I have now been working from home for two and a half years, which is unbelievable to me. Just like with all “jobs” I have had to pay my dues, but I’m in a good client right now with plenty of opportunity and I enjoy the work. There have been some recent changes which will bring some welcome adjustments to how I do my work. I’m looking forward to the change! Since I am a self employed person under contract, I do get to set my own hours, I do get to work remotely and every day is casual Friday. Some more casual than others.
Some drawbacks. I have to set aside money for taxes. I also try to set aside money to pay myself vacation days, holidays, sick days. If my electricity goes out, I’m done for. If I have an equipment failure, its all on me.
Twice in the last year, my mail person has come into my driveway to drop off a box, which in itself is shocking since my old mail person would never come down the driveway. On both those occasions, it was my super casual day. In other words, I was in my jammies and slightly embarrassed. It was probably two in the afternoon. My mail person is someone I have known for quite a while. She said “Girl, if I could drive this truck in my jammies I would!”
And seriously, who wouldn’t?
Monday, June 7, 2010
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Storytelling
So we’re done stomping around in my memories. I hope my flashbacks have perhaps encouraged you to think about your history. Share it with your kids. A few weeks ago one of my children said she was going to print out my entries so she could keep them. When we go through family pictures it will help give her a frame of reference. Unlike looking through my husband’s family pictures, where we live on the same piece of property he lived on as a child. There again, not saying one is better than another. Just different.
I’ve been really inspired lately by people who spin a good yarn. Tell a good tale. I’d like to be a story teller. I wish I could make stuff up from beginning to end. Oh, I have made up plenty of things but I sometimes wish I could write a book or at least a really good “novelette” or feature. It must have been really exciting back in the day to sit around a radio and listen for the story to start. Or around a campfire, horses and cattle settled down for the evening. I’ve had some great conversations around a fire. I’ve also had some really good silences around a fire.
We had a bonfire at our home a couple weeks ago. It was a spur of the moment kind of thing and was actually proposed by a family member. He had some wood scraps left from a home project and asked if he could bring it out to burn. Next, he wondered about a gathering around the fire and a get together was formed. As it turns out, it was a small, enjoyable crowd. The fire was hot, and crackly and reflecting off the water as the moon and stars came out. There were boisterous party noises across the lake and an occasional motor could be heard as boats returned to their slips and docks, or perhaps a late night cruise. One boat was on the hunt for frogs and we observed as it trolled along the shore, it’s search slow and near silent. We found ourselves whispering as it passed. The evening served as a reverent acknowledgement of the birth of a new boy. There were cigars and microbrews, a lovely, mild evening, plenty of dark and an interesting mix of folks. It was good...and life is.
I’ve been really inspired lately by people who spin a good yarn. Tell a good tale. I’d like to be a story teller. I wish I could make stuff up from beginning to end. Oh, I have made up plenty of things but I sometimes wish I could write a book or at least a really good “novelette” or feature. It must have been really exciting back in the day to sit around a radio and listen for the story to start. Or around a campfire, horses and cattle settled down for the evening. I’ve had some great conversations around a fire. I’ve also had some really good silences around a fire.
We had a bonfire at our home a couple weeks ago. It was a spur of the moment kind of thing and was actually proposed by a family member. He had some wood scraps left from a home project and asked if he could bring it out to burn. Next, he wondered about a gathering around the fire and a get together was formed. As it turns out, it was a small, enjoyable crowd. The fire was hot, and crackly and reflecting off the water as the moon and stars came out. There were boisterous party noises across the lake and an occasional motor could be heard as boats returned to their slips and docks, or perhaps a late night cruise. One boat was on the hunt for frogs and we observed as it trolled along the shore, it’s search slow and near silent. We found ourselves whispering as it passed. The evening served as a reverent acknowledgement of the birth of a new boy. There were cigars and microbrews, a lovely, mild evening, plenty of dark and an interesting mix of folks. It was good...and life is.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Chesterton Indiana
Chesterton, Indiana was not quite ready for us and we were not quite ready for Chesterton. We were a little too modern for Cheese town. I did what I always did. I changed, I adapted. Soon, I was at all the football games and working on the prom committee and that kind of thing. I probably would not have been involved in those activities in Bloomington. I accumulated, for the first time in my life, a group of “girlfriends”. To the beach, shopping, to the movies and hanging out uptown at the park or at The Port...a root beer drive in.
