The Little Pink House

This is very similar to my grandparent's house.  404 South Park, Lyman,  Nebraska.  These were my mother's parents. The outside of the house was a pink stucco.  Not gaudy or pastel, just a nice pink.  It reminded me of a gingerbread house.  Anna Margaret and George Phillip kept it neat as a pin.  It had a dirt cellar dug out underneath that was used to store canned goods on the dirt shelves carved out in the walls.  It had a little cot in the corner with a pillow and blanket.  My brothers used to lock me in the cellar every chance they got, and Grandpa would come rescue me.  It wasn't talked about much, but I had heard grandpa dug the cellar one year when grandma was mad at him so he would have a place to stay.  The yard was immaculate...a weed dare not enter!  I spent many days laying in that yard staring at the clouds rolling by trying to find shapes and figures.  I remember the clothes line in the back yard that had laundry blowing in the breeze.  The garden behind the garage that grandpa was ever fussing over.  He planted his garden in rows like a field and irrigated it with a special hose he created to run down 2 rows at a time.  The wells between the rows would fill with water and then he would move the hose to the next two rows.  I remember him pulling out carrots for me to eat...he would wash them in the hose and hand them to me to snack on.  They were so sweet.  If he wasn't in the garden, he was in the garage tinkering and constructing all sorts of little things.  He wore a straw fedora and loved to go to the pool hall and play pool with his friends in the afternoons.  Once in awhile, Grandpa would give me and my brother Christopher each a dime.  We would walk to the general store and buy penny candy.  It was usually 2 for a penny, so we would get a huge bag full of candy for a dime.  We would sit in the yard and sort and savor our candy for a good hour before we put what was left away to tease our older brothers with later.

The inside of the house was small, but perfect for them.  I watched the Ed Sullivan Show in their living room almost every Saturday night while my parents went square dancing.  They had a living room set that was brownish gray with silver tinsel woven into the fabric.  I thought it looked quite expensive.  An oil painting hung over the couch in Autumn colors of trees and a creek.  There was a heating unit that was the size of a small desk in the living room, which warmed the entire house.  Grandma had a little cast iron that she would place on the heater to warm, and she had a little child-size ironing board that she would put in front of it for me to use to iron my doll clothes.  She had a rocking chair that sat beside the heater with a little stool for her feet.  I would rub lotion on her feet and she would tell me that someday I would be a wonderful nurse.  Grandma had a stroke that left her with limited mobility on one side.  She shuffled through the house dragging one foot and had only one good arm to cook, sew, can and clean with...but she did a great job.

One of my favorite days with Grandma was when she made noodles, butterballs, and angel food cake.  You have to make all three the same day...if you have noodle soup...you have to put butterballs in it...and since you make noodles with egg yolks - you have to make angel food cake with the whites.  All the German ladies made their own noodles and butterballs in Lyman...and they all thought their own was the absolute BEST!  The mark of a good noodle was how thin and tiny you could cut them.  Even with only one hand, Grandma made the tiniest noodles as far as I could tell.  She would cut the noodles and carefully place them on clean sheets she had laid on the beds to dry.  It was a sight!  I still love that soup...haven't had it forever.  You had to grow up with it.  Anyone who has ever tasted the butterballs that did not grow up with them, find them rather disgusting.  They are a little like Matzo balls with butter, cream, eggs, bread crumbs, and a ton of allspice.  YUM!  My husband and kids hate them.  

Grandma also made me fried bologna, German garlic sausage, fried potatoes, Rye bread, and Greble (a fried donut).  Mmmm, the tastes of my childhood.  I have to admit, it doesn't all sound as appealing as it was years ago.  It is the experience that I long for.  Grandma could shave the skin off a potato with her knife so close, there was hardly anything shed!  There was no wasting anything!  She came from the Depression Generation that saved every bread tie and bag. Her tiny kitchen was so efficient.  The work space was the table you ate on that sat in front of the window.  In Lyman, they would blow a town whistle at noon that everyone could hear.  I would sit with grandma and grandpa sometimes for lunch.  They were silent during lunch because that is when Paul Harvey was on the radio and then the hog report came on.  I still don't understand why they listened to that...they didn't raise hogs.  

I loved being at my grandparent's house.  It was quiet and interesting.  When my grandparents did talk, it was a mixture of Russian, German, and English and they always sounded like they were cussing.  They were upset with the neighbors who didn't keep their yard up, with my brothers for not tucking their shirts in their pants, with the president, the weather, the lazy people, the other Germans who were trying to out-do them...I just thought that old German people liked to complain...that was their way of conversing.

