Part Two: Stella Dalla, Jack Armstrog and Wait until Christmas

When we at last had to come in because it was dark.  We listened to our hour of radio shows.  Our radio  came in two separate parts, the radio part and the speaker.  Our speaker was on a long cord so I could pull it down on the sofa and put my ear right next to it and not bother my parents  The shows we listened to were Captain Midnight, Tom Mix, Jack Armstrong The All American Boy and Little Orphan Annie.  You could send away for wonders such as  Secret decoder rings or a desert gold mine map or Shirley Temple blue glass dishes.  My friend Boonie (TFS) than me always got far  more than I did because she and her brother ate more cereal and drank more Oveltine than I did.. That gold foil seal from under the lid of a can of ovaltine was truly precious.  The one thing I wanted more than antyhing else was my own Radio.  So starting in October I began pleading, whining, and fussing for a radio for Christmas.  Now one of the unbreakable rules in my family is  that presents were NEVER opened before Christmas morning.  They just lay tantalizing you under the tree.  About a week before this Christmas there appeared a radio sized box, weighing about what a radio might  weigh and in a plain brown wrapper.  I couldn't stand it!  My whining and begging reached epic proportions:  "Please couldn't I just open one package before Christmas morning"  Finally my father gave in.  I tore open the wrapper of the "radio" box opened it and found stones and sticks wrapped up in newspaper.  I was truly heartbroken.  My father smirked.  I was  awakened on Christmas morning by music.  Music playing from a radio right next to my bed on a special new table.  Happy ending and I learned the lesson....and now I could listen to the Loan Ranger at 7:30 just like everyone else.

My mother and I spent each summer with my grandmother in Portland. There never were any other youngsters to play with so I spent my time climbing trees and listening to Soap Operas on grandma's radio (not at the same time).  It was wonderful  I listened to Stella Dallas  and my favorite Our Gal Sunday,  The story of a little orphan girl left on the steps of two old miners in the town of Silver Creek Colorado.  The story that asks the question Can a little girl from a small town in the West find happiness as the wife of a wealthy AND TITLED Englishman ? Then there was Helen Trent who searched for romance at 35 and even BEYOND.  Also Ma Perkins, Just Plain bill barber of Hartville.

If all else failed we played with paperdolls.  We took the bus down town, went to Woolworths and for 10 cents bought a paperdoll book. Almost every book had the dresses of a famous movie actress and then costumes  from the latest movie. All we needed was scissors.

After my horse phase and my dog phase and my Little House in the Woods phase I became fascinated with the occult.  Sax Rhomer anf Edgar Allen Poe were my meat.  So I decided to give a Seance.  First I took the bus and went down town to Woolworths and bought glow in the dark paint. I came home and painted creepy faces on about eight shirt cardboards. I attached these to a string that I could pull across the room near the ceiling.  It looked great.  Then I dismantled my light which had a globe attached and used it for fortune telling.  I lighted it with my flashlight and changed colors with various scraps of fabric held over the flashlight.   I had a friend to help me with knocking and moaning.  Our Names were Swami and Logi.  I planned to hold the Seances in my closet.  So Logi and I made tickets and handed them out to the adults in the neighborhood. Then my father found out and began shouting about how I could never have the neighbors in my closet.  That was the end of that.

Kick the Can, Paperdolls and Flexies

Almost everyday after school all the youngsters in my neighborhood went outside. Little kids played Mother May I or Run Across the River or perhaps tag or hide and Seek. Our favorite game was Kick the Can. First, you found the youngest kid in the neighborhood, usually a 6 year old. they would be made 'It'. They stood on Base while the biggest boy in the neighborhood kicked a can (28 oz size). 'It'had to run to the can and count to 100 and bring the can back to base while everyone else hid. Then 'It' began to search . The ones who were hiding tried to sneak into base where they would then be free. If and when 'It' saw someone he had to run back to base first. This went on until everyone almost was at base either free or caught. If a hider could sneak into base while the seeker was off seeking he would kick the can and everyone was free and would go hide again. We usually played all afternoon. My friend Boonie (who was taller, faster, and smarter than I) and I had scoped out a perfect hiding place. It was the crawl space under a house. We even kept a small supply of food. I remember a tin of cocoa mix and some graham crackers. We were never found.

