Last night when I was in bed and wide awake, I started thinking about relationships. I guess because the end of the year 2016 was getting closer and that was the date when I thought my stepmother would have found a new man. My father died in March 2016 and I predicted my step-mother would have a new man before the end of the year. This may sound uncaring, but she phoned my father a few months after my mother died and told him she understood what he was going through because her husband had just died. That was in October or November and by June they were married. My father told me he was very lonely and she seemed like a nice woman. I think she's the kind of woman who needs a man around.
They were married for thirty years. My father was friends with her first husband when they were teenagers. He never knew her. That's one relationship.
My mother and father met when they were teenagers. She married my father's best friend when she was 19 and he was 17. After her first husband joined the Army Air Force, at 17, my father and his other friends kept stopping by her apartment to talk and find out how their friend was doing. I'm sure they missed him because he was the group leader and always found exciting things to do. After the others graduated from high school and moved on, my father and a friend who was also dating my mother's sister, still kept in touch with her. When my father joined the Army Air Force himself, my mother wrote him letters, and they continued to stay friends even after her first husband and my father's friend was killed during WWII. She was a young working mother with two kids by that time. After a few years she and my father were married. They were together until she died in 1985.
They met when my mother was probably 15 or 16 and my father was two years younger. They were friends, then lovers for 50 years. If my mother had lived as long as my father did,and they had stayed together (which I'm sure they would have), the number of years would have been 81. That's another relationship.
I started thinking about the length of time couples stay together, and then started adding up in my head the number of years my parents were together. The number seemed fantastic to me. My husband and I have known each other for 49 years, and we didn't meet until college.
That is a long time. That's another relationship.
Then there are my aunts, uncles, and grandparents almost all of whom had long relationships. The same with my husband's family. It is amazing to me.
Those are other relationships.
I started wondering if our families have set some kind of record for long-lasting relationships. Probably not. It was just the times in which they lived, and the kind of people they were.
Wednesday, September 14, 2016
Sunday, March 29, 2015
No More Memoirs
I've run out of memoirs of my childhood for now and have decided to start a new blog.
I may add to this blog from time to time but I recently retired and want to focus on this aspect of my life. If you're interested, please join me at I'm Retired...What Now.
I may add to this blog from time to time but I recently retired and want to focus on this aspect of my life. If you're interested, please join me at I'm Retired...What Now.
Monday, March 10, 2014
Prayer
TV is great for gathering ideas. The other day I saw a quick image of a woman praying. She looked desperate, and seemed to be pleading with her god. It brought back all the times I had tried to plead with, bargain with, and promise anything to god so that he would help me or my loved one. I carefully tried to phrase my prayers in the form acceptable to god, that is, the form of the Lord's Prayer. This meant that before I told him what I needed I first had to praise him, thank him and glorify him. This etiquette for prayer was one reason why I started to doubt the existence of the god I learned about in Sunday School.
When I started learning about Greek and Roman mythology in school, I was taught that the Greek and Roman gods were very vain, needed constant attention, and basically acted like humans, while at the same time I was learning in Sunday School that the Christian god was a supreme being and above all those lowly human traits. This confused me because the Lord's Prayer seemed to show that my god required the same kind of attention as the Greek and Roman gods, and the Bible showed he could be just as cruel. I never did understand.
I think I was in high school when I started questioning some of my religious teachings. I wondered about this prayer thing; I questioned why my god would help some people and not others; and why he would condemn some people to a gruesome life after death while allowing others to spend eternity with him. The reasons given always seemed vague, and practically unfathomable to us lowly humans unless we had enough "faith." This faith thing is another extremely vague concept which I told people I had while trying to understand what it all meant. To make things worse, my church was the last place I could go to for answers to these questions; and I never even dared to ask anyone in my family because I always thought that to question was a sign of being weak in faith. It wasn't until I went through a few bad church-related experiences that I learned from the books I was reading that questioning and doubting were acceptable to my god, but by then it was too late. I had started to look for answers in books.
My questioning and doubting progressed as I read not only about the history of Christianity, but also about new discoveries in science. The more I read the more I became convinced that religion was nothing but a source of comfort to some people and a means of acquiring power to others. The version of what is now the New Testament was chosen by the bishops and councils of the Church because it was believed to be the one "story" that would be strong enough to unite the various factions fighting for control of what became Christianity. After reading about this bit of history I turned my attention away from religion and focused on what science had to say about the origin of the universe, the cosmos, space, etc. Science began to make more sense to me, and science answered my questions.
When I started learning about Greek and Roman mythology in school, I was taught that the Greek and Roman gods were very vain, needed constant attention, and basically acted like humans, while at the same time I was learning in Sunday School that the Christian god was a supreme being and above all those lowly human traits. This confused me because the Lord's Prayer seemed to show that my god required the same kind of attention as the Greek and Roman gods, and the Bible showed he could be just as cruel. I never did understand.
I think I was in high school when I started questioning some of my religious teachings. I wondered about this prayer thing; I questioned why my god would help some people and not others; and why he would condemn some people to a gruesome life after death while allowing others to spend eternity with him. The reasons given always seemed vague, and practically unfathomable to us lowly humans unless we had enough "faith." This faith thing is another extremely vague concept which I told people I had while trying to understand what it all meant. To make things worse, my church was the last place I could go to for answers to these questions; and I never even dared to ask anyone in my family because I always thought that to question was a sign of being weak in faith. It wasn't until I went through a few bad church-related experiences that I learned from the books I was reading that questioning and doubting were acceptable to my god, but by then it was too late. I had started to look for answers in books.
My questioning and doubting progressed as I read not only about the history of Christianity, but also about new discoveries in science. The more I read the more I became convinced that religion was nothing but a source of comfort to some people and a means of acquiring power to others. The version of what is now the New Testament was chosen by the bishops and councils of the Church because it was believed to be the one "story" that would be strong enough to unite the various factions fighting for control of what became Christianity. After reading about this bit of history I turned my attention away from religion and focused on what science had to say about the origin of the universe, the cosmos, space, etc. Science began to make more sense to me, and science answered my questions.
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Ghosts, Spirits, and Visions. Oh My!
I've been thinking lately about visions, ghosts and spirits and what they are or aren't, especially since members of my family as well as other people I know claim to have had visions, and/or seen ghosts or spirits. Since I don't believe in life after death, this seems to be a contradiction in my thinking because I believe all these people saw what they say they saw. Are they hallucinations caused by stress or sickness, or are they really spirits floating around the world with nowhere to go?
I've always believed in spirits and visions, but I've since come to think that they are something different from what most people think they are. Research scientists are forever saying that we human beings never use anywhere near the total mental abilities our brains possess. We have either forgotten or never learned to use these other brain functions. If we think about animals and what they can sense, we could understand better some of what we've lost. We've all seen or heard about dogs and cats that seem to be looking at something we can't see. Could this be an example of abilities we have lost that animals have retained? We talk about their instincts which cause them to do certain things, and we're willing to believe that animals have more sensory abilities than we do. Is this the answer to why some people see things that the rest of us don't? I think so.
We've all heard of ancestral memories. I think these as well as strong emotions, emanations and thoughts left behind by people who have died are picked up by some of the people who were close to the deceased. These auras then manifest themselves as visions or possibly sounds. Even ESP may have some connection to how this all works. The people who see visions or ghosts and who hear speech or music may have areas of their brains that are more accessible to them. They may be closer to the invisible world in a way that we all were meant to be.