My mom and dad decided to settle in Chesterton. It was close to family, something we had never been around, and centrally located for my dad’s work. My parents bought a house. A real house, on a street, with a garage and a big backyard. It was a new experience for all of us. 101 Westchester Court. A great home.
I finished my junior year with a lot of memories and friends. There was a big group of girls that boycotted prom. I can’t remember why, but we did. We had a MORP party instead at one of the girls houses. It was great fun. I also had decided to run for an office in my Senior Class...mainly because I didn’t think the other two people who had announced the were going to try for Vice President were very exciting. I was elected. My senior year was perfect from beginning to end. We had a great homecoming float, we had fun at football games and after game dances. We loved our basketball and track teams and our swim team was always highly ranked. I did go to prom my senior year and had a wonderful time. We partied in corn fields and bean fields and out at the dunes. We went to the 49er Drive In and snuck by the ticket booth in trunks of cars.
I love Chesterton still. Its changed, its bigger, it has a little different vibe than it did in 1972 when I graduated from high school. Soon, it was too small for me and wasn’t bringing me the satisfaction I sought. My dad was traveling to jobs a lot and since I graduated, and Kevin was very independent, my mom started traveling with Dad again. I moved back to Bloomington with the intention of going to college but that never really worked out. My parents weren’t of the mind that girls get college educations and they didn’t really know how to help me out with that plan. So, I worked in Bloomington, was considered a “townie” in the bars and got really tired of being asked what my major was...and grew up.
I moved back to Chesterton to my parent’s home in the fall of 1976. By Christmas of that same year, after shopping for a Christmas present for Kevin in the local men’s store, I had met Chris and we began dating. Our first date was just after Christmas 1976 and by March we were engaged, married in October of 1977. I was satisfied indeed, and a new life was beginning for me.
Soon I would be in LaPorte and in a big family, where everyone knew someone in Chris’ family. His family had a small grocery store and there were always people who commented on the store, or the lake or one of his brothers. We would ride through town and he referred to houses by the family name of who lived there when he was growing up. “The Jones House” or “The Muratori House”. It was foreign to me, those kinds of memories. He knew everyone it seemed to me. I realized how different my life had been than his. It didn’t bother me, in fact I have always been grateful for my childhood, the travels, the things I’ve seen and done. However, I had not really thought about the memories I did not have. When Chris’ grandmother passed away, we went to lunch after the funeral at St. Joe’s school. He and his brothers and sister were reminiscing about their school days there. I thought “Wow, except for Chesterton High School, and Bloomington and faded memories of the school in California, I have absolutely no recollection of schools”. They could talk about lunch money, lunch ladies and how much milk cost, what kids looked like, who the teachers were and recess. They knew the bathrooms, the tile on the floor. They had spent years and years there. It was not something I could wrap my head around. I didn’t think it was better or worse mind you...just so unfamiliar to me.
Years later, after Adam was born, I was taking a babysitter home. She lived on Small Road and as she pointed out the driveway I realized I knew the people who lived there before. Who her parents had bought the house from. I knew why they left town and where their new home was located. I was probably close to 30 years old and was as happy as I had ever been. I had roots!
My mom and dad decided to settle in Chesterton. It was close to family, something we had never been around, and centrally located for my dad’s work. My parents bought a house. A real house, on a street, with a garage and a big backyard. It was a new experience for all of us. 101 Westchester Court. A great home.
I finished my junior year with a lot of memories and friends. There was a big group of girls that boycotted prom. I can’t remember why, but we did. We had a MORP party instead at one of the girls houses. It was great fun. I also had decided to run for an office in my Senior Class...mainly because I didn’t think the other two people who had announced the were going to try for Vice President were very exciting. I was elected. My senior year was perfect from beginning to end. We had a great homecoming float, we had fun at football games and after game dances. We loved our basketball and track teams and our swim team was always highly ranked. I did go to prom my senior year and had a wonderful time. We partied in corn fields and bean fields and out at the dunes. We went to the 49er Drive In and snuck by the ticket booth in trunks of cars.
