I was looking on FaceBook this morning before leaving for work and say my daughter, Carrie, had posted some new photos of my grand daughter, Eliza from Christmas. I don't think I mentioned it but Eliza seems to have gotten every 'shortness' gene from both sides of her family.
I'm a little under 5' 10" tall. That is not too bad but my mother was 5' 2" and my father was 5' 4". My late sister was around my mother's height as best I can recall. Carrie has told me that most of Andrew's (her husband) family is also short. Comes as no surprise then Eliza is a short child.
One of the photos posted was of Eliza in a red outfit and the sleeves were so long you could, maybe, see the tip of one finger sticking past the cuff. That took me back to my childhood for some reason. My dad had retired from the Navy and really never worked after that so we grew up on a limited budget. So, there were two rules when it came to purchasing clothing for a growing boy. First and foremost it had to be cheap. Second it had to be way too big for me as we could not afford to buy new clothes when I grew out of them unless they started out a few sizes too large.
So, when one starts out with overly large clothing one spends a lot of one's time in clothing with rolled up pants and shirt sleeves. Seeing Eliza in that outfit with the sleeves a little too long reminded me of those days so very many years gone. Seems more like last month than around fifty years. Now I know why the old folks around me would tell me they could remember things from fifty years ago like it was yesterday but could not remember what happened "five minutes ago". Now that I'm getting within spitting distance of sixty myself I am understanding a lot more about a lot of things than I once did.
I just hope, one day, to get back to knowing as much about everything as I did when I was fifteen.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Thursday, December 15, 2011
What Does the Future Hold?
I just saved a new photo from my grand daughter's first birthday party as my Windows Desktop background. I also have two grandsons. One will be turning ten soon. Double digits. I think back to the world I knew when I was ten and I wonder what kind of world they will have when they look back on their youth.
Everybody in every time has had the same problems it seems. Quotes for a couple of thousand years ago mirror today's problems. I honestly do not know if things are worse now or if it is just so much information is available to us we hear all the bad things and think things are worse.
My 58th birthday was last week and my youngest grandchild turns one this week. What is she going to go through in the next 57 years? I think of all the happy occasions she will see. I think of all the sadness she will experience. All the joys and pains of growing up. And, it saddens me to some extent I will probably never see her as an adult. My health is deteriorating too quickly to expect that. I may make it to see my grandsons as adults but even that might be pushing things.
It all makes me hope I have had some influence on my own children so they will let their children grow and develop without all the chains I was burdened with in my childhood. Parents obsess too much about raising kids. They focus on the details too much. It is hard not to do so. But, all that children really need is parents who love them and let them know they are always loved. Even when (maybe especially when) they make mistakes.
Allow them to think for themselves and support their thoughts even when they do not entirely agree with your own. And, when a child asks questions the worst possible answer you can give is, "Because I say so". When a child is old enough to ask a question that child is old enough to receive an honest answer. Maybe you don't need to go into graphic detial but give an honest answer.
I really do not think I have much to worry about. Both my children are good mothers and both my sons-in-law are good fathers. In that way I am a very lucky man and I am very thankful for that. So many people in this world have so much less.
I don't know what the future does hold but I'm sure it will surprise me from time to time. :-) It will disappoint me and amaze me on different days. But, I sure would like to see all my grandkids have kids of their own some day. Not likely but I'd like for it to be so.
Everybody in every time has had the same problems it seems. Quotes for a couple of thousand years ago mirror today's problems. I honestly do not know if things are worse now or if it is just so much information is available to us we hear all the bad things and think things are worse.
My 58th birthday was last week and my youngest grandchild turns one this week. What is she going to go through in the next 57 years? I think of all the happy occasions she will see. I think of all the sadness she will experience. All the joys and pains of growing up. And, it saddens me to some extent I will probably never see her as an adult. My health is deteriorating too quickly to expect that. I may make it to see my grandsons as adults but even that might be pushing things.
