me. They weren't allowed to actually come into the hospital, but he arranged for them to stand down below the window to my room, where we could smile, wave, and blow kisses to each other. That made the day much more bearable. Two days later, the Nurses put Cristie into a red Christmas stocking and we took her home to be loved and enjoyed by the whole family.

She will always be my baby and has been a joy to me her entire life. I am so proud of the sweet, intelligent, funny and talented woman she is today. I love you sweet baby girl, Cristie.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU..........AND MANY MORE

Music, Music, Music

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My daughter, Sandee, posted, on her blog Kitty Krazy, a couple of videos of Jim Reeves singing songs my kids learned to love in their very early years. This brought back memories of when the kids were very young and I would lure them to sleep with music.

I've always loved music, almost every type. I recall a great neighbor who would allow us to go into her side yard to swing on the only swing set in the neighborhood. I would often go there by myself, sit in that swing and sing at the top of my lungs for what seemed, hours. My young mind thought I was very good at it, my adult daughter, Sandee, who is indeed, very musically gifted, tells me I can't carry a tune in a bucket. Huh, what does she know anyway! Hehe. I sang (alto) in every choir I could during my school years, and at church in adulthood; even sang a solo performance of "Wouldn't It Be Loverly" in an original musical play while in my last year of Junior High School. Oh, yeah, and then there was the duet I did, with my friend Vash, of "Rye Whiskey" for a health class on alcohol consumption. Got an A+. So there, Miss Perfect Pitch, Sandee! (maybe it was the acting drunk, while singing?)

Back to the kids. They were young, we were at the upper end of poor, or maybe it was the lower end of middle class counting both of our incomes, so in the latter part of the Sixties, we bought a beautiful, state of the art RCA stereo console, built into a cabinet of solid walnut; no particle board in those days. It was a low profile, with modern sleek lines and was five feet wide. On either end was a large speaker connecting to the stereo components in the center which consisted of an AM/FM radio and a record changer which would play what was known as 45 singles or 78 albums. In addition, and what was so special about this particular stereo in those days, you could stack up to ten 45s or six 78s and listen to music for hours. With this awesome machine, I had no choice but to join the Columbia Record Club to save some money. I ordered Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Andy Williams, Jim Reeves, Marty Robbins, Elvis, The Everly Brothers, Frankie Avalon, Connie Francis, Paul Anka, The Kingston Trio, Ricky Nelson, Eddy Arnold, Frankie Lane...the list could go on and on. My husband and I worked opposite shifts, 7-3:30 or 3:30-midnight. When he was on the swing shift, I would get the kids into bed, stack the stereo with albums, turn up the sound so they could hear from their beds; they would fall asleep, listening to all of these great artists. I swear, they knew the words to every song, on every album.

That stereo was with us for many years, bringing us the sounds of the forties, fifties, sixties, seventies and eighties. Sometime during the early Eighties, I bought a set of albums from the 1940's, a mixture of big bands, the Andrew Sisters, and other artists from those years. My kids literally wore those albums out. It tickled me pink that they would love music from that era so much. Oh, yes. That RCA stereo was one of the best investments we ever made, instilling a love of music with all four of my kids. They in turn have passed this love onto their own families.

Yes, indeed, music is medicine for the soul and life is good!

Christmas's Past

It's been a long time since I have felt such a longing for Christmas celebrations with my family. I miss them every year but this one is the worst.

Today is icy cold. Snow blankets the ground, ice covers the byways, the air outdoors frosts your nose and lungs with your first breath. Lights, white and colored, sparkle on the homes and businesses along the short ride home. A lump rises in my throat as I remember these same sights and feelings from years gone by. Icy roads, 26 below zero temperatures, miles of driving in barely running vehicles with bald tires; nothing could stop us from attending our annual Kinghorn Christmas party.

When my siblings and I were in our youth, with very young children, the Christmas season was filled with planning and anticipation of gathering together to celebrate with each other, kids, spouses or "partners" and our dear Mom, Beth. Like most young families, none of us were independently wealthy, so we would draw names among the kids and adults, setting a dollar limit affordable to all, for a gift exchange at our annual party. In the beginning we would gather at the home of the sibling with the most room. Everyone would bring hot foods, salads, pies, cakes and goodies to share for the feast we would enjoy all evening long. There was always roasted turkey and baked ham. Home made rolls, hot for the initial feasting, were made in abundance, leaving enough for the "sandwiches", made from the leftover meats, for later evening hunger pangs. I must say, my family was gifted with an abundance of fabulous cooks.

As the years passed and families grew larger, we had to rent a church hall, or the Senior Citizens center to hold everyone; for in addition to immediate family members, there were friends of kids, friends of siblings, friends of friends, in-laws & out-laws, aunts, uncles and cousins included. The welcome mat was always at the door for anyone.