I love Chesterton still. Its changed, its bigger, it has a little different vibe than it did in 1972 when I graduated from high school. Soon, it was too small for me and wasn’t bringing me the satisfaction I sought. My dad was traveling to jobs a lot and since I graduated, and Kevin was very independent, my mom started traveling with Dad again. I moved back to Bloomington with the intention of going to college but that never really worked out. My parents weren’t of the mind that girls get college educations and they didn’t really know how to help me out with that plan. So, I worked in Bloomington, was considered a “townie” in the bars and got really tired of being asked what my major was...and grew up.
I moved back to Chesterton to my parent’s home in the fall of 1976. By Christmas of that same year, after shopping for a Christmas present for Kevin in the local men’s store, I had met Chris and we began dating. Our first date was just after Christmas 1976 and by March we were engaged, married in October of 1977. I was satisfied indeed, and a new life was beginning for me.
Soon I would be in LaPorte and in a big family, where everyone knew someone in Chris’ family. His family had a small grocery store and there were always people who commented on the store, or the lake or one of his brothers. We would ride through town and he referred to houses by the family name of who lived there when he was growing up. “The Jones House” or “The Muratori House”. It was foreign to me, those kinds of memories. He knew everyone it seemed to me. I realized how different my life had been than his. It didn’t bother me, in fact I have always been grateful for my childhood, the travels, the things I’ve seen and done. However, I had not really thought about the memories I did not have. When Chris’ grandmother passed away, we went to lunch after the funeral at St. Joe’s school. He and his brothers and sister were reminiscing about their school days there. I thought “Wow, except for Chesterton High School, and Bloomington and faded memories of the school in California, I have absolutely no recollection of schools”. They could talk about lunch money, lunch ladies and how much milk cost, what kids looked like, who the teachers were and recess. They knew the bathrooms, the tile on the floor. They had spent years and years there. It was not something I could wrap my head around. I didn’t think it was better or worse mind you...just so unfamiliar to me.
Years later, after Adam was born, I was taking a babysitter home. She lived on Small Road and as she pointed out the driveway I realized I knew the people who lived there before. Who her parents had bought the house from. I knew why they left town and where their new home was located. I was probably close to 30 years old and was as happy as I had ever been. I had roots!
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Bloomington Indiana. What a wonderful town. It was just the right spot for us to be after the wild and crazy free love environment of San Francisco and the laid back Happy Camp. When we hit Bloomington High School, we were too cool for words. We LOVED going onto IU’s campus where we could find more of our kind of “crowd”..a little older, a little more “hip”.
The kids at Bloomington High School (now Bloomington South) were a good mix of kids..farm kids, townies, stoners, jocks. There was a second high school in Bloomington, University High School...which was just off campus and the kids there were a little edgier. Their parents were professors, grad students or international guests and instructors. We liked University High School but attended Bloomington, which was on the outskirts of the southern edge of Bloomington. Still located there today, its no longer in a country setting. University High School does not exist and was transitioned into Bloomington North. It does still have more students that have campus affiliations but doesn’t have that same “mini IU” that University did when we were there.
My sister and I were considered “hippies” then. I guess we were. I wore long, flowered “granny” dresses and had a pair of lace up suede boots that I loved. I also wore shawls, no coat. We were clean, however, so I’m not sure we qualified as true hippies. Kevin was in junior high..at Central which was right at the intersection of 2nd Street and College and is now a park area just on the edge of Kroger parking lot. He became a pretty good athlete.
As a side note, at some point in time during the mid to late 60s my dad turned down two assignments. The first was to Portugal. He and my mom decided they did not want to do an international assignment. The second was a long term assignment in Orlando, Florida. You guessed it. Disney World. Much construction. But, my mom’s dad had passed away, and she did not want to be that far from my grandmother in southern Illinois long term. So, Dad turned that down as well and requested to be assigned to midwest projects from here on out.
