Face in the window

As I mentioned before my father was often gone for extended periods of time with his government job.  This happened to be one of those times when my father was gone.  When he was gone each night one of us girls would sleep with my mom, she wasn’t able to sleep well all on her own so we would take turns.  We lived in a large two story house; the only bedroom down stairs was my parents.  My sisters were already upstairs sleeping and my mother and I were locking up and headed to bed.  Mom was locking the back of the house up and I was to lock the front door.  The front door had a little window in it that was about five inches wide and about 8 inches high, just a little window.  The outside porch light was not on so there was nothing to see on the porch.  I flipped on the foyer light and began to walk toward the door to check the locks when I looked up into the little window only to see a face looking into the house.  I screamed like a crazy woman over and over, I started to run really fast still screaming loud enough to wake the dead.  I was running like mad… in one place.  I wasn’t moving so much as one inch forward or backward, it wasn’t for lack of trying it just wasn’t happening.  My mother came flying around the corner fear written all over her face.  She looks at me screaming and running herself from the look of fear on my face.  She yells, “What is going on”?  I tell her that someone is looking in the little door window so she checks and I am still trying like mad though vainly to run away.  She doesn’t see anything so I turn around to look myself and scream again because they are still there.  My mother busts out laughing and asks if it is the same person as before.  I don’t think it’s funny but I tell her yes.  She starts to laugh so hard she begins to cry.  I start to cry but because I am upset.  When she finally catches her breathe she tells me I am seeing my own reflection, that’s who I am running away from although in vain.  Then I understand what is going on and I fall in the floor laughing, I realize what I must look like running in place fear keeping me from being able to gain forward motion screaming like a raving idiot over my own reflection. 

We lay in the bed for hours that night laughing ourselves silly.  Every time one of us would get it under control the other would lose it again.  I never approached that door again without a laugh and a shake of my head. 

Drunk

My father had odd ways of teaching.  My father did not want his daughters to drink alcohol so he decided to teach me that lesson in his own special way.  My sister Vickie was graduating high school in 1973 in Houston, Texas.  Vickie’s best friends’ mother was giving a huge graduation party for Vickie and Dotsy her friend so we, of course, were all invited to attend.  After graduation we all headed to Dotsy’s house.  There was alcohol being served to the parents in attendance while the youth were drinking virgin drinks and sodas of all sorts.  My father decided to ask me if I wanted a strawberry daiquiri to drink non-virgin.  I of course was very agreeable I couldn’t believe I was going to get to try it out.  I was 16 and my dad was sitting there so what harm was there?  I do not remember anything past that first drink but apparently I had more than one of those drinks and fell asleep on the sofa next to my parents and slept through the entire evening.   I knew nothing about anything until the next morning.

I was awakened nice and early the next morning, about 6:00am by my parents.  My mother had made a generous and full breakfast of eggs, bacon, pancakes and I was required to eat the entire meal while my parents kept up a constant and may I add loud chatter.  I repeatedly begged them not to talk, not to make me eat and to let me go back to bed, I was hung over and boy was I sick.  My parents instead not only chattered at me and made me eat every bite on my plate but continued even after I threw up multiple times.  Then, they made me clean house.  I was sure I was going to die!  Yet, I did what I was asked.  My torture continued.  After I finished cleaning and my stomach and head seemed to return to some semblance of normal my parents said they wanted to talk to me.  So now I figured the lecture would come, it didn’t really, just a series of questions.  #1 was who was I dancing with the night before?  Well, I didn’t know.  #2 was who had I kissed the night before?  Panic… I had a boyfriend, he wasn’t at the party, had I kissed someone?  #3 was how much had I had to drink?  I didn’t have any idea.  #4 was what had I done?  I didn’t have a clue.  Then my parents let me know after a while, after I had panicked long enough that in fact I hadn’t danced with any strange people, kissed anyone or done anything else with anyone, hadn’t gotten out of order in anyway but I hadn’t known; I hadn’t been in control of my thoughts or actions and they wanted to know how comfortable I was knowing that.  Now some people may be comfortable with that but my parents knew me well enough to know that I would not be able to deal with that so my father came up with this plan to teach me to not drink.  It worked.  It was my first and last time to drink and to be drunk.  Lesson taught, message received.     