We have connections to space and the universe because we all come from the same place. I have always loved the song, "Fly Me to the Moon" because it represents our fascination with the universe around us, and the connections we have to it and each other. This longing for a place we don't know is probably because we all have pieces of the universe in our bodies. We come from the earth which came from the universe which makes us all connected. I believe it's these connections which continue to make it possible for certain people to experience the dead and gone. The various religions have tried to explain all of this but they have failed. All of us have this ability buried deep in our brains and someday, maybe, we will learn how to find it.
I've always believed in spirits and visions, but I've since come to think that they are something different from what most people think they are. Research scientists are forever saying that we human beings never use anywhere near the total mental abilities our brains possess. We have either forgotten or never learned to use these other brain functions. If we think about animals and what they can sense, we could understand better some of what we've lost. We've all seen or heard about dogs and cats that seem to be looking at something we can't see. Could this be an example of abilities we have lost that animals have retained? We talk about their instincts which cause them to do certain things, and we're willing to believe that animals have more sensory abilities than we do. Is this the answer to why some people see things that the rest of us don't? I think so.
We've all heard of ancestral memories. I think these as well as strong emotions, emanations and thoughts left behind by people who have died are picked up by some of the people who were close to the deceased. These auras then manifest themselves as visions or possibly sounds. Even ESP may have some connection to how this all works. The people who see visions or ghosts and who hear speech or music may have areas of their brains that are more accessible to them. They may be closer to the invisible world in a way that we all were meant to be.
We have connections to space and the universe because we all come from the same place. I have always loved the song, "Fly Me to the Moon" because it represents our fascination with the universe around us, and the connections we have to it and each other. This longing for a place we don't know is probably because we all have pieces of the universe in our bodies. We come from the earth which came from the universe which makes us all connected. I believe it's these connections which continue to make it possible for certain people to experience the dead and gone. The various religions have tried to explain all of this but they have failed. All of us have this ability buried deep in our brains and someday, maybe, we will learn how to find it.
Friday, September 27, 2013
Home with nothing and everything to do
I'm no longer working, and am I happy about it!!! No more early mornings. No more fighting traffic. No more packing lunches. No more of all those miserable things that people who work outside the home are forced to do. Although, I'm sure there are many miserable things that people who work from home could add to my list. I used to think I'd like to work from home, but now I don't think I have the discipline. I can make other people work, but not myself. I need a boss for that.
I've been trying to organize my life somewhat so that I'll get something done. What am I saying? That's the main reason I'm happy about not working. No more schedules, lists, organizing, and rules. I can do what I want and be happy about it. However, I didn't realize it would take all summer and into the fall; and I'm still not ready to settle down. My family may be wondering about me, but I don't think so. I think they understand. I've spent my life since I was 13 working at something or other and it's going to take more than a few months to let go.
One thing I have done is get my membership to a nearby gym set up, and I think that's quite an accomplishment. It involved driving to the gym and picking up an application. Then, filling out the application and driving back to the gym to drop it off. Of course, I couldn't just drop it off. The volunteer had to enter it into their online registration and then take my picture. This amounted to at least 10 or 15 min. ..a big chunk out of my day. Now, I just have to go to the gym to take advantage of all they offer, which I will do as soon as I can fit it in.
We are planning a decorating extravaganza for Halloween, and that involves quite a lot of looking ahead, something I don't seem to be able to do at the moment. Fortunately, my family appears to be taking over the whole thing, not that I've ever contributed much in the past. Just being here while all this planning is going on seems to help them, since they can ask my opinion at any time. I'll be glad when I can see the results of all their work.
Maybe by January or February I'll be ready. There's no sense in discussing the two other big holidays that occur in the months between. I haven't done much with those for years now. My husband is the take charge person for them. As I said, families are wonderful. I just hope I'm not too much of a disappointment to them but I'll worry about that at another time.
I've been trying to organize my life somewhat so that I'll get something done. What am I saying? That's the main reason I'm happy about not working. No more schedules, lists, organizing, and rules. I can do what I want and be happy about it. However, I didn't realize it would take all summer and into the fall; and I'm still not ready to settle down. My family may be wondering about me, but I don't think so. I think they understand. I've spent my life since I was 13 working at something or other and it's going to take more than a few months to let go.
One thing I have done is get my membership to a nearby gym set up, and I think that's quite an accomplishment. It involved driving to the gym and picking up an application. Then, filling out the application and driving back to the gym to drop it off. Of course, I couldn't just drop it off. The volunteer had to enter it into their online registration and then take my picture. This amounted to at least 10 or 15 min. ..a big chunk out of my day. Now, I just have to go to the gym to take advantage of all they offer, which I will do as soon as I can fit it in.
We are planning a decorating extravaganza for Halloween, and that involves quite a lot of looking ahead, something I don't seem to be able to do at the moment. Fortunately, my family appears to be taking over the whole thing, not that I've ever contributed much in the past. Just being here while all this planning is going on seems to help them, since they can ask my opinion at any time. I'll be glad when I can see the results of all their work.
Maybe by January or February I'll be ready. There's no sense in discussing the two other big holidays that occur in the months between. I haven't done much with those for years now. My husband is the take charge person for them. As I said, families are wonderful. I just hope I'm not too much of a disappointment to them but I'll worry about that at another time.
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Fear
When I was in second grade, my father brought home a bike for us kids. Since I was the oldest of the last four, I was allowed to ride it more than the others. We had a long dirt driveway with a slight decline and this is where I practiced. I wasn't allowed to ride it on the street, so I rode it around our large yard. After I tired of this, I was willing to pass the bike on to my younger sisters and brother. I can remember seeing my younger brother riding it, but I don't think my sisters ever did.
When I was in fifth grade, a girlfriend who lived a few houses from me was given a new bike for her birthday. She put a price of twenty dollars on her old bike and told me I should buy it. I asked my mother if I could have it and she said I could if my friend was willing to let me pay for it in installments. So we sealed the deal and I ended up with another bike. This bike I kept for years. I actually rode it on a five-mile bike trip with some friends one Saturday, but by that time I was in high school and had found other ways to spend my time. I don't remember ever riding it again.
After I was married my husband bought me a brand new bike for a birthday present. Then he bought himself one at a police auction. We had great plans for going on bike rides together. Unfortunately, this never happened. I somehow lost my bike-riding ability after I left school. I don't know what happened, but when I tried again, on my new bike, I was very unsteady. We tried riding around the neighborhood on some back roads, and I managed to stay upright, but I never felt confident.
One day we decided to buy a child seat so we could take our young daughter with us on our bike rides. So, while I was at work one day, my husband bought the seat and attached it to my bike. When I got home, I asked him why he had put it on my bike. He felt mine was the better choice because I was home more than he was, and I might want to go bike riding with our daughter. I wasn't convinced, but decided to try it, because, how hard could it be? I should have known better. The first time we went out, I lost control going around a corner and tipped over...bike, daughter and all. Luckily, I managed to keep the bike from falling completely, so my daughter never hit the ground. I was shaken, though, and refused to carry her on my bike ever again.
Now that I'm home more, my family is trying to interest me in riding again. I'm interested, but still afraid. I recently had knee surgery and worry that I'll fall and injure my knee. However, I went with my husband to buy a bike for him, and decided that of course I could ride again. So, we bought a bike for me, too.
We brought it home but I didn't try to ride it right away; I was scared. I knew I couldn't leave it in the garage forever, so one day I finally got on it and tried to pedal. Something didn't feel right and I got right off it. It seemed as if my knees weren't behaving right. I thought maybe my muscles weren't strong enough after my weeks of inactivity, so I went online and bought a small pedaling machine. Surely, after a few weeks of pedaling I would be ready for my real bike. Who was I kidding?