We also played Army. Everyone was given a ranking pfc, Sergeant etc, and then we drilled with fake weapons and marched about. I loved this game until I made a horrible mistake and I chose myself as Corporal instead of General. Everyone in the entire army could tell me what to do. We also were very fortunate in our location. We had many vacant lots, including a very long and steep hill and The Rock. Vacant lots were for building forts in the deep grass and then collecting grass bombs. Next came war, until we all ran out of grass bombs and had to start over. I have one strange memory of finding a dead possum and deciding to cremate it. All I can say is it takes a long time for a possum to cremate. The steep street was for roller skating. We used skates that fit on your feet and had to be tightened with a skate key, your most precious possession. Then we raced down the sidewalk, except for the girls. We put on a show. this involved taking the bus downtown and going to Woolworths and buying lots of different color crepe paper. We cut in to strips and made costumes. There was one big flat driveway where we held the show. After selling tickets we began the show, performing all the tricks we had seen ice skaters do in the movies. The lady who had the driveway didn't like us much. The Rock covered about five city lots and was as tall as a six story apartment. The games on the rock mostly involved a competition jumping from one place to another. There were peaks and valleys and steps and even a cave- Lots to do. Also, we had dangerous things. We had knives. They were about eight inches long and the game was to hold them by the tip and throw them underhand on to marks on telephone poles. There was on boy who circled our neighborhood like a border collie and carried a bull whip. I don't know what a bull whip is but this one looked like the one Indiana Jones carried. Everyone was afraid of him. There was also a mean red-head bully who played with sometimes. He was about twelve and Boonie (Taller, Faster, Smarter) was about six and she ran up to him socked him in the face so hard his nose bled. He ran home crying and never came back. This feat became a Santa Barbara Road legend. The only other dangerous items were our Flexies: A sled on wheels and very fast. I think they have not been made for a long time becase cars backing out of driveways could not see them coming. MY flexie was painted white and said "Willie fastest thing on earth"..

To be continued...
-Louise

Protesting

I have been thinking about the Occupy Oakland protest. I understand the frustations that drive people in the cold and rain to occcupy the Plaza in Oakland but I am a little confused about the the expectations of the participants and what I should or could do myself.

I was born in Berkeley in 1929, went to Berkeley High class of 1947, and have lived in Berkeley nearly all my life. I learned about protests late in life, when they came to my backyard with the Free Speech Movement. Before that I had thought we had free speech but I was far better acquainted with Betty Crocker and Dr. Spock (when he just stuck to advising mothers) than I was with the bill of rights or the constitution. It is hard to believe now but neither UC professor nor student had the right to say what they think. So watching Mario Salvio stand on top of the police car and listening to those words "Let's Take the Park" was a wake-up call. The students were right.

I wasn't exactly prepared for the Vietnam protests but I knew where Vietnam was and I knew we were fighting a war we could never win (if anyone ever wins wars at all). While the protests were growing, American soldiers and Vietnamese people were sinking into the mud, being hit with bullets and agent orange, and dying. The protests came and so did the soldiers and the National Guard. Berkeley was occupied. One memory that stays with me is the the night I took my two little girls to their piano recital promising them if they did well we could go out for ice cream afterwords. Good idea, except we couldn't get out. We were blocked at every intersection. The helicopters roared, the guards shouted and others like us, honked our car horns. The girls cried when I suggested we not might get ice cream that night. Of course at last the protester went another way and we could move again. This happened just a few days before my son was tear gassed at his middle school. The same school where one boy, mistaken for a protester, was shot. As maddening as this was, it only gave me a tiny glimps of what it might be like in another country, and also what protesting truly was about.