Legos

Thursdays are supposed to be my medical update days, so why are you seeing a box of Lego men in front of your eyes?  The only real update I have is that I have a second opinion concerning my seizures with a neurological appointment on April first so that's pretty boring!  You are looking at this picture so you will see what I spent about 20 to 25 minutes doing.  If you look carefully in the upper right hand top of the photo, in the box lid you will notice a TINY grey Lego gun, that my friend is the only GREY Lego gun I own and my grandson knows it.  I have quite a few brown ones, that makes them common therefore undesirable.  There are MANY hundreds of Lego men pieces in that little box and Greyson was very patient as I searched for the one, lonely little TINY grey Lego gun.  I do this for two reasons:  First and foremost, I love Greyson.  Secondly I love to play with Legos myself.  We were playing "Lego shark attack" so we had to have something to defend ourselves, of course it needed to be the grey gun because it was the only one that could shoot underwater.  Hence the search.  So, now you know what Grammy's do on Thursdays.  Note:   If anyone has any little tiny grey Lego guns they would like to get rid of feel free to let me know I would love to have them.    

Track & Tennis team

While attending Sahuarita High School in Arizona I ran track.  I ran the 440, 880 and cross country.  While I was not a star athlete I loved running.  We practiced our cross country by running out in the desert sands.  Trust me when I say that running in sand builds muscle and stamina really fast.  I even took a crack at the javelin and shot put.  The javelin was really fun but the shot put was a hoot.  I didn’t weigh but 86 pounds and here I was with this heavy ball trying to make a circle under control and launch it (still with control) within a designated area with some sort of length to it.  Although I practiced and practiced I never did get any length to my shot put.  I did manage to get to state with my running skills.  After high school I ran several miles every week for many years.   I love nature and my runs gave me the opportunity to enjoy all that God has created. 

I also played Tennis for Sahuarita High school.  Once at a tennis meet I got a pretty serious injury.  Our tennis courts backed up to the baseball fields.  We were having a tennis meet but I don’t recall if our baseball team were having a game or a practice all I know is their home plate was just behind the tennis fence lines.  Of course there were the usual high fence protection behind home plate and the bleachers for the fans as well, so there was a fairly good distance between the courts and the fields.  I was in the middle of a match and the tennis ball had just crossed the net onto my side of the court when I barely recall hearing the thwack of a bat.  Just as I moved my racquet to return the tennis ball a hard ball came from high behind my head, hit about five feet in front of me hard and bounced back into my face; more specifically, into my eye.  The baseball was a very hard hit foul ball, its momentum had carried it over both fences and its backspin had caused it to bounce back into my eye.  I dropped like a hot potato.  It felt like someone had poked my eye with a hot poker.  I couldn’t open my eye and it was pouring tears.  Coach ran over to take a look at my eye, he tried to open it but couldn’t so he called the female coach over to take me into the locker room.  She and I headed inside my tennis matches were over for the day.  I sat on the bench in the locker room with ice on my eye.  The coach came back and tried to look again  she was able to force my lid open to check my eye and she quickly sucked in her breath, when I asked what was wrong she said, “oh, nothing”.  Ok, I was a senior in high school did she really think I was that stupid?  The coach called my mother to come and get me, though I did not know it she told my mother that she would need to take me directly to an eye doctor.  I lived 35 miles from the school I attended so it took my mom a little while to pick me up.  I got to a mirror when the coach wasn’t looking and pealed my lid open took see what she saw that was so shocking and I was shocked to see that I had no pupil in my eye.  It was so weird.  Of course my eye was horrifically red and swollen but I had no pupil nor could I see out of the eye at all. 