I thought about the problem while I was pedaling and decided that maybe my seat needed to be higher. I asked my husband to raise it for me. Which he did. I got on the bike, started to pedal and it felt so good that I continued down the driveway. Before I knew it I was almost into the street. I quickly tried to stop but couldn't remember how to use the hand brakes. I did the only thing I could think of and put my feet down to stop the bike. Wrong move. Over I went. Again. Only this time I didn't have to worry about my young daughter, just my knee. Sure enough, I landed on my new knee.
It's been a few days and I'm back limping around the house. I'm sure my knee joint wasn't damaged; only the muscle on the left side is sore. I have a few minor cuts from the shells that I fell on, and it's going to be a few weeks before I'll dare to get back on my bike. I know, however, that I will get back on it and will soon be riding around the city with my family. Maybe. Sometime.
When I was in fifth grade, a girlfriend who lived a few houses from me was given a new bike for her birthday. She put a price of twenty dollars on her old bike and told me I should buy it. I asked my mother if I could have it and she said I could if my friend was willing to let me pay for it in installments. So we sealed the deal and I ended up with another bike. This bike I kept for years. I actually rode it on a five-mile bike trip with some friends one Saturday, but by that time I was in high school and had found other ways to spend my time. I don't remember ever riding it again.
After I was married my husband bought me a brand new bike for a birthday present. Then he bought himself one at a police auction. We had great plans for going on bike rides together. Unfortunately, this never happened. I somehow lost my bike-riding ability after I left school. I don't know what happened, but when I tried again, on my new bike, I was very unsteady. We tried riding around the neighborhood on some back roads, and I managed to stay upright, but I never felt confident.
One day we decided to buy a child seat so we could take our young daughter with us on our bike rides. So, while I was at work one day, my husband bought the seat and attached it to my bike. When I got home, I asked him why he had put it on my bike. He felt mine was the better choice because I was home more than he was, and I might want to go bike riding with our daughter. I wasn't convinced, but decided to try it, because, how hard could it be? I should have known better. The first time we went out, I lost control going around a corner and tipped over...bike, daughter and all. Luckily, I managed to keep the bike from falling completely, so my daughter never hit the ground. I was shaken, though, and refused to carry her on my bike ever again.
Now that I'm home more, my family is trying to interest me in riding again. I'm interested, but still afraid. I recently had knee surgery and worry that I'll fall and injure my knee. However, I went with my husband to buy a bike for him, and decided that of course I could ride again. So, we bought a bike for me, too.
We brought it home but I didn't try to ride it right away; I was scared. I knew I couldn't leave it in the garage forever, so one day I finally got on it and tried to pedal. Something didn't feel right and I got right off it. It seemed as if my knees weren't behaving right. I thought maybe my muscles weren't strong enough after my weeks of inactivity, so I went online and bought a small pedaling machine. Surely, after a few weeks of pedaling I would be ready for my real bike. Who was I kidding?
I thought about the problem while I was pedaling and decided that maybe my seat needed to be higher. I asked my husband to raise it for me. Which he did. I got on the bike, started to pedal and it felt so good that I continued down the driveway. Before I knew it I was almost into the street. I quickly tried to stop but couldn't remember how to use the hand brakes. I did the only thing I could think of and put my feet down to stop the bike. Wrong move. Over I went. Again. Only this time I didn't have to worry about my young daughter, just my knee. Sure enough, I landed on my new knee.
It's been a few days and I'm back limping around the house. I'm sure my knee joint wasn't damaged; only the muscle on the left side is sore. I have a few minor cuts from the shells that I fell on, and it's going to be a few weeks before I'll dare to get back on my bike. I know, however, that I will get back on it and will soon be riding around the city with my family. Maybe. Sometime.
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
Sunday School
When I was a young girl in Sunday School, I met quite a few religious zealots. Some were my teachers; some were respected members of the church. What they all had in common was their other-worldly aura. They seemed to have convinced themselves that the world they lived in could be disregarded in favor of the world where they would soon be living.
It was difficult for a young girl to understand their teachings when they described the heavenly home where we would all meet one day. Death meant nothing to me. Life after death was even stranger still. The names of various men from the Bible would be mentioned as people to emulate so that I too could see what they saw. It was all very mysterious. Soon I was learning about prophets who could see into the future, but it was emphasized that no one in my time could see into the future. What did it all mean? I never could figure it out, but I was given the definite impression that I should be able to. I felt that I just wasn't trying hard enough; I just wasn't praying with enough fervor to reach God and enlightenment.
I'm sure many children and even adults felt as I did. We were the failures who sat silently through Sunday School and church services and never volunteered to pray out loud. Or, when we did speak, it was to ask a question that made the church leaders look askance at us so that we knew we had failed again to understand. I remember asking to join a church when I was an adult, and even though I was a member of my childhood church, and had fulfilled all the requirements needed by that church body, this new church group questioned my faith and my worthiness to be a member of their congregation. These were both Christian churches and supposedly followed the same precepts but the second group was apparently closer to God. They did eventually approve my membership but I never really felt that I had made the grade. I felt that I was not connected to God in the way they were, and I never would be.
After a few years I left that church, and never attended another church. I was determined to find a church that was true to the teachings of Jesus, because I was still under the impression that I really believed in those teachings. It never occurred to me that my thinking was way off base because most religions use a form of brainwashing to keep people coming back for more. I didn't realize this until years later when I woke up and saw that the whole idea of something out in space somewhere who controlled us all was nothing but a gigantic fairy tale perpetrated by people in power. Somewhere along the way the brainwashing didn't take and I kept asking questions which no one could answer except with meaningless platitudes. Now, I seethe inside when people repeat those platitudes without thinking, but I have to control myself from speaking out because I know they will never listen to me. And, in some cases, people need those fairy tales to help them get through life, and I can understand that.
Unfortunately, my mother was one of those, and she is the reason I continued trying to believe in her religion for so long. I didn't want to believe that the woman I loved and admired had been taken in so easily. She was usually one to question most things she was told, but not when it came to religion. The only answer was her desire to be accepted by her in-laws whom she depended upon. Then, after her husband was killed, she had another reason to keep believing: she wanted to be sure she would eventually be able to spend eternity with him. I don't fault her for this, and I'm glad she had something to hold onto through the difficult times ahead.
It was difficult for a young girl to understand their teachings when they described the heavenly home where we would all meet one day. Death meant nothing to me. Life after death was even stranger still. The names of various men from the Bible would be mentioned as people to emulate so that I too could see what they saw. It was all very mysterious. Soon I was learning about prophets who could see into the future, but it was emphasized that no one in my time could see into the future. What did it all mean? I never could figure it out, but I was given the definite impression that I should be able to. I felt that I just wasn't trying hard enough; I just wasn't praying with enough fervor to reach God and enlightenment.
I'm sure many children and even adults felt as I did. We were the failures who sat silently through Sunday School and church services and never volunteered to pray out loud. Or, when we did speak, it was to ask a question that made the church leaders look askance at us so that we knew we had failed again to understand. I remember asking to join a church when I was an adult, and even though I was a member of my childhood church, and had fulfilled all the requirements needed by that church body, this new church group questioned my faith and my worthiness to be a member of their congregation. These were both Christian churches and supposedly followed the same precepts but the second group was apparently closer to God. They did eventually approve my membership but I never really felt that I had made the grade. I felt that I was not connected to God in the way they were, and I never would be.