Sometimes I would spend the night with my grandparents.  I have the guest bedroom set that I slept in as a child when I stayed with them.  A metal full size bed that is dark brown and has some paint drips on it from when my mom  painted the guest room for Grandma.  I have never removed the drips...I can't because that it the way the bed was when I was little and I don't want to change it.  The set also consists of a vanity that had a salmon-pink covered stool that had the same tinsel as the couch woven into the fabric.  I thought it was decadent to have a place to sit and look into the mirror.  I never sat there as a little girl, somehow I thought I wasn't mature enough.  Sometimes my cousin Stephanie visited from Colorado and we slept in the bed together.  There is a tall dresser that stood in the corner and a cedar chest that held wonderful mysteries we could only imagine. The wood floors in the house creaked when you walked on them.  There was a mirror in the hall that had pink flamingos on it that I liked to look at myself in.  Every Saturday, Grandma would "rinse" her hair with something in a copper bottle.  It made her hair have a blueish hue...but all the grandma ladies in Lyman used it and had blue hair.  Grandma used to get up in the middle of the night several times to use the bathroom, which was located between the bedrooms.  I remember thinking, "Why does she have to go to the bathroom in the middle of  the night so much?"  I now have the answer to that question as I frequent the place myself in the night these days.

Grandma and Grandpa drank a glass of Boone's Farm Strawberry Hill wine every night and took a dose of Milk of Magnesia.  When I stayed with them, Grandma gave me a dose of Milk of Magnesia before bed time as well.  They always had Neapolitan ice cream in the freezer, which I pronounced Napoleon. I remember cracking the ice in the metal ice trays using the metal lever that your fingers stuck to.  Grandma defrosted her freezer EVERY week.  I drank juice out of used jelly jars.  Grandma almost always wore an apron, a flowered cotton dress, and had her hair in a bun.  She never threw out old clothes, she made quilts from her old dresses as well as stuffed animals.  

Grandpa and Grandma worked hard, even though they were retired.  They never sat around.  Grandma became angry with my older brothers once and tried to spank them with a spoon and they laughed at her...she kicked them out of the house.  Grandpa smoked cigars and drank beer in the garage where  Grandma couldn't see him.  He stayed outside of the house most of the day, coming in for meals and when it was time to start settling in for the evening.  He was creative and innovative.  To help Grandma exercise after her stroke he made a pedal machine that she could use while she sat in her chair.  He made stair rails out of pipe, and loved to baby and tinker with his car...a 1964 Chevy Impala that was green and pristine!  

I loved spending time with my grandparents...in fact, I even pretended to be sick once so I wouldn't have to go to school, in the first grade, so I could spend   the day with them!  I knew my mother had to go to town and wouldn't be home to take care of me, so she packed me up with my Siamese cat and we spent the day with Grandma and Grandpa. I have a vivid memory of my grandmother's purse...she always carried Juicy Fruit gum in her purse and you could smell it as soon as she opened it!  I loved the gum, but the flavor would run out quickly.  I would tell my grandma that the gum had no more flavor and she would get out the sugar bowl and rolled my chewed gum in it and hand it back to me.  I thought that was great!  I loved her Juicy Fruit smelling purse.  Every once in a while she didn't have Juicy Fruit...she had these big, soft, pink wintergreen candies that reminded me of the smell of the stuff they would sprinkle at school any time someone threw up.  I hated those. 

It was wonderful...my time in the Little Pink House that made my childhood special and made me feel loved.  I will forever cherish my memories of my grandparents in that house.  They didn't always live there, but it is the memories that are most vivid to me when they were "In the Pink."

  

Musical Beds

All my life, I have had trouble sleeping.  I remember when I was about 4 or 5 years old, my mother escorted me back to my bedroom in the middle of the night and said..."You can do whatever you want...play with your toys or look at books, but you must stay in your room.  Do not wake anyone up because you can't sleep!"  It worked.  I stayed in my room and everyone else slept.  Somehow, I can't seem to impart that nugget of wisdom to my own children. 

I usually sleep between 3 - 5 hours each night.  My sleep problems are frustrating enough without adding my husband, children, and pets to the mix.  My family likes to play a little game I call "Musical Beds" and it goes like this...