We had moved in to a new mobile home in Bloomington. It was awesome, spacious and modern. Still in a nice mobile home park, close to the high school. Micki was dating, I was flirting and secretly “dating”. Maybe it would be called hanging out these days, but, it was fun. I had a nice boyfriend named Parker.
As stated in an earlier post, my dad was working on Assembly Hall which wasn’t a very long assignment for just the steel work. We weren’t in Bloomington long but like all visitors to Bloomington, we loved it and hated to leave. But, soon we were being transported to a small town in northern Indiana. Chesterton, which would end up being the longest we had ever lived anywhere. I started my junior year in Bloomington, and we got to Chesterton in about October of 1970. Micki was a senior and by December, she had dropped out of school, left home and headed back to Bloomington, having not fit in to Chesterton. She would be turning 18 in January so my parents did not try to get her to come back. I can’t say that I missed her but worried about her. There had been so much turmoil and trouble between her and my parents that I welcomed the quiet.
The kids at Bloomington High School (now Bloomington South) were a good mix of kids..farm kids, townies, stoners, jocks. There was a second high school in Bloomington, University High School...which was just off campus and the kids there were a little edgier. Their parents were professors, grad students or international guests and instructors. We liked University High School but attended Bloomington, which was on the outskirts of the southern edge of Bloomington. Still located there today, its no longer in a country setting. University High School does not exist and was transitioned into Bloomington North. It does still have more students that have campus affiliations but doesn’t have that same “mini IU” that University did when we were there.
My sister and I were considered “hippies” then. I guess we were. I wore long, flowered “granny” dresses and had a pair of lace up suede boots that I loved. I also wore shawls, no coat. We were clean, however, so I’m not sure we qualified as true hippies. Kevin was in junior high..at Central which was right at the intersection of 2nd Street and College and is now a park area just on the edge of Kroger parking lot. He became a pretty good athlete.
As a side note, at some point in time during the mid to late 60s my dad turned down two assignments. The first was to Portugal. He and my mom decided they did not want to do an international assignment. The second was a long term assignment in Orlando, Florida. You guessed it. Disney World. Much construction. But, my mom’s dad had passed away, and she did not want to be that far from my grandmother in southern Illinois long term. So, Dad turned that down as well and requested to be assigned to midwest projects from here on out.
We had moved in to a new mobile home in Bloomington. It was awesome, spacious and modern. Still in a nice mobile home park, close to the high school. Micki was dating, I was flirting and secretly “dating”. Maybe it would be called hanging out these days, but, it was fun. I had a nice boyfriend named Parker.
As stated in an earlier post, my dad was working on Assembly Hall which wasn’t a very long assignment for just the steel work. We weren’t in Bloomington long but like all visitors to Bloomington, we loved it and hated to leave. But, soon we were being transported to a small town in northern Indiana. Chesterton, which would end up being the longest we had ever lived anywhere. I started my junior year in Bloomington, and we got to Chesterton in about October of 1970. Micki was a senior and by December, she had dropped out of school, left home and headed back to Bloomington, having not fit in to Chesterton. She would be turning 18 in January so my parents did not try to get her to come back. I can’t say that I missed her but worried about her. There had been so much turmoil and trouble between her and my parents that I welcomed the quiet.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Happy Camp
After we lived it up in San Francisco, we were on our way to Northern California to a charming little village named Happy Camp. Way up in logging and Indian territory. My dad was going to be doing a short term assignment on the Indian Reservation there. Yes, we were the minority. It was an interesting and rugged and wonderful place. It was indeed happy.
We had a great house in Happy Camp. I still wonder why it was there and why it was available for us for about 4 months. The town was small and there was a general mercantile there. I’ll never forget it. It had stacks and stacks of original red tag button fly Levi jeans. The kind of jeans that was all the rage back in the southern part of the state and difficult and expensive to find. But this was also the jean of the logger. The mercantile was exactly like you would suspect...a little of everything. It was fantastic.