After a few years I left that church, and never attended another church. I was determined to find a church that was true to the teachings of Jesus, because I was still under the impression that I really believed in those teachings. It never occurred to me that my thinking was way off base because most religions use a form of brainwashing to keep people coming back for more. I didn't realize this until years later when I woke up and saw that the whole idea of something out in space somewhere who controlled us all was nothing but a gigantic fairy tale perpetrated by people in power. Somewhere along the way the brainwashing didn't take and I kept asking questions which no one could answer except with meaningless platitudes. Now, I seethe inside when people repeat those platitudes without thinking, but I have to control myself from speaking out because I know they will never listen to me. And, in some cases, people need those fairy tales to help them get through life, and I can understand that.
Unfortunately, my mother was one of those, and she is the reason I continued trying to believe in her religion for so long. I didn't want to believe that the woman I loved and admired had been taken in so easily. She was usually one to question most things she was told, but not when it came to religion. The only answer was her desire to be accepted by her in-laws whom she depended upon. Then, after her husband was killed, she had another reason to keep believing: she wanted to be sure she would eventually be able to spend eternity with him. I don't fault her for this, and I'm glad she had something to hold onto through the difficult times ahead.
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
Grammies
When my mother was 19, she married her 17 yr. old boyfriend. She was in love and he was determined to do anything he had to in order to enlist in the Army Air Force. His parents refused to give him permission, so he took the only way he could think of to make it happen. He knew if he came to his parents and told them his girlfriend was pregnant with his baby, they would insist he marry her. So, that's what he did, and that's what they did. Then, he convinced my mother, who was now his legal guardian, to sign his enlistment papers. Deed done.
After her husband enlisted and left her, my mother went to live with his family. They took her in so that they could take charge of their grandchild. My mother was never really part of the family. Her in-laws saw her as a scheming interloper and did their best to convert her to their way of thinking. If they had to put up with her, then they would make sure she didn't embarrass them. The only member of the family who accepted her was her husband's Grammie. My mother grew to love her and depended on her for companionship. Their bond must have been close because even her eventual death didn't separate them.
My mother's first husband became a pilot and was sent overseas to fly missions over Japan. He was a successful pilot as far as I know. No one really talked about this part of the story probably because it didn't last long. I'm not sure when he went but before he did he was stationed somewhere out west. He asked my mother to come out and visit him before he was sent overseas, which she did, over the objections of her mother-in-law. Her son was conceived during that visit. Judging by my brother's age, there wasn't much time for him to fly many missions over Japan. He was killed when he volunteered to go as an observer on another flight right after he returned from flying his own mission. That flight ended in a mid-air collision with another US plane in a cloudy, smoky sky.
One night my mother was awakened from a sound sleep. When she opened her eyes, she saw her Grammie-in-law standing by her bed. She was startled but Grammie told her not to worry; her husband was with her and would be alright. Then she disappeared. The next day a telegram was delivered with the news that her husband was missing in action. It was years before they found his remains which were then buried at Arlington. My mother had remarried by that time and had other children by my father. She had been told by other fliers that they had seen the crash and there was no way anyone had survived. She believed the truth in this as best she could, but I think she was comforted by the memory of her vision of Grammie and the words spoken to her.
My mother went on to experience other visions, some of which she told me, and others that, I'm sure, she kept to herself.
After her husband enlisted and left her, my mother went to live with his family. They took her in so that they could take charge of their grandchild. My mother was never really part of the family. Her in-laws saw her as a scheming interloper and did their best to convert her to their way of thinking. If they had to put up with her, then they would make sure she didn't embarrass them. The only member of the family who accepted her was her husband's Grammie. My mother grew to love her and depended on her for companionship. Their bond must have been close because even her eventual death didn't separate them.
My mother's first husband became a pilot and was sent overseas to fly missions over Japan. He was a successful pilot as far as I know. No one really talked about this part of the story probably because it didn't last long. I'm not sure when he went but before he did he was stationed somewhere out west. He asked my mother to come out and visit him before he was sent overseas, which she did, over the objections of her mother-in-law. Her son was conceived during that visit. Judging by my brother's age, there wasn't much time for him to fly many missions over Japan. He was killed when he volunteered to go as an observer on another flight right after he returned from flying his own mission. That flight ended in a mid-air collision with another US plane in a cloudy, smoky sky.
One night my mother was awakened from a sound sleep. When she opened her eyes, she saw her Grammie-in-law standing by her bed. She was startled but Grammie told her not to worry; her husband was with her and would be alright. Then she disappeared. The next day a telegram was delivered with the news that her husband was missing in action. It was years before they found his remains which were then buried at Arlington. My mother had remarried by that time and had other children by my father. She had been told by other fliers that they had seen the crash and there was no way anyone had survived. She believed the truth in this as best she could, but I think she was comforted by the memory of her vision of Grammie and the words spoken to her.
My mother went on to experience other visions, some of which she told me, and others that, I'm sure, she kept to herself.
Friday, May 24, 2013
Visions
My mother had visions. I never thought much about it; she had mentioned a few of them to me over the years and was so matter of fact and sincere about it that I never doubted her visions were real.
Her grandmother-in-law also had visions. I don't know anything about her visions but my mother told me about two visions concerning her first husband, a pilot in WWII, in which her grandmother-in-law appeared. Mom said these visions of the old woman, the only one of her in laws who seemed to care about her, were so real she thought the old woman was in the room with her, and reached out to touch her.
I'm sure there have been other people in our family who had visions but I haven't heard any stories about them. It was probably considered to be an embarrassment and was never talked about. I've always had very vivid dreams about people in my family, especially my mother after she died, but I've never thought they were visions. People who have visions know what they are.
I no longer believe in a life after death so I don't think the spirits of the unhappy dead are wandering around out there somewhere. But I do believe some people are able to see & hear visions of their beloved dead. How it happens I don't know but I believe today's scientists are getting close to explaining it.
Her grandmother-in-law also had visions. I don't know anything about her visions but my mother told me about two visions concerning her first husband, a pilot in WWII, in which her grandmother-in-law appeared. Mom said these visions of the old woman, the only one of her in laws who seemed to care about her, were so real she thought the old woman was in the room with her, and reached out to touch her.
I'm sure there have been other people in our family who had visions but I haven't heard any stories about them. It was probably considered to be an embarrassment and was never talked about. I've always had very vivid dreams about people in my family, especially my mother after she died, but I've never thought they were visions. People who have visions know what they are.
I no longer believe in a life after death so I don't think the spirits of the unhappy dead are wandering around out there somewhere. But I do believe some people are able to see & hear visions of their beloved dead. How it happens I don't know but I believe today's scientists are getting close to explaining it.
Monday, December 17, 2012
Christmas
I love Christmas. It's fun; it's happy, and it can be celebrated in many different ways. When I was little, the focus was on Santa Claus and presents. Everything was magical and filled with wonder for me. I knew all the religious stories, and tried to remember about baby Jesus, but none of that could compare to the strange story of a jolly fat man who traveled around the world in a sleigh pulled by reindeer that could fly. I accepted everything. It didn't matter to me that none of it made sense. It was exciting, and everyone I knew shared in the excitement.
When I found out that Santa Claus was just a made up story to keep kids entertained and occupied in the days before Christmas, I still retained some of the magic because it meant I was now one of the grown-ups. I could share in the make-believe, and make sure my younger siblings didn't find out the truth. I was allowed to stay up later and help wrap presents. I could pretend with my older brother and sister that tonight Santa was coming and we had to go to bed early and make sure we were asleep before he got to our house. That was fun, too.