Once my mother picked me up from school we headed on to Tucson to an eye specialist and discovered that the reason I did not see my pupil was because it was in shock.  Who knew a pupil could go into shock?  The ball had hit my eye so hard that it damaged my retina.  I had a bruise print of the baseball threads in my eyebrow for weeks and it took about two weeks for my pupil to relax enough to be seen.  I looked very strange without that pupil.  It was a lovely couple of weeks.  I have to say that I was a little paranoid when I had any tennis match if anything was going on at the baseball fields after that.

Louisiana Bayou

After my family moved to Texas from Virginia we, of course, planned trips across country to visit family “back home”.  We made the trips as often as possible and in varying group sizes; sometimes it would be Mom and the girls, sometimes all of us, sometimes this group or that but we would make the trip as often as our schedules allowed.  Some of our trips were slow and meandering with stops along the way for sightseeing or visiting anything interesting we found along the way.  Other trips were like crazy wild things without concern for the slightest creature comforts. When my father got a hair crosswise or when his time off from was work was limited we could pack the car, get in and drive nearly straight through from Texas to Virginia without a stop.  Our only stops would be those that were absolutely needed, like gas. 

We had this coffee can with a tight fitting plastic lid that he would take along with us on our crazy trips and when one of us girls had to pee we would have to squat down in the back seat over the lovely coffee can and pee.  We would then put the lid on the can and store it and empty it when we stopped for gas.  As we drove along with four girls in the car our car would look more and more as though it exploded by the time we would stop for gas.  When the car came to a stop all the door would pop open as though they were thrown from the car.  We would all rush into the station some running to the bathroom others grabbing snacks and drinks to pay for, then we would switch, we would unload our trash and reload ourselves in the car once finished.  Dad had meanwhile gassed the car up, paid, gone to the bathroom and bought his snacks. Off we would go again only to stop when the car needed gas again.

Once during one of these straight through trips we got to Louisiana after dark.  We were in a Bayou area where there was literally nothing when the cars lights started to act up.  The lights were becoming more and more dim we could barely see at all.  Finally on this really creepy, empty back road the lights went completely off.  At that time cars had “generators” for the lights and ours was malfunctioning.  Dad drove right along at a pace I was sure would get us killed.  My imagination told me that at any second a swamp monster was going to step out into the road with his hands held high and his teeth barred to stop us with his buddies flanking his sides, then once we stopped, they would eat us.  This obviously did not happen. 

What did happen was my father spent a good deal of time searching for an open gas station.  In the 1960’s and 1970’s gas stations were not open 24 hours nor were they open 7 days a week.   Gas stations were where car repairs were made and they did have mechanics on duty during their open hours, so you could have our car repaired for a reasonable price without all the diagnostic tools they have now.  Mechanics were skilled craftsmen. 

It was around midnight when my father found a station opened that still had its mechanic on duty.  Actually the mechanic owned the station and lived behind it or we never would have had such luck. My father explained the problem and apparently the man knew what to do because he went straight to work.  When the man spoke to my father and asked questions I thought he was speaking in another language and I was quite impressed that my father not only understood the language but could communicate with this fellow.  It turned out the fellow wasn’t speaking another language he was “Cajun” and his accent was so thick that I couldn’t understand a word the said.  We girls slept in the car as the fellow worked under the hood.  I have no idea how long it took him to repair it as I slept through the whole thing but he got the job done and eventually we got back on the road and drove the rest of the way.  My father had amazing abilities to stay up and drive.  The only thing I could attribute it to was all the time he spent on stake outs.  That man needed little to no rest, but we sure didn’t have to waste much of our time in the actual “getting to where we were going”.

Just call me Queen please.

Years ago when I began to have granddaughters I began to call them my little princesses.  Even though they are currently 10, 8, 7, 6, 3, 1, 19months and 3 months they are still my little princesses and I will still greet them or address them by their Royal title.  They never complain when I do and they respond quite naturally because they have heard it all of their lives.  I truly do believe that each of them are princesses in their own rights and that they know it because they have been told it enough that they believe it. 