Behind our great house in Happy Camp was a creek. The creek would be dammed by a couple downed trees and a pretty nice swimming hole created. Cliff on one side to jump from. Not bad. Populated on most days by other kids, including some native american kids and young adults. Our first day there, before it was dammed up, Kevin, Micki and I were walking along the creek. Somehow my footing slipped and I was being carried downstream. Quickly. Kevin ran along...he was all of 12 or so....and at some point was able to get to me and snatch my butt out of the creek. I was banged up, wet and forever grateful.
Soon, the kids came and got the creek dammed up, the rope swing tied up and all was great in Happy Camp. My sister was restless and we sometimes had Indians at our window at night, enticing us to come outside. Micki often did, and that’s all I know about that.
We were happy in Happy Camp. It was an adventure, a time warp, another world. It was beautiful and rugged and rough. We left there in October, sorry to go but headed to Bloomington, Indiana where my dad would be the superintendent to build the great Assembly Hall, which has a roof line that is patterned after a suspension bridge. After San Francisco and Happy Camp, a college town was about the next best thing! It was 1969, man had walked on the moon and the times, they were a changin’.
We had a great house in Happy Camp. I still wonder why it was there and why it was available for us for about 4 months. The town was small and there was a general mercantile there. I’ll never forget it. It had stacks and stacks of original red tag button fly Levi jeans. The kind of jeans that was all the rage back in the southern part of the state and difficult and expensive to find. But this was also the jean of the logger. The mercantile was exactly like you would suspect...a little of everything. It was fantastic.
Behind our great house in Happy Camp was a creek. The creek would be dammed by a couple downed trees and a pretty nice swimming hole created. Cliff on one side to jump from. Not bad. Populated on most days by other kids, including some native american kids and young adults. Our first day there, before it was dammed up, Kevin, Micki and I were walking along the creek. Somehow my footing slipped and I was being carried downstream. Quickly. Kevin ran along...he was all of 12 or so....and at some point was able to get to me and snatch my butt out of the creek. I was banged up, wet and forever grateful.
Soon, the kids came and got the creek dammed up, the rope swing tied up and all was great in Happy Camp. My sister was restless and we sometimes had Indians at our window at night, enticing us to come outside. Micki often did, and that’s all I know about that.
We were happy in Happy Camp. It was an adventure, a time warp, another world. It was beautiful and rugged and rough. We left there in October, sorry to go but headed to Bloomington, Indiana where my dad would be the superintendent to build the great Assembly Hall, which has a roof line that is patterned after a suspension bridge. After San Francisco and Happy Camp, a college town was about the next best thing! It was 1969, man had walked on the moon and the times, they were a changin’.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
San Francisco
What is there to say about this lovely place that hasn’t been said by countless numbers of people? The streets are twisty...especially Lombard Street. The trolley cars...cute. The people. The weirdos. The winos.
First, although I have mentioned that I am quite old, we were not in San Francisco because my dad was putting up the Golden Gate bridge...no. But we were there because American Bridge was replacing the original rivets and cables on the Golden Gate bridge. Pretty exciting stuff. I was 13 when we arrived in San Francisco. My parents, sister and brother and I lived in a three bedroom apartment building in a complex on a cliffside. It was pretty spectacular in the Marin County area and our schools were nice, clean and oh yeah, just like in the movies, we were outside a lot....even at school. From our apartment complex, if you had a telescope, you could see the prisoners in the San Quentin yard right across the bay. Things were tumultuous in San Franciso, too. War protests, sit ins, dancing in the streets.
There were great open fields and hills behind the apartment complex. We'd be gone for hours and hours. There were tall, weedy grasses covering the hills and we use to take cardboard and sled down the hills. The grass when bent over was slick as an icy, snow packed sled hill in Minnesota. Kevin and Micki convinced me to climb a "cliff face" behind the complex. I would describe it as huge but I don't have a clear cut idea really of what its dimension might have been, only that I got half way up and panicked. Kevin had to talk me down and I am sure was mortified by my girliness.