So I went to a real protest. Actually by mistake. I was told it was a Mother's Day celebration in Golden Gate Park. It was, but the mothers' protested. We all marched and I shouted "L.B.J. how many boys have you killed today" right along with the rest of them. Now I think protesting is a way of communicating with people who won't hear what you have to say. It's a way to make them listen. Perhaps because they were raised in Berkeley most of my children by now have protested for one cause or another and it is my granddaughter who sleeps in Ogawa Plaza. I have a hard time explaining to her why I am not there.

What I have learned from the protests of my life is one fact: If there is any question in your mind or even if there is not, go with the young people! They have the most to lose and history seems to prove them right most of the time. The young people are tasked with cleaning up the mess we leave behind. Not just in our country but in the world. When I say the world I think of the young people in Egypt who rose up to seize their freedom and who I now see in pictures in Cairo with Occupy Oakland and Solidarity with Oakland signs. When you have any question, ask someone under 40.
-Louise

The Bum Song

When I was a little girl I spent every summer with my grandmother. It was pretty dull but she did have a victrola and two records- the waltz from the Nutcracker Sweet and The Bum Song. I played these over and over again, every summer for years. The other day I looked up the song out of curiousity and it turned out there were many people looking for the full lyrics of the song, which I know by heart. I'm posting them here in case they would be of interest to anyone, and I thought they were particularly relevant to life today.

THE BUM SONG

Now listen all you jolly jokers and listen while I mum
The story I’ll relate to you of the great American bum
From the East and West the North
and South like a swarm of bees they come.
They sleep in the dirt and wear a shirt that’s dirty and full of scum

It’s early in the morning and the dew is off the ground
The bum arises from his nest and gazes all around
From the boxcar and the haystack, he gazes everywhere
He never turns back upon his track until you cry beware

Oh I beat my way from Frisco Bay to the rock bound coast of Maine
To Canada and Mexico and wandered back again
I met Ten Pounds and Harness Bows as tough as a cop could be
And I’ve been in every calaboose in the land of liberty.

I propped the sluice and worked the ?
And taken a turn at the plow
I’ve searched for gold in the rain and cold and worked on the river scow
I’ve built the dam and dug the clam and packed the elusive prune
But my troubles pale when I hit the trail packing my own balloon

Oh waiting in the railroad yard awaiting for a train
awaiting for a west bound freight but think it’s all in vain
Going east they are loaded going west sealed tight
I think I’ll have to sneak aboard a fast express tonight

Oh lady would you be kind enough to give me something to eat
Apiece of bread and butter and a ten foot slice of meat
A piece of pie or custard to tickle my appetite
Cause really I’m so hungry I don’t know where to sleep to night

Good morning mum. Good morning bum. Lady have you got a bite to eat in the house. Yes I do and a six foot Irishman coming home at five o’clock to eat it. On your way bum. Good bye mum good bye bum.

Oh waiting in the ogies . Ogie ogie ogies. Smoking Strikes and Stogies
Oh we are three bums three jolly old bums
We live like royal Turks
We have good luck bumming our chuck.
God bless the man who works.

-Louise

Granny Growing Up (Or maybe not)

An old friend of mine told me she was having trouble with her file cabinets. The trouble is there were too many of them. Her husband might leave her if she tried to squeeze in another file cabinet So, she is is purging her files. My file was one to go. It contained every bit of writng I had ever sent to her. 25 years of Christmas Cards! with "family letters" included. There were all those years of my life printed out on red or green paper. Did I know I was lucky.? Yes, I knew but I didn't know just how lucky until all those memories came back.