First, the fattest cat will jump on the bed making tidal waves as she walks toward my head.  She has always been the demanding one, but with age has gotten a little cranky.  She will walk up to my face and nudge me to pet her.  I am a little afraid because if I don't pet her exactly where she wants...she will bite me.  I usually get bitten several times...so much for drifting off peacefully.

Next, after hearing my whimpers, the dog will leave my daughters bed and jump up on mine thinking I am calling him to come play.  He will repeatedly dive on top of me to play "All Star Wrestling."  After I cower under the covers and play dead, the dog, gives up makes 3 circles and curls up at the bottom of the bed.  Up to this point, my husband, who went to bed at least 4 hours before... is oblivious to the turmoil happening next to him. 

Just about the time I am drifting off, the bulimic cat will start to yowl downstairs (The ADHD dog somehow locks the cat door to the garage where the litter box is located every night)  I will get up to unlock the door.  The cat will be doing the "Potty Dance" in front of the door and bolt through it as soon as I open it.  As a punishment to me, when she has finished her business in the box...she will deliberately walk across my car windows with her moist paws about 32 times. 

Back upstairs in my bed, I again spend 15 -20 minutes trying to drift off... about that time, my 7 year old will come stand silently beside the bed staring at me with his face 6 inches away from mine.  When I realize the moist, hot air I am breathing is not from the tropical breeze I was just beginning to dream about...I almost pee the bed as I suddenly realize there is someone standing next to me.  He is scared about something and wants to sleep with me.  He climbs over me to the middle of the bed.  He will have stepped on my full bladder, causing me to do the "Potty Dance" all the way to the bathroom.

How is it that a little child can take up twice as much room as an adult in bed?  It is like sleeping with an octopus!  An elbow to my carotid, a kick in my kidney, a slap in the face...why are children sooooo violent in their sleep?  My daughter use to pull my hair in her sleep when she was younger!  Half way through the battle I will ask my husband to take Alex back to bed and sleep with him so he won't be scared.  Whew!  Finally...room to stretch out and relax so I can sleep.

About the time I'm drifting off, the youngest will have wet through his "Big Boy Night-Night Pants" and need me to change his pajamas then will insist on sleeping with me.  My tween daughter will join us 30 minutes later because she had a bad dream.  All the animals will return to bite and attack.  And at some point my oldest son may walk in his sleep and I will have to get up to guide him back to bed.  I may spend the rest of the night on the couch...but at 4 am my husband gets up to exercise and get ready for work.  He turns every light on, cranks up the radio, and makes enough noise to raise the dead...so I go back upstairs and try to sleep in the "group bed" once again.

My alarm goes off at 6 am and I am more tired than when I went to bed!  My friend once said she saw a t-shirt that said, "I will sleep when I die"...I certainly hope so...because while I am alive - it ain't gonna happen! 

Musical Beds may not be my favorite game, but it sure makes my kids laugh every time we talk about the antics that go on at night!  I can only hope they have children that will do the same to them one day.

A Hair Raising Experience!

   I am not necessarily an impulsive person.  I can be very flexible...kind of a necessity when you have four children...but I usually think through major decisions.  Hair, for any woman, is a major decision.  We spend a lot of time finding just the right person to cut, color, and style our hair.  We purchase products that give quality results.  We spend time making sure our hair looks just right.   The only exception to this rule is when we can't get an appoint with our cosmetologist...then...we do impulsive things!

   Last spring, I asked my hair dresser to start working in some of my gray to the color scheme.  I have had gray hair since I was 16 years old and was growing tired of coloring it.  I could schedule an appointment every 4-5 weeks for a color, but my gray was becoming very noticeable at 3 weeks!  I thought since I was turning 50, it would be o.k. to show my gray (especially if it was as pretty as my brother's.)  I also noticed that more people were asking my children about their "grandma" that drove them to school...well...if I was going to be referred to as my children's grandmother - then why was I paying to have my hair colored?

   My hair stylist tried all sorts of things for 8 months trying to work the gray in. I had highlights, more highlights, low lights, a medium base with highlights, and more highlights, and more highlights...until I was bleach blonde.  Not really what I had anticipated.  I had very dark, german, curly hair before. I had told my husband that I may have to cut it all off and start over to get back to my natural color.  I think he was tired of me complaining and said, "Well, why not!  You wouldn't have to color your hair anymore!"  I mistakenly took this as encouragement, forgetting how frugal my minimalist husband is...who was probably just thinking he could save a lot of money if I quit coloring my hair.  I should've known better...he usually doesn't agree with me.