Fillmore West. Big time music hall for local and nationally known rock and roll bands. You’ve seen the posters maybe. Usually very, very psychedelic light shows, glo in the dark paint, lots of smoke in the air. Lots. My favorite band was a band from the area, “It’s A Beautiful Day”. I was thrilled not too long ago when I found their entire album on itunes. Couldn’t be happier! My mom, and I still don’t know why, use to let us go to concerts at Filmore West. Kevin, no, but Micki and I were there a lot. I can’t believe it to this day, but I can only think it was because Mom was clueless. That’s the only explanation.
My sister was a scrawny, red haired, freckle faced 15 year old. I still do not know how she did not get picked up hitchhiking by Charles Manson. She was so his “type” and he was in the area, and she hitch-hiked. Oh boy did she hitch hike. We used to get rides to Sausalito and spend all day in that very cool, very pretty, artist town. Its much bigger and commercially now as I understand it, but in 1968, it was awesome. Again, my mom must have been clueless.
I babysat for two families in the apartment complex. The first family was a single mom with a 10 year old boy and 5 year old twin boys. I was 13 mind you. She had me stay in the apartment with them for one whole weekend. I flushed my “feminine product” and stopped up the toilet. Had to call the building maintenance...after calling my mom. What was this woman thinking. I am pretty sure she was as clueless as my own mother. 3 days with three boys? All day? I was 13 for crying out loud. I remember hot dogs and cereal...and terror.
The other family, Hal and Judy Pressman. Two children, very sweet. I babysat for them around the holidays that year. I made popcorn for the kids and had to move the menorah back on the counter while pouring the melted butter on the big bowl of popcorn I had for the three of us. Out to the living room and enjoy the television. Less than 1/2 hour later....smoke. I pushed the candles back too far and the cabinets were in flames. Another call to my mom!
I had a good time in San Francisco. Micki became pretty well...gee, teen-agerish in San Francisco and there were troubled times ahead for my mom and dad and their first girl. It was going to get kinda ugly and I was going to observe, Cindi style.
First, although I have mentioned that I am quite old, we were not in San Francisco because my dad was putting up the Golden Gate bridge...no. But we were there because American Bridge was replacing the original rivets and cables on the Golden Gate bridge. Pretty exciting stuff. I was 13 when we arrived in San Francisco. My parents, sister and brother and I lived in a three bedroom apartment building in a complex on a cliffside. It was pretty spectacular in the Marin County area and our schools were nice, clean and oh yeah, just like in the movies, we were outside a lot....even at school. From our apartment complex, if you had a telescope, you could see the prisoners in the San Quentin yard right across the bay. Things were tumultuous in San Franciso, too. War protests, sit ins, dancing in the streets.
There were great open fields and hills behind the apartment complex. We'd be gone for hours and hours. There were tall, weedy grasses covering the hills and we use to take cardboard and sled down the hills. The grass when bent over was slick as an icy, snow packed sled hill in Minnesota. Kevin and Micki convinced me to climb a "cliff face" behind the complex. I would describe it as huge but I don't have a clear cut idea really of what its dimension might have been, only that I got half way up and panicked. Kevin had to talk me down and I am sure was mortified by my girliness.
Fillmore West. Big time music hall for local and nationally known rock and roll bands. You’ve seen the posters maybe. Usually very, very psychedelic light shows, glo in the dark paint, lots of smoke in the air. Lots. My favorite band was a band from the area, “It’s A Beautiful Day”. I was thrilled not too long ago when I found their entire album on itunes. Couldn’t be happier! My mom, and I still don’t know why, use to let us go to concerts at Filmore West. Kevin, no, but Micki and I were there a lot. I can’t believe it to this day, but I can only think it was because Mom was clueless. That’s the only explanation.
My sister was a scrawny, red haired, freckle faced 15 year old. I still do not know how she did not get picked up hitchhiking by Charles Manson. She was so his “type” and he was in the area, and she hitch-hiked. Oh boy did she hitch hike. We used to get rides to Sausalito and spend all day in that very cool, very pretty, artist town. Its much bigger and commercially now as I understand it, but in 1968, it was awesome. Again, my mom must have been clueless.