We would visit, eat, sing carols, play games, eat more, show off the talents of our kids, then eat some more. (I said it was Feast) My brother Bob, who loved kids and making them happy, would slip out to dress in his Santa suit for the gift exchange. The kids would be thrilled, even those who were suspicious because "Santa's nose sure looks like Uncle Bob's". Everyone, adults and kids alike, would sit on Santa's lap, tell him their Christmas wishes, receive a candy cane, then the beautifully wrapped gift from the exchange. Hysterical laughter would accompany the unveiling of the "treasures" a couple of bucks would buy. In later years, we opted for white elephants only, so that those with near empty wallets could participate without pressure or embarrassment. Those were the best gift exchanges of all, a fact we all concurred on. Oh, how precious and joyous are those memories.

Years passed, our kids grew into adulthood, starting families of their own, scattering hither and yon until the annual Kinghorn Christmas celebration is no more. It was a sad passing, yet opened the door for many other family gatherings as the family tree has branched out. This is my fourth Christmas away from my family and yes, I am having a pity party for myself because I miss them and long to be singing off-key to the karaoke machine Sandee takes to Michelle's house for the Christmas gathering they have each year. I long to see my (maybe even myself) family get tipsy and silly; my grand kids get noisy and sometimes obnoxious; my tummy to bloat from too much food; to feel the warmth, love and hugs from these very important people in my life, and to just sit back and watch, knowing this will continue into forever. Maybe next year... 2010 for certain!

The Christmas Program.....I was so proud

Darrell, my only son, was nothing less than a handful as a very young boy. I suppose in today's world, he would be drugged with Prozac or some other "calming" medicine for overly active (now known as ADD) kids. When he was at his "best", if you get my drift, we simply dealt with it using old fashioned parenting. He knew who was "in-charge" but never stopped testing the waters to see how far he could go. Today, as a grown man, he is one of the most mellow people I know. So let me tell you about the Christmas program.

I don't recall the year, but it was during the Christmas holidays. We lived in a small community where most people were active participants in in their religious practices. My husband and I were not. However, we allowed our kids to participate as much as they chose. They did just that, attending Sunday school and other programs for kids at the church. As most Christians do, a program depicting the birth of Christ was planned with the kids playing the various roles needed. Darrell was to be one of shepherds. Rehearsals went on for a few weeks before the night of the program. That day arrived, the program planned for early evening. I helped the kids get dressed for the parts they were to play; Archie and I loaded them into the car and off to the church we went.

Darrel was dressed in his little plaid robe and I had used a white flannel diaper to wrap around his head. With a borrowed wooden cane, he fit the part perfectly. I'm sure I wasn't the only Mom who tried to encourage her child to do his best, but to remember he would be in the church and he had better behave...or else!

We arrived at the church rec center, a little nervous to be around all these people who took their faith so seriously, hoping the roof wouldn't cave in from the shock of our attendance. However, our apprehension was quickly dissipated by the warm welcome we were given. I escorted the kids backstage where their teachers would make last minute preparations. A welcoming speech was given to announce the evening's agenda, lights were dimmed, chatter stopped and the curtain opened. Cameras flashed from proud parents as their darling children performed their parts to perfection. Knowing the story well, I knew it was time for the shepherds to appear. Two came from stage left, reverent demeanor intact. Silence. No action. I was holding my breath, waiting for the third, who should have been with the first two..namely, Darrell. It seemed an eternity passed when suddenly, like a bolt of lightening, Shepherd no. 3 came stumbling over his own feet from stage left followed by the long arm of his teacher who had obviously had to shove him onto the stage. There he was in all his glory, little plaid robe open, barely hanging onto his shoulders, exposing his Micky Mouse T-shirt, the white diaper head dress holding onto his head by one ear....my face burning hot and crimson, eyes bulging in disbelief. As I was thinking, "Why me, Lord"? the room burst into loud and hysterical laughter which seemed to last forever while I sat there horrified, imagining people judging my child rearing abilities. The laughter died, the play continued to it's finish while I was trying frantically to find a plausible answer for this humiliating disruption to this otherwise holy story.

I admit, no one said a word which was a relief. Following the program, the kids were surprised by a visit from Santa, himself. Parents and Grandparents sat in their chairs as the kids lined up, waiting for their turn to sit on his lap, give him their wish list and receive the bag of candy he had brought for each one. It was fun to listen to those innocent little angels and watch the awe in their eyes while sitting on that lap. Then came Darrell's turn..........still askew in his dress, he climbed onto Santa's lap. Santa asked the question.."And what would you like to find under the tree, young man"? Without hesitation, my precious child answered, "I already know what I'm gettin', I saw in my Mom and Dad's closet"! More laughter, more red cheeks from Mom.

It was a wondrous night..................I was so proud.