During the years in between growing up and giving birth to my daughter, I lost my way. I became embroiled in the rush and stress of the holidays, and believed I had to make Christmas the perfect holiday. I had to include a creche in my decorations, and make sure everyone knew that I remembered what Christmas really stood for. I made sure I attended church in the weeks before the holiday so I wouldn't be seen as one of those people who attended church on the holidays only. I became very self-righteous, and tried my best to be the perfect Christian. Of course, I failed, and became miserable at the very time of year when I was supposed to be happy.
My daughter saved me. Through her eyes I was able to see Christmas as a child again. I regained all the joy and happiness I had lost. Christmas once again became a fun and wonderful holiday. Even after she grew up I was able to forget the Christmas story and stay focused on the Santa Claus story. I hope I never lose that sense of magic again.
When I found out that Santa Claus was just a made up story to keep kids entertained and occupied in the days before Christmas, I still retained some of the magic because it meant I was now one of the grown-ups. I could share in the make-believe, and make sure my younger siblings didn't find out the truth. I was allowed to stay up later and help wrap presents. I could pretend with my older brother and sister that tonight Santa was coming and we had to go to bed early and make sure we were asleep before he got to our house. That was fun, too.
During the years in between growing up and giving birth to my daughter, I lost my way. I became embroiled in the rush and stress of the holidays, and believed I had to make Christmas the perfect holiday. I had to include a creche in my decorations, and make sure everyone knew that I remembered what Christmas really stood for. I made sure I attended church in the weeks before the holiday so I wouldn't be seen as one of those people who attended church on the holidays only. I became very self-righteous, and tried my best to be the perfect Christian. Of course, I failed, and became miserable at the very time of year when I was supposed to be happy.
My daughter saved me. Through her eyes I was able to see Christmas as a child again. I regained all the joy and happiness I had lost. Christmas once again became a fun and wonderful holiday. Even after she grew up I was able to forget the Christmas story and stay focused on the Santa Claus story. I hope I never lose that sense of magic again.
Monday, November 26, 2012
Keys
Last night I was thinking about a time when I was very young and wondering if what I remember is real or just what I've heard growing up. It seems that when I was very young, maybe one or two years old, my father left me alone in the car while he was throwing out or picking up something from the very back of our yard.. While he was gone, which must have been just a few minutes, the key to the car disappeared. Of course, I was the only person around, so my father figured I had taken it and dropped it somewhere. After asking me and then checking the car, I guess he gave up. That's the part I can't remember.
What I can remember or think I remember, is sitting in the car with the key in my hand and trying to find the place where it was supposed to go, before my father came back and found me with the key. I finally saw these openings right in front of me on the dashboard, and when I put the key in one, it disappeared. When my father came back, I couldn't tell him what had happened, but I seem to remember trying to point to the opening. I was so frightened at what I had done, that I can't remember what happened after that. I'm sure my father was angry, and even if his anger was directed at me or not, I was still afraid of his loud voice.
Whenever I heard this story as I got older, my father and the others would be laughing so I think he must have eventually found the key. However, even to this day I've never been able to get past angry voices directed at me, and the feeling of helplessness which they cause.
What I can remember or think I remember, is sitting in the car with the key in my hand and trying to find the place where it was supposed to go, before my father came back and found me with the key. I finally saw these openings right in front of me on the dashboard, and when I put the key in one, it disappeared. When my father came back, I couldn't tell him what had happened, but I seem to remember trying to point to the opening. I was so frightened at what I had done, that I can't remember what happened after that. I'm sure my father was angry, and even if his anger was directed at me or not, I was still afraid of his loud voice.
Whenever I heard this story as I got older, my father and the others would be laughing so I think he must have eventually found the key. However, even to this day I've never been able to get past angry voices directed at me, and the feeling of helplessness which they cause.
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Sisters
Sometimes I have memories of playing happily with my two younger sisters. Most of our play consisted of games we made up. We never had many toys but we did have our imaginations. The two homes we lived in as children had large yards which extended into wooded areas owned by us or by some unknown stranger. We liked to explore these woods and never worried about ownership.
On those few days when we stayed inside, we played with favorite toys received over the years. Mine were a ballerina doll with a pink tutu and slippers, a baby doll that smelled wonderful, paper dolls of characters from one of Gordon MacRae's musicals, and the Sears and Roebucks catalog from which we cut out our own paper dolls. My sisters and I usually received identical gifts at Christmas so we each had a baby doll, but only I had the ballerina doll and the Gordon MacRae paper dolls. I'm sure my sisters also had favorite toys they played with but I don't remember. I was happy with my toys.
As we got older our interests changed. I spent about half of my time by myself reading; my youngest sister started playing more with our younger brother; and my younger sister seemed to spend a lot of time daydreaming. When she wasn't daydreaming, she used to draw and write poetry. We still spent time together playing but our school activities made us realize that we were different.
I was always the first family member in each class because of my age, and usually when my sister came along, the teachers would call her by my name, and talk about when I was in their classes. I know they would compare her to me and expect her to be just like me. I can't imagine how she felt because, although I had an older sister, she was seven years older and we never even attended the same schools. I can imagine, though, how I would have felt if I had always been compared to an older sister who was there first.
Although close for awhile when we finished school, my younger sister and I have drifted apart again. We live in different states and don't see each other much. We've tried to keep in touch but I prefer email and my sister prefers telephones and regular mail. We lead very different lives, and have no friends in common. Even though she told me once that she'd gotten over her hatred of my big-sister attitude, I fear that the resentment is still there. We've been communicating recently by email about a serious issue concerning another family member, and every time I disagree with one of her suggestions, she reacts badly. It's gotten to the point where I feel I need to step away from the discussion, and give her time to see me once again as just a sister and not the bossy, big sister she often hated.
On those few days when we stayed inside, we played with favorite toys received over the years. Mine were a ballerina doll with a pink tutu and slippers, a baby doll that smelled wonderful, paper dolls of characters from one of Gordon MacRae's musicals, and the Sears and Roebucks catalog from which we cut out our own paper dolls. My sisters and I usually received identical gifts at Christmas so we each had a baby doll, but only I had the ballerina doll and the Gordon MacRae paper dolls. I'm sure my sisters also had favorite toys they played with but I don't remember. I was happy with my toys.
As we got older our interests changed. I spent about half of my time by myself reading; my youngest sister started playing more with our younger brother; and my younger sister seemed to spend a lot of time daydreaming. When she wasn't daydreaming, she used to draw and write poetry. We still spent time together playing but our school activities made us realize that we were different.
I was always the first family member in each class because of my age, and usually when my sister came along, the teachers would call her by my name, and talk about when I was in their classes. I know they would compare her to me and expect her to be just like me. I can't imagine how she felt because, although I had an older sister, she was seven years older and we never even attended the same schools. I can imagine, though, how I would have felt if I had always been compared to an older sister who was there first.
Although close for awhile when we finished school, my younger sister and I have drifted apart again. We live in different states and don't see each other much. We've tried to keep in touch but I prefer email and my sister prefers telephones and regular mail. We lead very different lives, and have no friends in common. Even though she told me once that she'd gotten over her hatred of my big-sister attitude, I fear that the resentment is still there. We've been communicating recently by email about a serious issue concerning another family member, and every time I disagree with one of her suggestions, she reacts badly. It's gotten to the point where I feel I need to step away from the discussion, and give her time to see me once again as just a sister and not the bossy, big sister she often hated.