It all makes me hope I have had some influence on my own children so they will let their children grow and develop without all the chains I was burdened with in my childhood. Parents obsess too much about raising kids. They focus on the details too much. It is hard not to do so. But, all that children really need is parents who love them and let them know they are always loved. Even when (maybe especially when) they make mistakes.
Allow them to think for themselves and support their thoughts even when they do not entirely agree with your own. And, when a child asks questions the worst possible answer you can give is, "Because I say so". When a child is old enough to ask a question that child is old enough to receive an honest answer. Maybe you don't need to go into graphic detial but give an honest answer.
I really do not think I have much to worry about. Both my children are good mothers and both my sons-in-law are good fathers. In that way I am a very lucky man and I am very thankful for that. So many people in this world have so much less.
I don't know what the future does hold but I'm sure it will surprise me from time to time. :-) It will disappoint me and amaze me on different days. But, I sure would like to see all my grandkids have kids of their own some day. Not likely but I'd like for it to be so.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Its a Family Thing
That was one of my favorite movies. Robert Duval and James Earl Jones find out they are half brothers late in life. Very interesting story. Now my elder daughter has taken up a passion for our family history. While not quite as convoluted (to my knowledge) as that one was ours does remain "interesting"
You know all those old jokes you hear about Kentucky and other back wood area about people marrying their cousins? Well my parents were first cousins. Gives a little deeper meaning to "kissing cousins" doesn't it? And, I can attest to the damages this can do to the offspring of such a marriage. My sister (who was ten years my elder) died at age 36 of Lupus after a ten year struggle. My elder brother is still living at age 70 though he has severe lung problems as well as other physical ailments.
Up until recently my ailments have all been mental. But, of late, I'm making up for lost time. I had Graves Disease in my late20s and have been taking thyroid supplements since then. Around 30 years now since drinking the radioactive iodine. Finally got around to telling my doctor about my depressions after I got almost completely non-functional. That has been a little over fifteen years ago.
Diagnosed with diabetes about fourteen years back. Due to that I'm taking oral meds, two kinds of insulin, cholesterol meds and about three different drugs for my bad stomach. Fun, fun, fun. Especially when I see the total amounts on my credit card statement. I'm already attached to them for life and this wonderful state of affairs only makes it better.
Just a suggestion for future reference... Cousins can be very good friends (with benefits even) just make sure that genetic heritage does not get passed on down the line. It purely is not worth it.
You know all those old jokes you hear about Kentucky and other back wood area about people marrying their cousins? Well my parents were first cousins. Gives a little deeper meaning to "kissing cousins" doesn't it? And, I can attest to the damages this can do to the offspring of such a marriage. My sister (who was ten years my elder) died at age 36 of Lupus after a ten year struggle. My elder brother is still living at age 70 though he has severe lung problems as well as other physical ailments.
Up until recently my ailments have all been mental. But, of late, I'm making up for lost time. I had Graves Disease in my late20s and have been taking thyroid supplements since then. Around 30 years now since drinking the radioactive iodine. Finally got around to telling my doctor about my depressions after I got almost completely non-functional. That has been a little over fifteen years ago.
Diagnosed with diabetes about fourteen years back. Due to that I'm taking oral meds, two kinds of insulin, cholesterol meds and about three different drugs for my bad stomach. Fun, fun, fun. Especially when I see the total amounts on my credit card statement. I'm already attached to them for life and this wonderful state of affairs only makes it better.
Just a suggestion for future reference... Cousins can be very good friends (with benefits even) just make sure that genetic heritage does not get passed on down the line. It purely is not worth it.
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Being Torn
Having read some posts and some articles I feel inclined to relate one experience I had while in the sixth grade. At this time we lived in the "big" white house in "Burgler" hollow (holler) in West Van Lear. I always sat at the dining room table to do my homework. My bed time was only 8:30 but I was not allowed to go to go bed until after my home work was finished.