There it is all written out. The weeks, even months spent with family at Serene Lakes. Skiing, picnics, hiking, canoeing, skinny dipping, ice skating, making ice cream, jigsaws and games There was fun in the flatlands too. Tennis, folk dancing, Greek Dancing, there were the family trips: Oregon, Washington DC, Pensylvannia, the Tetons, Later Art History trips to Europe. trips to Europe, and trips to Hawaii to visit offspring. The weddings, the parent weekends. And then the grandchildren Watching them at Serene Lakes growing up in the same place just as their parents had. Mostly using the same stuff. Catching crayfish, turning the crank on the freezer, flying off the rope swing and then at last learning to drive in the parking lot. Also watching them grow and being priveledged to share in their many accomplishments.

The fun things are great memories but I have been heen there,done that. The difficult part of ageing for me is becoming irrelevant. Nobody escept the dog needs me. Nobody needs my advice. Nobody needs my help. Quite the opposite is true, I could not even finish this blog without consulting a grandchild. There is plenty to keep one busy. Volunteering, classes. friends, but nothing beats having a call at Thanksgiving to ask how to make mashed potatoes. I have a 91 year old friend who is active and busy most of the time. However, she says "we have all just lived too long. We are no longer necessary" I agree except I'm not really interested in the alternative.

I have a friend who belongs to a group that is studying how to transition to old age successfully I don't know if I am good at aging or not. I just know I can't seem to help it. I don't think that wishing to relive the good times past is quality ageing. I welcome advice. Ogden Nash says, "You are only young once, but you can stay immature indefinitely", Jerry Garcia says "we will survive"., Pete Seeger says "My get up and go has got up and went. But in spite of it al I'm able to grin and think of the places my get up has been" Jimmy Buffett says "I'm growing older but not up" my great, great great grandmother says "Life is like a summers day it seems so quickly past, Youth is the morning bright and gay, And if it is spent in wisdoms way, We meet old age without dismay, and death is sweet at last." So as I'm not spending a lot of time skiing or on the tennis court I have lots of time to search for wisdon I only hope I'll recognize it when I find it.

-Louise

My Dentistry through the Ages

My first dental memory is of proudly announcing that I was going to the dentist. However, pride soon turned to fear. Two girls, (much older than I) took it upon themselves to tell me the truth about dentists. All the pulling, needles, drilling, scraping and pain. So on my first trip to the dentist I began to have hysterics before I even opened my mouth. It worked. The dentist gave up and told my mother to go to a childrens dentist. The childrens dentist told me right off if I didn't behave I would get something much worse than dentistry. He was short, chubby and had a thick accent. I always think of him as Dr. "speet eet out".
I think I didn't go to the dentist again for a LONG time. After that I was old enough to go by myself. I think my dentist had a drinking problem or some very peculiar smelling mouth wash. I saw him a lot. I always managed to make my appointments just before something wonderful happened. My Birthday, a trip to the, ballet Christmas etc. That way I would be rewarded for my trip to the drilling man. The mystery was why after a trip to the dentist I had bloody sores on my leg. I used to dig my fingernails into my leg on the weird theory that if I could make it hurt enough I wouldn't mind the drill, Stupid! I should mention that at thie time I had begun my eight years of orthodonture which wasn't so bad except for the impressions. One had to stick ones mouth into a tray of tray of gooey gray cement and sit without moving for 20 minutes. GAG
So eventually I went to away to college. I arrived with 21 cavities. Or so the dentist said. My father believed he was a crook. He drilled and I suffered. Would this ever get better ? I graduated and came home to have my wisdom teeth out. I had them out one at a time sitting in the dentist chair. Ouch. then I had gum surgery. MY dentist was French. I understand he was a very important person and a leader in the French community and sometimes had his name in the society section of the newspaper. Needles had not improved and I truly believe he just didn't like me. Or possibly felt, in real life, he was above digging about in people's mouths.
My next dentist was a man who had grown up almost next door to me. He was very kind and hated to hurt me. Howver, he had huge hairy hands and to see him you might suupose he did all his dentisry manually, In order to work he practiced the "headlock" pulling your head over on his soft belly. After many years he retired and I have a new dentist . She is young, perky and very fast and has ALL kinds of new weapons of destruction. Almost painless but a lot more expensive than Dr. Speet eet out" And I still have almost all my teeth.