   Well...I tried to get my hair colored in February when I was 4 weeks into the bleach blonde...no open appointments.  I tried at 5 weeks...nope...at 6 weeks...nothing!  O.K. Now I am desperate!  When I volunteered at the school one day, my son's first grade classmates asked me what was wrong with my hair...why was it 2 different colors?  Rotten kids!  That was it!!!!  I went home and thought..."I am going to do it!"  "I have at least a half inch of white hair showing...I can shave it off."  Always wanting to make memories for my children (whose hair I always cut)...I decided to let my 6 year old shave my head.  Hmmmm.  Looking back now...probably not the greatest idea.

   I walked out of the bathroom and my 16 year old son fell on the floor laughing.  Not the most encouraging sign.  My six year old kept staring at me with a look of horror.  My 12 year old daughter came down the stairs to see what all the commotion was and started screaming then started laughing.  I picked my 4 year old up at preschool (wearing a hat) and he yelled across the room..."MooooooooooM!  What are you wearing a hat for?  Take it off!"  He ran over and tried to rip the hat off my newly shaven head.  I was dodging and ducking him in an effort to keep my head covered...I wasn't ready to go public yet with the previous reactions I received.  We made it to the car and the the little scoundrel pulled off my hat. He yelled at the top of his lungs, "What did you do that for?!  Who cut off all your hair????  You need to put it back!!!!"

   I wasn't feeling very confident about my impulsive decision right about then.  My husband came home from work and laughed...a little too hard and too long.  That was the point I thought, "Surely, there is not much more humiliation that a person can endure."  I was wrong.

   As my hair is growing out...it has gone through some interesting stages.  I can't say they have added to my confidence level, but they have certainly made for some interesting observations and discussions with family and friends.  The following are the stages...each one named by a family member or friend.  I hope you can laugh along with me...because at this point...it is either laugh or cry...I choose...laugh.

Day One - "THE CANCER SURVIVOR" Look

One Month - "HAIR STYLIST GOT SCISSOR HAPPY" Look

First 4 Months - LOTS OF HATS!

And CAPS!

Month 2 - "THE BUTCHY LESBIAN" Look

Month 3 - "The POODLE" Look

Month 4 - "OLD LADY CHURCH HAIR" Look

Month 4 (Combed Out) - "GEORGE WASHINGTON HAIR"

Month 5 - "THE ELVIS FRONT CURL" Look

Month 6 - "THE ALBERT EINSTEIN" Look

Month 7 - "THE RAT'S NEST" Look

   So, Friends...this is a great opportunity to learn from another's mistake...just wait for the hair stylist!

The Return of the Chicken Man

     I have always preferred small town to big city, rural to metropolis, and mom & pop shops to large chains.  This year I've noticed just how much our small town is trying to keep up with the big boys.  About an hour from my house is a big city.  If you follow the highway towards my little town you will hit another city...smaller...but still big enough to house 4 Starbucks, a Target, a Sam's Club, and traffic cams that will ensure a ticket with your picture sent to you if you aren't careful.  A short drive later is my little rural town with it's one stop light and 200 free-range chihauhuas.

    It is apparent that the people in my town have come to the conclusion that advertising is necessary to ensure business.  At first I was a little appalled at their approach, but I have come to enjoy their efforts.  One evening as I was driving through town, I noticed a hand-painted sign on plywood propped against a telephone pole outside our "sketchy" grocery store.  In big dripping letters...it read, "MEAT  $3.59 lb".  Instantly, I thought..."What meat?  All meat?  Why is it all the same price? and Who on earth who go in there to buy anything that could expire (chances are it was long past that date?)  It must have been quite a sale...the sign remained for months until a big gust of wind blew it over and people just drove over the top of it thinking it was a repair job for the potholes.

     The following picture is a local example of "small town advertising"- also hand painted on plywood and propped up against a garbage can... I think you can tell the type of neighborhood you're in by the way they advertise their yard sales.  I had to get out of my car and look at the merchandise...I bet you can only imagine what type of treasures I saw!  Yes that is my "Purple People Eater Mid-Life Crisis" Car parked behind the sign!!!