Monday, October 1, 2012
Nursing Homes
When I was still in school, my maternal grandfather came to live with us. My father had a shed off the kitchen made into a bed/sitting room for him and he moved in. Everything went well for several years, but while I was in college, he started having some physical problems, mainly, moving around easily. He would get up during the night to use the bathroom, lose his balance and fall. My mother's bedroom wasn't far away and he would call for her to come help him. He also had started having memory problems and didn't always know where he was. She was working during the day and between worrying about him while she was at work and losing sleep at night, she realized she needed to make a decision about how to care for him. Her five brothers and sisters told her to put him in a nursing home and they would help pay for it. She found a place not far from where we lived and he moved in. He was put in a room with another old man, and seemed to be comfortable.
My mother would visit him as often as she could and he would tell her he wanted to come home. This upset her, and caused her to worry about whether she had done the right thing. Then, after a few weeks, she got a call from the nursing home telling her that my grandfather had tried to escape. He had told his roommate that he was getting out of that place, and encouraged him to come along. The two of them had almost made it out of the building before being caught. My mother called her siblings and told them she was bringing him home, and they had better help her make a decision about what to do. He was never sent back to that home, and they found other arrangements for him, not necessarily better, but at least safer.
I often chuckle whenever I picture my 90+ grandfather making a break for it with his feeble roommate and I feel proud of him, and also sad, but I can't help wondering why we don't have better alternatives for our aging relatives.
My mother would visit him as often as she could and he would tell her he wanted to come home. This upset her, and caused her to worry about whether she had done the right thing. Then, after a few weeks, she got a call from the nursing home telling her that my grandfather had tried to escape. He had told his roommate that he was getting out of that place, and encouraged him to come along. The two of them had almost made it out of the building before being caught. My mother called her siblings and told them she was bringing him home, and they had better help her make a decision about what to do. He was never sent back to that home, and they found other arrangements for him, not necessarily better, but at least safer.
I often chuckle whenever I picture my 90+ grandfather making a break for it with his feeble roommate and I feel proud of him, and also sad, but I can't help wondering why we don't have better alternatives for our aging relatives.
Friday, August 31, 2012
Dreams
Every so often I'll have a dream in which my mother appears. I think of it in this way because she's never the main character of my dreams but she usually makes a very definite appearance. Sometimes she's with other members of my family; sometimes she appears among people I know but whom she never met. These dreams are always pleasant, and I usually wake feeling not exactly happy, but thankful. I was young when she died, and I now realize that she was also young. She died at the same age that I am now.
I very seldom talk about my mother's death, but I think about her life a lot. I wonder about many things that I never thought to ask her when we were together. My father was her second husband and I've never really been sure if she loved him as much as she did her first husband. She used to tell me that she married him because he was a good man and she knew he would treat her and her children well. And then, as the years went by, she realized she loved him. I've always wondered if she was telling me the truth or if she suddenly remembered she was talking to his daughter and included the "love" part to make me feel better. I think the reason I never asked her about this was because I was afraid to find out the truth.
Her death changed much about my life. I was married at the time with a young child. I was very close to my mother and visited her several times a week. Her house was on my way to work and I would stop in to spend a few minutes with her. Sometimes we had a friendly conversation, and other times she would say something that irritated me and I would lash out at her. But we always ended on a happy note, mainly because she was usually willing to overlook my anger...usually, but not always. There were times when our goodbyes were strained when we parted. I never worried about this because I knew her love for me was real, and more importantly, she understood me.
When my daughter was born, my husband and I were staying with my parents while we built our house, which we moved into when she was two months old. Just before her first birthday, she burned her hand on our wood stove, and I think that started me thinking that I wanted to stay home and care for her. So almost a year after we moved into our new home, I resigned my position. It was a difficult decision to make because I had always worked, even while in school, but my daughter showed me that she was more important to me than any of these other things.
My mother and father were always available whenever I needed them and they became very close to their granddaughter. We visited often and even stayed with them again when we were building another house. They went to Disney World with us one year, and another year took their granddaughter on a trip to visit my older sister and her family. This closeness continued until my mother's death. My daughter was so young at the time that she really didn't understand what death meant, and she took my mother's death very hard. It wasn't until a few years later, and after she had gotten to know her other grandmother better, that she was able to let go of her grief.
Every so often I will have a dream in which my mother and daughter appear, and this makes me very happy.
I very seldom talk about my mother's death, but I think about her life a lot. I wonder about many things that I never thought to ask her when we were together. My father was her second husband and I've never really been sure if she loved him as much as she did her first husband. She used to tell me that she married him because he was a good man and she knew he would treat her and her children well. And then, as the years went by, she realized she loved him. I've always wondered if she was telling me the truth or if she suddenly remembered she was talking to his daughter and included the "love" part to make me feel better. I think the reason I never asked her about this was because I was afraid to find out the truth.
Her death changed much about my life. I was married at the time with a young child. I was very close to my mother and visited her several times a week. Her house was on my way to work and I would stop in to spend a few minutes with her. Sometimes we had a friendly conversation, and other times she would say something that irritated me and I would lash out at her. But we always ended on a happy note, mainly because she was usually willing to overlook my anger...usually, but not always. There were times when our goodbyes were strained when we parted. I never worried about this because I knew her love for me was real, and more importantly, she understood me.
When my daughter was born, my husband and I were staying with my parents while we built our house, which we moved into when she was two months old. Just before her first birthday, she burned her hand on our wood stove, and I think that started me thinking that I wanted to stay home and care for her. So almost a year after we moved into our new home, I resigned my position. It was a difficult decision to make because I had always worked, even while in school, but my daughter showed me that she was more important to me than any of these other things.
My mother and father were always available whenever I needed them and they became very close to their granddaughter. We visited often and even stayed with them again when we were building another house. They went to Disney World with us one year, and another year took their granddaughter on a trip to visit my older sister and her family. This closeness continued until my mother's death. My daughter was so young at the time that she really didn't understand what death meant, and she took my mother's death very hard. It wasn't until a few years later, and after she had gotten to know her other grandmother better, that she was able to let go of her grief.
Every so often I will have a dream in which my mother and daughter appear, and this makes me very happy.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Summer Days
My grandson has finished his last week at the local Parks & Rec summer camp. It was an amazing time and he loved every minute. He's such a wonderful boy and deserved to have a great summer.
It brought back memories of my summer vacations. In those days most of us made our own fun. I knew of one or two kids who went away to camp but otherwise we all stayed in town. Most summers were spent with my family and I lost touch with my school friends. My sisters, younger brother and I played games, sometimes alone and sometimes with a few of the neighbor kids; roamed the neighborhood exploring; or traveled uptown to the library. The days seemed to stretch on forever but we were hardly ever bored and enjoyed our vacation immensely.
I don't remember much about what my older brother and sister were doing. My sister spent one or two summers working at the local sardine cannery and my brother was probably out with his friends. We never saw them much because when they were home, they were on the phone or watching TV. My sister was involved with the church even then and was probably making plans for her religious future. I really don't remenber much of what my brother did except for one time when he frightened us almost to death. We were walking uptown with him and he decided to show off by walking along on the top of the railing of the bridge that we used to cross the river. This river was shallow at that point and filled with big boulders. If he had fallen, he probably would have been killed.
I loved summer until the last few weeks when I would start missing school. Reading and playing with anyone who was available kept me entertained. Our games were simple. One game we played after a long day of running around was to sit on the edge of our front lawn and count the cars that went by. We lived on a State road but when I was young the cars were few. Once in awhile my older brother joined us and amazed me by being able to name the make and model of each car we saw. Another time we heard about a local farm that was hiring kids to pick vegetables, and my mother said we could go. I don't remember what we picked but I do remember that we were paid by the pound, and we were all proud of ourselves for earning some spending money.