I babysat for two families in the apartment complex. The first family was a single mom with a 10 year old boy and 5 year old twin boys. I was 13 mind you. She had me stay in the apartment with them for one whole weekend. I flushed my “feminine product” and stopped up the toilet. Had to call the building maintenance...after calling my mom. What was this woman thinking. I am pretty sure she was as clueless as my own mother. 3 days with three boys? All day? I was 13 for crying out loud. I remember hot dogs and cereal...and terror.
The other family, Hal and Judy Pressman. Two children, very sweet. I babysat for them around the holidays that year. I made popcorn for the kids and had to move the menorah back on the counter while pouring the melted butter on the big bowl of popcorn I had for the three of us. Out to the living room and enjoy the television. Less than 1/2 hour later....smoke. I pushed the candles back too far and the cabinets were in flames. Another call to my mom!
I had a good time in San Francisco. Micki became pretty well...gee, teen-agerish in San Francisco and there were troubled times ahead for my mom and dad and their first girl. It was going to get kinda ugly and I was going to observe, Cindi style.
Monday, April 19, 2010
So, St. Paul Minnesota
Dang it was cold there. When we arrived in Minnesota, with my brother who was home from Viet Jungle Nam, it was 17 below zero. I was in 8th grade and since we never went outside, I could not tell you much about Minnesota. The boys played hockey. I got some of the cutest shoes I have ever owned at Sears in a big mall in Minneapolis. They had a buckle. I had a really cool sweater and skirt set in kind of a butterscotch tweed..with my cool new shoes, I was too cute. Then one day my period started in the middle of the school day and there was that horrible stain in the back of my butterscotch tweed skirt. I died of mortification. Right there. Died.
Put yourself in my cool shoes for just one minute. Here we go in to third person for a short dream sequence. New girl. Cute in her trendy mini skirt and sweater and to-die-for buckled shoes. Oh, her period has started and now, along with staring at her for her southern accent and new kid-ness, we get to laugh about THAT over lunch. Ugh. That may actually be why I don’t remember much about Minnesota. Selective amnesia.
Fortunately for me, we moved to San Francisco shortly after. We weren’t taking the mobile home. Sold it or something in fact. We would be living in an apartment, in Corte Madera, Marin County. We were going to be groovy by golly. I am sure my mom was freaked out. We had already lived through race riots in Alabama in 1964 in a dirty, run down park in a small town called Demopolis. Heard the news, saw the “whites only” signs, the back of the bus, separate wash room, separate drinking fountain horror that was the United States of America. Lets not forget the hurricane in 1965. But this, well, this was 1968 baby...summer of love had already attacked San Francisco California the previous year.
Launch.
Dang it was cold there. When we arrived in Minnesota, with my brother who was home from Viet Jungle Nam, it was 17 below zero. I was in 8th grade and since we never went outside, I could not tell you much about Minnesota. The boys played hockey. I got some of the cutest shoes I have ever owned at Sears in a big mall in Minneapolis. They had a buckle. I had a really cool sweater and skirt set in kind of a butterscotch tweed..with my cool new shoes, I was too cute. Then one day my period started in the middle of the school day and there was that horrible stain in the back of my butterscotch tweed skirt. I died of mortification. Right there. Died.
Put yourself in my cool shoes for just one minute. Here we go in to third person for a short dream sequence. New girl. Cute in her trendy mini skirt and sweater and to-die-for buckled shoes. Oh, her period has started and now, along with staring at her for her southern accent and new kid-ness, we get to laugh about THAT over lunch. Ugh. That may actually be why I don’t remember much about Minnesota. Selective amnesia.
Fortunately for me, we moved to San Francisco shortly after. We weren’t taking the mobile home. Sold it or something in fact. We would be living in an apartment, in Corte Madera, Marin County. We were going to be groovy by golly. I am sure my mom was freaked out. We had already lived through race riots in Alabama in 1964 in a dirty, run down park in a small town called Demopolis. Heard the news, saw the “whites only” signs, the back of the bus, separate wash room, separate drinking fountain horror that was the United States of America. Lets not forget the hurricane in 1965. But this, well, this was 1968 baby...summer of love had already attacked San Francisco California the previous year.
Launch.
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