-Louise

Past Perfect

In the bathtub there always was a small crocheted bag about the size of a bar  of  soap.  It had lots of pretty spaces left in the crocheting.  Inside were all the leftover pieces of soap that were too small to use.  It worked perfectly just like a new bar of soap. Waste Not Want Not.  If you were washing your hair there was a nicely enbroidered linen cape that fitted over your shoulders and upper back.  You wore this in order to keep dry while shampooing and drying long hair.  Everyone had long hair unless they were "fast" and not to be considered ladies,  Incase most of your hair had fallen out you put on your little cap.  About the size of an Yamika.  I have two.  One is scalloped and decorated with red embroidery.  The other is all white (to match your hair?) and has bits of lace on it.  Not an anitique but a left over corset,  The kind that lace up the back, still languishes in a botton drawer.  The sheets are finished with tating almost a lost art by now.  On the dresser top is my hair reciever.  I looks like a pretty china tea cup only there is a lid and the lid has a large hole in it.  This is the place to stuff the hair that falls out in your comb or hairbrush. If you have a new baby, I have just the thing a mini alarm clock that rings every four hours so that the infant is fed on schedule. So I am perfectly  equipped to deal with life 150 years ago.

-Louise

Spring Break

I have been on my spring break to Florida.  Florida is flat. Very Flat.  It has beautiful hispanic people, old or cold people spring break people and visitors like me.  It has miles of beaches, great bird watching, (The Miami Sewage treatment plant is a good place for this), snorkeling, orchids, food, the Sony Ericsson Tennis Tournment and Mojitos  This is a good tournament because the stadium is quite small.  You can see the sweat on the players brow and tell what they say when they throw their rackets.  I stay with my very best friend.  She is my vbf because years ago she came to stay with me for two days and stayed for two years.  We had SO much fun.  We also eat stone crab They are very pretty and it seems a more humane way eating crab than eating our crab.  Just the claws are eaten and then they grow a new claw.  Better than ending their days being boiled to death.  A fact I never have adjusted to since I had hysterics at Fishermans Warf and my father had to take me home. Lower forms of life feel no pain he said. 
Air travel is gross unless of course you are flying first class.  But not to fear the world is there to help you. I can't read the sign that tells me my gate.  So far there has always been a kind person more than ready to help me.  This time as I made by way to the gate I remembered I wanted to buy a Snickers  bar.  I turned around and a nice lady said "Oh are you confused by dear?  Do you need Help?"  I was embarrassed.  I can now board the plane with the old and infirm people so my only remaining problem is the dreaded overhead bin.  someone has alway offered to help me put my bag up.  I even had two men both trying to take it down for me.  So fear not seniors somone is there to help you (well maybe)

-Louise

Forgetting to Pay Attention

As a growing up person I am especially embarressed when I forget something.  Not  like a dentist appointment but perhaps the movie I saw last night or the book I just finished.  Friends smile (smirk) and say "Oh she is just having a little senior moment" In my opinion that is not it at all. A senior moment is when something good happens because you ae OLD.  Forgetting occurs when one does not  to pay attention in the first place. Take an art museum for examble  Take the Tate.  When there I have been accused of drifting along thinking "Oh that's a pretty picture"or "Wow did he really look like that" and later not being able to identify the painting or much less the artist.  Just not paying attention.  I should think about the year it was painted , the importance of the brush strokes or the use of symbols, all that  kind of thing.  I'm sure if oue of my grandaughters showed me a photo of the man she was sleeping with I would remember every square inch.  That and any details I could manage to pry out. Although I might, in the long run, be happier if I just remembered the dentist appointment. 