My grandson has a much different life now but he enjoys summer in the same way. Days of nothing to do but have fun is the best memory he can have.
It brought back memories of my summer vacations. In those days most of us made our own fun. I knew of one or two kids who went away to camp but otherwise we all stayed in town. Most summers were spent with my family and I lost touch with my school friends. My sisters, younger brother and I played games, sometimes alone and sometimes with a few of the neighbor kids; roamed the neighborhood exploring; or traveled uptown to the library. The days seemed to stretch on forever but we were hardly ever bored and enjoyed our vacation immensely.
I don't remember much about what my older brother and sister were doing. My sister spent one or two summers working at the local sardine cannery and my brother was probably out with his friends. We never saw them much because when they were home, they were on the phone or watching TV. My sister was involved with the church even then and was probably making plans for her religious future. I really don't remenber much of what my brother did except for one time when he frightened us almost to death. We were walking uptown with him and he decided to show off by walking along on the top of the railing of the bridge that we used to cross the river. This river was shallow at that point and filled with big boulders. If he had fallen, he probably would have been killed.
I loved summer until the last few weeks when I would start missing school. Reading and playing with anyone who was available kept me entertained. Our games were simple. One game we played after a long day of running around was to sit on the edge of our front lawn and count the cars that went by. We lived on a State road but when I was young the cars were few. Once in awhile my older brother joined us and amazed me by being able to name the make and model of each car we saw. Another time we heard about a local farm that was hiring kids to pick vegetables, and my mother said we could go. I don't remember what we picked but I do remember that we were paid by the pound, and we were all proud of ourselves for earning some spending money.
My grandson has a much different life now but he enjoys summer in the same way. Days of nothing to do but have fun is the best memory he can have.
Sunday, May 13, 2012
Cruel Fun
The town I grew up in was lily white. I never saw a person of another race until I was in college. The teachers in my schools, the people in my church, everyone was white, and as far as I knew, all Christian. But when I was in fourth grade, one of my teachers was Jewish, I think.
I only knew about Jews from what I learned in Sunday school and of course, what I learned later in history lessons about WWII. Then my fourth grade teacher came along and made sure we learned something about the holocaust at a young age.
I don't remember much about my teacher. She was fairly young and dark-haired. I'm assuming she learned what she told us from her family or from people her family knew. Or she may have been given the information from someone she knew, or read about it somewhere, and had no personal connection to it. Whichever it was, she told her story very dramatically as if to make sure we never forgot, and I have never forgotten one especially graphic part of it.
I can still see her in my mind's eye, standing in front of the class, talking. She told us some scary things about what happened to the Jews during the war. I imagine the parts I don't remember were the usual accounts brought back by news reporters and soldiers. These accounts were upsetting but were soon forgotten. However, the one story that I have never forgotten is the one about German soldiers killing Jewish babies. She described an especially heinous method that still makes me feel chilled. It involved soldiers, bayonets, Jewish mothers and their babies, and someone's idea of cruel fun.
I haven't thought about this teacher in years, but thinking back about my school years brought her to the forefront. I don't know why she thought she had to frighten 9 and 10 year old children with this graphically told story, but she must have thought she had a good reason. After that year she didn't return to teaching in my town. Maybe some of my classmates went home and repeated the story to their parents and those parents complained.
I just hope she didn't think of it as her own cruel joke.
I only knew about Jews from what I learned in Sunday school and of course, what I learned later in history lessons about WWII. Then my fourth grade teacher came along and made sure we learned something about the holocaust at a young age.
I don't remember much about my teacher. She was fairly young and dark-haired. I'm assuming she learned what she told us from her family or from people her family knew. Or she may have been given the information from someone she knew, or read about it somewhere, and had no personal connection to it. Whichever it was, she told her story very dramatically as if to make sure we never forgot, and I have never forgotten one especially graphic part of it.
I can still see her in my mind's eye, standing in front of the class, talking. She told us some scary things about what happened to the Jews during the war. I imagine the parts I don't remember were the usual accounts brought back by news reporters and soldiers. These accounts were upsetting but were soon forgotten. However, the one story that I have never forgotten is the one about German soldiers killing Jewish babies. She described an especially heinous method that still makes me feel chilled. It involved soldiers, bayonets, Jewish mothers and their babies, and someone's idea of cruel fun.
I haven't thought about this teacher in years, but thinking back about my school years brought her to the forefront. I don't know why she thought she had to frighten 9 and 10 year old children with this graphically told story, but she must have thought she had a good reason. After that year she didn't return to teaching in my town. Maybe some of my classmates went home and repeated the story to their parents and those parents complained.
I just hope she didn't think of it as her own cruel joke.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Religious Freedom
When I was in third grade, my classroom was next to a class whose teacher was also the principal of the school. It was a small school but new and my class was there only temporarily. I never knew why except that it had something to do with our old school having some repairs done. I don't remember who my teacher was but I'll never forget the teacher next door.
Our principal was an older woman, or at least she seemed that way to me, and she was very strict and stern. We were all afraid of her. She would stand in the doorway of her classroom and watch everything that was going on. If she saw any of the students not acting appropriately, she would immediately call them to her. I never wanted to be noticed by her so I always behaved. I never actually saw her hollering at anyone but I just knew she could and would. Later that year we were moved to the other school and I assume she remained where she was.
My older brother went to school with one of her daughters and I remember my parents talking about the family once in awhile. Apparently they used to attend the church where my family went but left, supposedly because of the minister. I never knew what the problem between them and our minister was but I didn't really care because I liked him and his family. I was happy at our church. After my brother graduated from high school, he went to college and at some point started dating this teacher's daughter. They eventually got married and she and her mother came to be a part of our family, and I found that she was nothing like the teacher I thought I knew.
My brother and his wife never attended our church, or any other church. This made my mother unhappy but she never talked about it. After she died, my brother and sister-in-law started attending our old church which now had a new minister. They have become very active in the church and seem like different people. The new minister is very evangelical bordering on fanaticism and my brother seems to like this.
I often wonder if my brother feels guilty about my mother's unhappiness at his refusal to attend church and is trying to make it up to her. More importantly, he is making sure he will spend eternity with her. I feel sad about this. Not that he has a religion that gives him peace but that he feels he needs to go to extremes in his beliefs, which include judging other people and believing that everyone who doesn't believe as he does will go to hell. He's reached the same place that my older sister is in and I don't feel comfortable around either of them. Their religious beliefs have put barriers between us.
Our principal was an older woman, or at least she seemed that way to me, and she was very strict and stern. We were all afraid of her. She would stand in the doorway of her classroom and watch everything that was going on. If she saw any of the students not acting appropriately, she would immediately call them to her. I never wanted to be noticed by her so I always behaved. I never actually saw her hollering at anyone but I just knew she could and would. Later that year we were moved to the other school and I assume she remained where she was.
My older brother went to school with one of her daughters and I remember my parents talking about the family once in awhile. Apparently they used to attend the church where my family went but left, supposedly because of the minister. I never knew what the problem between them and our minister was but I didn't really care because I liked him and his family. I was happy at our church. After my brother graduated from high school, he went to college and at some point started dating this teacher's daughter. They eventually got married and she and her mother came to be a part of our family, and I found that she was nothing like the teacher I thought I knew.
My brother and his wife never attended our church, or any other church. This made my mother unhappy but she never talked about it. After she died, my brother and sister-in-law started attending our old church which now had a new minister. They have become very active in the church and seem like different people. The new minister is very evangelical bordering on fanaticism and my brother seems to like this.