What about the boys you ask?  I have called them princes but they did not take to that title like the girls took to being called princesses.  They seemed to give me squinty looks, they didn’t say anything but I think they believed something must have been wrong with their grandmother I could tell by the way they looked at me.  So, instead of calling them princes I call them “little man” which each seems to appreciate much better.  Somehow I think that nick name is more manly and they appreciate it for that very reason. 

One day I was calling the girls Princess Haley and Princess Allie and Haley being oldest said, “Grammy if we are Princesses doesn’t that make you a Queen?  You are Queen Grammy!”  For just a moment I was speechless then my voice kicked in and I spokeright up and had to say, “I guess it does” and I have been Queen Grammy ever since.  That explains the “QGrammy” car tag on the back of my car in case anyone has ever wondered. 

I love my Grandchildren, all my princesses AND all my little men, they are blessings EVERY ONE!    



Ice Ice Baby

Out on the ice!

Front row:  Cousins Tommy, Paula and Julie

Second Row:  Sister Kathy and Cousin Fredda

Third Row:  Myself, Cousin Russell and Sister Sharon

Fourth Row:  Sister Vickie and I am not sure can’t see her face.

My Cousins and I spent many winter’s on the lake behind my house, Lake Whitehurst.  Our back yard ran directly into the lake so it was out our back door so to speak.  In the winter, at that time, in Virginia, we always had very snowy winters; if it wasn’t snowing it was still freezing.  Virginia was a very cold geographic area and because it was so cold in winter the lake would freeze often to varying depths multiple times a year. Nearly all of our favorite winter activities involved the lake.

We had some wonderful, frightening and fun times on that frozen lake.  I think our most favorite activity on the ice was sledding. All the cousins, my sisters and I would have contest to see who could slide the farthest across the lake.  Our yard had the perfect slope from the house down to the lake.  We would begin our sledding experience at the back door of our garage, fly across the back yard running as fast as possible throw ourselves on the sled just before hitting the ice and go out onto the ice and across the lake at a pretty high rate of speed laughing and pushing with our hands as hard as we could to get all the distance we could possibly manage out of the run.  The farther we went on the ice however the more silent we would be, we were listening for the dreaded cracking sound.  You would think our fear would  stop us from pushing forward on the ice but it never did, we just listened carefully.  If we heard the ice have that dull deep crack we knew it was cracking deep under the ice and we had to stop then before we got to the thin ice.  Our ride was over.   There was a small island in the middle of the lake inhabited only by ducks, wild geese, snakes, muskrats and turtles.  Our goal in sledding was to make it to the island that we named “Muskrat Island” though I do not know its real name or even if it had one.  Thinking back it was certainly a risky thing to do but we all loved it.  There were people who fell through the ice but thankfully we never had any serious issues and not a one of us children fell through the ice.   We had a few close calls but no serious problems.

We never had any Ice skates, some of the cousins did but we didn’t.  We just “skated” using out shoes.  We had just as much fun.  We would spend the whole day on the ice and half of the night if our parents would let us.  We bundled up and would stay out until forced inside for warm drinks and food.  It was horrible to come inside.  Our hands and feet would begin to thaw and the pain would be horrible.  We would writhe in the floor moaning in pain.  Your hands and feet would burn like they were on fire.  It was so painful.  I can remember sitting and silently crying.  We had to wait until our gloves and socks were warm and our hands and feet were “thawed” before we could go back out.  We would go right back out as soon as they would feel better even if it meant putting socks on our hands instead of gloves because our gloves weren’t dry.  (We didn’t have a dryer part of the time we lived there.  Yes I lived in a time when people did not have dryers!)  We would stay out until we couldn’t take it any longer and go through the same pain sequence again and again but never thought about it not being worth it.

There was one major rule out on the ice.  You had to start out on the ice very far apart from one another.  The ice had to be SUPER thick in order for us to be able to stand near one another and that was not too often.  If you started near someone and you heard the deep crack you quietly backed away.  Sometimes you got to play together sometimes it was a take turn kind of day but any day on the ice was a fun winter day.