A Long Ago Saturday of Holiday Shopping

It all started with several weeks or months of saving, planning and anticipation. "The" December Saturday arrived with a burst of sunshine, extra bright as it reflected off the glistening snow blanketing the landscape, then flowing right through the crystal clear icicles hanging gloriously from the low eaves of the roof. As luck would have it, the sky was blue, dotted with fluffy white clouds way to high to worry about walking through a snow storm during the walk to downtown.

As with most mornings, breakfast came first; thick slices of homemade bread, toasted to perfection, a couple of fried eggs and a big glass of the ice cold milk which had just been delivered by that handsome young Milkman on our route. Since going downtown to shop was a big deal for anyone in the fifties, getting "ready" was as important as the shopping itself.

The claw foot tub was filled with water, hot enough to make my butt cheeks rosy without actually scalding my tender young skin. I would settle into the warm water, bubbles courtesy of shampoo, (actual bubble bath was a luxury) rising to my chin as I daydreamed of the fun Vash, my best friend, and I would have that day and of gifts I would buy with the twenty or twenty-five dollars burning a hole in my pocket. Using the Ivory soap and a good rough textured washcloth, I scrubbed myself until my skin was shiny, finishing up with a double shampooing of my hair; had to shine, you know. Bathrobes were for movie stars, so panties and a bra had to do while I put the goop on my hair to hold it into place until it dried, brushed my teeth, combed my eyebrows with a little Vaseline, brushed on some cake mascara, and finally, applied the white/pink lipstick all the girls were wearing then. Soon someone was pounding on the door for their turn, so I wrapped myself in my damp towel, going to the tiny bedroom I shared with my sisters to get dressed.

Since it was a Saturday, and cold to boot, I wore my only dressy slacks, which were not allowed at school, a sweater borrowed from a friend (everyone borrowed clothes) and my precious T-Strap shoes which I knew, but didn't care, would leave my feet freezing. Socks were for sissies. I visited with my siblings and Mom while I waited for my hair to dry enough to go out into the cold for the walk to Vash's house. At 10:00 AM I arrived at her back door (couldn't use the front..it would doom her to be an old maid, according to her superstitious Mom) and was warmly greeted by her parents while she finished making her bed. She finished, we were off!

Winter in Pocatello was harsher in those days, so the walk downtown was like walking through a Courier and Ives post card. Thick blankets of snow on roof tops, icicles hanging from the eaves, white smoke rising from chimneys; boys bundled in heavy coats, hand knit mittens and hats, having snowball fights in the park; little kids in snowsuits making snow angels in their front yards while their Fathers hung Christmas lights; high school boys on their wooden sleighs, hooky-bobbing behind their buddy's hot rod. Sometimes even a girl in Junior High would be lucky enough to get a wolf whistle as those "older" men whizzed by on the snow covered streets. Funny how the beauty of this picture was lost to us at the time.

The walk from home to downtown was probably a little more than a mile, passing quickly as we chattered and giggled about boys, school mates and other things long forgotten. As we went into the Center Street underpass, we knew we were almost there.... for waiting on the other side was downtown and mysterious treasures for our shopping pleasure. Vash, list in hand, knew exactly what she wanted. I, on the other hand, preferred the adventure of "spur of the moment" decisions.

I can still feel the thrill of coming out of that dark walkway through the underpass, seeing the Christmas decorations along the streets, hearing the sounds of holiday music coming from the shops, and watching people, carrying their beautifully wrapped gifts as they hustled along the sidewalks from shop to shop.

There was The Peoples department store, Blocks, Adair dress shop, Woolworths five & dime, (where we got the most for our hard earned dollars) The Paris, a dress shop to die for, where there was never more than one of any dress style, and where every high school girl in town bought her prom dress..if she was lucky enough to be asked to attend. There was a Lerner's shop; a jewelry store where you could buy the very much in fad, dog tag everyone had to have AND get it engraved with your name, all for a buck; the drug store with a soda fountain for the cherry coke you just had to have, along with all kinds of special knick-knacks, costume jewelry or perfume that would thrill your Mom to no end on Christmas morning; the music store with sheet music and the latest 45 records, by Elvis, Fabian, Bobby Darin, Paul Anka, Connie Frances, and all the other great rock and rollers of that time, which you could play before buying (while dreaming of dancing with the boy who wore YOUR dogtag 'cuz you were "going steady"). And of course there was the little mom and pop cafe where Vash would always insist on buying Fish and Chips for our lunch, knowing I couldn't afford it but loved that special treat. She was such a special friend!

We would hit every shop, buy our gifts, enjoy each other's company and the festive cheerfulness surrounding us everywhere, then, after hours of this fun and frivolity, walk back through that dimly lit underpass to our respective homes to wrap and tag those precious gifts, content with the knowledge that we had completed our once- a -year Christmas shopping trip, looking forward to the excitement and activities of the next two weeks until the Big Day arrived.

Those simple and stress-free days, when less truly was more, are a treasure to those of us who lived them. Everyone should be so blessed in their life experience.

May the Holidays bring much joy and happiness to all. Yes, indeed......Life is good!