I often wonder if my brother feels guilty about my mother's unhappiness at his refusal to attend church and is trying to make it up to her. More importantly, he is making sure he will spend eternity with her. I feel sad about this. Not that he has a religion that gives him peace but that he feels he needs to go to extremes in his beliefs, which include judging other people and believing that everyone who doesn't believe as he does will go to hell. He's reached the same place that my older sister is in and I don't feel comfortable around either of them. Their religious beliefs have put barriers between us.
Saturday, March 24, 2012
The Public System
In a way, education and religion are very similar. Teachers, as opposed to religious leaders, are the gods of education whereas in religion the god is out "there" somewhere. This difference is basically the only one.
Teachers have the true way of knowledge and only their way is right. Students must follow and obey without question. Any attempt at independent thinking is immediately eradicated. Most students find that learning what they're told to learn by their Teacher is easier and safer. After all, Teachers have the power to allow them to succeed or fail. It all comes down to self-preservation.
I was like all the others. I believed what my teachers told me and learned what was in my textbooks. My parents believed we were getting a good education. Although, according to some of the stories my parents told us of their school days, they may not have believed completely in the education system, but that was all there was. Thankfully my parents had a thirst for knowledge and read whenever they had a chance. This example is what saved all of us.
I know good teachers exist. I've met a few. Most of my teachers, however, were either worn out from the conflicts and politics they faced every day or just plain ended up in the wrong profession. Whatever the reason, the results are the same. Students don't learn much while they are in school. The lucky ones find ways to continue to learn after school. The not so lucky ones have no interest in continuing with anything even slightly resembling education. These are the future leaders of our country.
Teachers have the true way of knowledge and only their way is right. Students must follow and obey without question. Any attempt at independent thinking is immediately eradicated. Most students find that learning what they're told to learn by their Teacher is easier and safer. After all, Teachers have the power to allow them to succeed or fail. It all comes down to self-preservation.
I was like all the others. I believed what my teachers told me and learned what was in my textbooks. My parents believed we were getting a good education. Although, according to some of the stories my parents told us of their school days, they may not have believed completely in the education system, but that was all there was. Thankfully my parents had a thirst for knowledge and read whenever they had a chance. This example is what saved all of us.
I know good teachers exist. I've met a few. Most of my teachers, however, were either worn out from the conflicts and politics they faced every day or just plain ended up in the wrong profession. Whatever the reason, the results are the same. Students don't learn much while they are in school. The lucky ones find ways to continue to learn after school. The not so lucky ones have no interest in continuing with anything even slightly resembling education. These are the future leaders of our country.
Friday, February 3, 2012
Family Dinners
Dinner with the family, supposedly one of the mainstays of American life, didn't happen very often in my house when I was little. My father worked nights, ate his main meal at noon and took his lunch to work. When we were in school, we usually ate school lunch and that was considered our main meal. In the evening, we ate a simple meal that my mother always called supper. Dinner was the noon meal. Since my older brother and sister were quite often late getting home, they ate whenever they got there.
On Sunday however, we all ate dinner together. It was usually a special meal for us and we looked forward to it, especially since it followed a long morning at church. We were always served meat along with potatoes and vegetables. The meat was usually beef prepared in different ways to stretch it among eight people. Vegetables were usually cheap so we were given plenty of those, and of course, there was always bread.
Our kitchen was small and even though we had a separate dining room, we always ate our family meals in the kitchen. My father removed the table-and-chairs set-up because we couldn't fit that many chairs in the space alloted. He built an L-shaped bench in the corner and placed the table next to it. I think we had room for three chairs at the table. The kids sat on the bench, my father sat at the head, and my mother sat next to him on the side next to the stove. The youngest sat next to my mother. It was crowded but I remember it with pleasure. The food was always good, the conversation was lively (we were all talkers), and my father often entertained us with stories of his life as a child.
We never had much money but my father had a good union job and he kept us supplied with the basics. I remember growing up knowing that we didn't have money for "extras" but I never felt deprived. It wasn't until I went out on my own that I realized my family was part of the working poor, and my mother had to scrape together enough money each week to pay the bills. There was never anything left over. Yet they encouraged all of us to continue our education after high school and managed to contribute something to what we earned on our own. I think my sense of security and well-being began at those family dinners and gave me the confidence to continue on to my future.
On Sunday however, we all ate dinner together. It was usually a special meal for us and we looked forward to it, especially since it followed a long morning at church. We were always served meat along with potatoes and vegetables. The meat was usually beef prepared in different ways to stretch it among eight people. Vegetables were usually cheap so we were given plenty of those, and of course, there was always bread.
Our kitchen was small and even though we had a separate dining room, we always ate our family meals in the kitchen. My father removed the table-and-chairs set-up because we couldn't fit that many chairs in the space alloted. He built an L-shaped bench in the corner and placed the table next to it. I think we had room for three chairs at the table. The kids sat on the bench, my father sat at the head, and my mother sat next to him on the side next to the stove. The youngest sat next to my mother. It was crowded but I remember it with pleasure. The food was always good, the conversation was lively (we were all talkers), and my father often entertained us with stories of his life as a child.
We never had much money but my father had a good union job and he kept us supplied with the basics. I remember growing up knowing that we didn't have money for "extras" but I never felt deprived. It wasn't until I went out on my own that I realized my family was part of the working poor, and my mother had to scrape together enough money each week to pay the bills. There was never anything left over. Yet they encouraged all of us to continue our education after high school and managed to contribute something to what we earned on our own. I think my sense of security and well-being began at those family dinners and gave me the confidence to continue on to my future.
Friday, January 6, 2012
Presents for the Teacher
When I was in elementary school, everyone gave the teacher a present at the end of the year, I guess to thank her for all her hard work. Nothing was ever said about this but all the parents seemed to know. My mother had six kids and finding gifts for the teacher for each of her kids must have been worrisome. Luckily, the practice didn't continue after the fifth grade, and luckily, my mother had a good imagination and the assurance to act on what she felt was acceptable.
Our yard was crowded with flowering shrubs in the spring. It was a beautiful time of year and I loved to watch the blossoming of one shrub after another. If I had been gifted with a talent for painting, I would have painted these flowers. However, even though I enjoyed their color and fragrance, I wasn't prepared to see them as appropriate gifts for the teacher. My mother disagreed. Every year on the last day of school my mother sent me outside to cut a large bouquet of lilacs to bring to school. Now, I loved lilacs, still do, but I was embarrassed to bring this bouquet to school as my gift for my teacher. None of the other kids brought flowers. They all brought gifts that their mothers had bought at the local store. Little trinkets that seemed so much more appropriate for the teacher than what I had brought lined her desk for all to see. I never noticed that my gift always held center stage in a vase placed front and center on her desk.
Our yard was crowded with flowering shrubs in the spring. It was a beautiful time of year and I loved to watch the blossoming of one shrub after another. If I had been gifted with a talent for painting, I would have painted these flowers. However, even though I enjoyed their color and fragrance, I wasn't prepared to see them as appropriate gifts for the teacher. My mother disagreed. Every year on the last day of school my mother sent me outside to cut a large bouquet of lilacs to bring to school. Now, I loved lilacs, still do, but I was embarrassed to bring this bouquet to school as my gift for my teacher. None of the other kids brought flowers. They all brought gifts that their mothers had bought at the local store. Little trinkets that seemed so much more appropriate for the teacher than what I had brought lined her desk for all to see. I never noticed that my gift always held center stage in a vase placed front and center on her desk.
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