It is the same with reading.  I often find I have read an entire page while thinking about my dinner menu.  I can look at my watch and 30 seconds later wonder what time it is. Oops, I didn't pay attention.  So if it seems your friends and family are fogetful  perhaps they are just not paying attention.  Try talking about subjects that are more interesting, That is if you don't forget.

-Louise

Going to Church?

Last Sunday I went to church, a pleasure I usually reserve for Christmas Eve only. This special occasion came about because I had wanted for some time to go to the Toxic Waste Dump. Please don't get the idea that I feel some connection between organised religion and toxic waste. Not So. I had many times invited my daughter-in-law to accompany me to the dump- Almost as many times as she had invited me to visit her Unitarian Church. At last I told her I would go to church if she would go with me to the Toxic Waste Dump  She agreed and I had to keep my half of the bargin.

We were both surpised to find it was a special service to honor those folks who had managed to survive for over eighty years.  There were perhaps twenty people who filled this catagory including several over ninety.  Each old person was presented with a  lovely long stem rose.   I liked the rose but not the concept. I think longevity is just a genetic anomaly.  Not something that requires much serious thought or effort.  What matters is how one spends their years, what they accomplish what they leave behind.   I don't believe you deserve a rose just for hanging  around.  The sermon was given by smashing 87 year old lady.  She was a great speaker.  I'm sure she accomplished plenty and has many years to give more There was a lunch which I insisted on skipping and then it was all over and my garage was free of toxic waste as well.

-Louise

The Instruction of Comments

The best thing about writing a blog are the comments  It has been suggested that I deepen my passionate  affair with chocolate.  I should delve more deeply into milk, dark, white, Belgian, 60 percent, healthy, nonfat etc.  How better than to start with cacao trees?  Also a wise person thought I might find the answer to my question "Why is it" by returning to a farm.  Why not combine the two?  I could live on a Chocolate Farm. 

First I need land.  I may buy a defunct housing tract.  Plenty of buildings for the chickens, cow, farm manager and me and the dog.  Still there will be room for the vegetable garden.  The cow can glean the remaining vegetable greens and fertilize the garden while she munches away.  Sustainable farming!

 Any excess produce will be donated to the orphans at the nearby orphanage.  The little children will be able to visit the farm and learn the joys of working with their hands and doing farm labor.  Lucky!

For a small charge there will be chocolate factory tours (available on request).  The factory will be located in one of the larger vacant houses.  I have already visited some small chocolate factories-  Jajoba for one and I believe chocolate production will be a fine way to spend my declining years.  Now to get started on digging holes for the cacao bean trees. Great exercise. E-mail if you are interested to join.

-Louise

Why is it?

Why is it?  If little Susie goes potty all by herself she is rewarded with kisses and hugs. If granny goes too the necessary comments are" how many times today" or "perhaps she is becoming incontinent"  If Junior gets a speeding ticket three days after receiving his drivers license he may be grounded but they all think it is humorous.  On the other hand if Granny has a little fender bender in the grocery store parking lot,  the whispering sounds like "should we consider taking her car keys away?"  If Mom gets lost on her way home from Book Club. A few jokes about too much wine..  If grandma gets lost we may soon be headed for Chez Geriatrics  If Junior replaces the ceiling light bulbs in the kitchen he is a hero.  If Grandma replaces them she is in big trouble for climbing the ladder. If Dad can't work the new state of the art can opener the can opener is defective  If Grandma can't program the new DVD player she's stupid.  If junior can't think of a word it is because it is not on the list he is studying.  If Granny can't think of one she is may be senile.  Perhaps Granny just has a bad attitude or not?

-Louise

Chocolate Post

Chocolate will be the death of me.  Or will it?  MD's are divided in their opinions.  But what should the average chocolate addict do?  Look for chocolate Chip cookies and you will receive only a few chips.  Or try Phish food ice cream.  Only a smattering of the good stuff in those little fish.  Or perhaps just stick with cocoa.  Chocolate toothpaste is also available.  Or just buy a Chocolate Lab and be content with just walking it.

-Louise