     I think sign-waivers can be very entertaining.  The way they dance and move can be fun to watch as you almost hit the car in front of you.  Of course not all businesses can pay someone to dance on the street...so there are mechanical mannequins that waive signs in a jerky motion that may attract interest.  I've seen several of these advertising body piercing and tattoo parlors locally.  But my all time favorite is our own "Chicken Man."  I first saw "Chicken Man" last year when he was propped up against a sign that read "1 hour parking - 24 hours a day."  I don't really know why someone would want to park by "Chicken Man" for more than an hour...let alone at all, but hey, let's obey the law!  This must not be "Chicken Man's" first gig.  In fact, I'm pretty sure this might be his last stop before retirement.  "Chicken Man" has more than a few feathers missing and the ones left are black from traffic exhaust, his vinyl face is peeling from the sun, his cracked beak is crooked, he has one hand, a peg-leg, and a red sock on the other half-exposed leg.  "Chicken man's" costume doesn't close in the back (how embarrassing), he is wearing a child's sombrero, and he is tied by the neck with a rope to the pole.  "Chicken Man" does NOT conjure up images of juicy chicken cooked on a grill...yet...that is what he is advertising...in only Spanish!  I wonder who their target group is?!  "Chicken Man" stands by the side of the main highway that runs through town.  He stands alone tied to the sign under a tree beside the "Sketchy" Grocery store that advertised "MEAT".  There is usually a man standing  behind "Chicken Man" at an oil drum, cut in half with smoke pouring out, poking the pollos with a long stick. As I drive by, I wonder if any of the pollos looked like "Chicken Man"...mangy and old!?  I don't get an appetizing feeling from the sight.  In fact, "Chicken Man" may be a great appetite suppressant for me.

     A few months back, "Chicken Man" disappeared.  It was left to our imaginations what could have possibly happened.  Perhaps a car ran him over...he caught fire from the smoking oil drum...or he finally retired to the "Old Chicken Man Home...a.k.a. the dump."  They advertised with the hand painted sign on plywood propped in front of the parking sign.  It seemed lonely.  Drab.  Sad.  I actually missed "Chicken Man."  Then....a few weeks ago..."Chicken Man" returned!  Apparently, he was just on vacation!  Once again...the world has been put right!  Well, at least as far as the mystery of "Chicken Man" is concerned.

     I can't say small town advertising is perfect.  But, I can say it is creative and a little endearing.  So, next time you want to go to a "Big Ass Sale", buy some "Meat", or want some "Pollo" cooked on an oil drum...just visit the next small town you pass through...or Not...Olive Garden is 45 miles north!!!

Laboring Labor Day

  Many people go camping, swimming, boating, hiking, or other fun activities on Labor Day weekend.  Our family has built the tradition of celebrating 3-day weekends by re-arranging the garage.  My husband started this tradition years ago, much to the chagrin of the rest of the family.  First, we procrastinate until noon saying things like, "I need another cup of coffee"... "I just need to check the email first"..."I have to go to the bathroom"..."I need to eat."  After sufficient procrastination, we whine, mumble, sigh, and move extremely slowly to the garage.

   The fun begins as we drag the contents out of the garage onto the driveway in front of our house.  Throughout the day, there will be many people stop to peruse our treasures thinking we are having a "Yard Sale".  I have to tell them we are not selling any of the items, while my husband is nodding his head frantically in the background trying to get me to sell my grandmother's hand crocheted tablecloth to a stranger for $1.50.  

   By 4pm we have emptied the garage, filled the garbage and recycling cans, and are blowing, sweeping, and scrubbing out the empty shell.  The little boys are drenched from playing in the hose and have sprayed the cars, the windows, the dog, me, and half the garage contents at this point.  My teens are practicing extreme whining techniques, I am downing ibuprofen, and my husband is becoming frantic that we can't put it all back before the sun sets!  

   My husband likes to arrange the contents of the garage asthetically. Boxes of the same size, color, or material (plastic, cardboard, etc...).  Because he is a minimalist and nothing in the garage holds importance for him...organizing the contents by use is of no interest to my husband.  There will be Christmas ornaments next to light bulbs, and tools behind the litter box.  For the next 2-3 months, I will be rummaging through the garage in search of a screwdriver or extension cord.  When I am unable to locate what I am looking for, I will go to the store and purchase a new one.  I will be able to use it until the next time we celebrate a President's Birthday, Honor Dead People, Explorers, or Martin Luther King by re-arranging the garage!  

   My family is hoping to one day celebrate 3-day weekends differently...but it may not be until my husband becomes senile and forgets that we have a garage.  Until then, we will continue...