This particular evening was one where my parents were fighting. And, as usual, it was over me. So many times I can recall my mother telling me she was going to take me and go a way and it would just be she and I. On other occasions it was my dad telling me basically the same thing. At this point in time I guess I still loved both my parents and had not learned the futility of loving anything. By this time it should have been growing "like a weed". I can't recall just exactly how old I was then other than being in the sixth grade. I recall I had done all my other homework and was doing my math. It was getting pretty heated and all I really wanted was to be out of there and in bed.
That next day I turned in my homework as usual. Now, at that time, things had not really "clicked" with me yet but I was still not a bad student. Mostly A's and an occasional B. Heaven help me if I brought home anything like a C or a D and death awaited for an F.
My teacher, Tom Hummer, called me to his desk after having graded our math problems and wanted to know what was wrong with me. I went from getting everything right to getting nothing right. He said it was not like me. I guess it wasn't. But, it was the result of my desire to just escape no matter what. So, I told him the truth. I could not leave until I had my homework done so I just put down anything so I could say it was done and I could get away.
I really don't know what happened from that but afterward my parents were much less prone to fight about me while I was around. May Mr. Hummer talked to them. I don't know. Nobody ever said anything at all about it afterwards.
I grew up in a time and place where teachers were feared rather than loved or respected. I think Mr. Hummer was a pretty decent person though. Most teachers really are that or they would not be teachers. I guess parents only want the best for their kids though, sometimes, the disagreements on what is best can take a toll on everyone involved. Just that adults are more equipped to deal with those conflicts than children are. And, adults don't always understand that.
And, for sure, children do not understand that. It is only many years later when looking back they/we see things as they were at the time. Maybe we never do for we do not have the ability to experience the childhood of our parents and that is so much responsible for the way they are. I know the way my parents were is responsible in a great way for the way I was with my own children. We either become as much unlike our parents as we can or we just become them for another generation. I hope I was different for if I just became my parents I have failed my children miserably.
This particular evening was one where my parents were fighting. And, as usual, it was over me. So many times I can recall my mother telling me she was going to take me and go a way and it would just be she and I. On other occasions it was my dad telling me basically the same thing. At this point in time I guess I still loved both my parents and had not learned the futility of loving anything. By this time it should have been growing "like a weed". I can't recall just exactly how old I was then other than being in the sixth grade. I recall I had done all my other homework and was doing my math. It was getting pretty heated and all I really wanted was to be out of there and in bed.
That next day I turned in my homework as usual. Now, at that time, things had not really "clicked" with me yet but I was still not a bad student. Mostly A's and an occasional B. Heaven help me if I brought home anything like a C or a D and death awaited for an F.
My teacher, Tom Hummer, called me to his desk after having graded our math problems and wanted to know what was wrong with me. I went from getting everything right to getting nothing right. He said it was not like me. I guess it wasn't. But, it was the result of my desire to just escape no matter what. So, I told him the truth. I could not leave until I had my homework done so I just put down anything so I could say it was done and I could get away.
I really don't know what happened from that but afterward my parents were much less prone to fight about me while I was around. May Mr. Hummer talked to them. I don't know. Nobody ever said anything at all about it afterwards.
I grew up in a time and place where teachers were feared rather than loved or respected. I think Mr. Hummer was a pretty decent person though. Most teachers really are that or they would not be teachers. I guess parents only want the best for their kids though, sometimes, the disagreements on what is best can take a toll on everyone involved. Just that adults are more equipped to deal with those conflicts than children are. And, adults don't always understand that.
And, for sure, children do not understand that. It is only many years later when looking back they/we see things as they were at the time. Maybe we never do for we do not have the ability to experience the childhood of our parents and that is so much responsible for the way they are. I know the way my parents were is responsible in a great way for the way I was with my own children. We either become as much unlike our parents as we can or we just become them for another generation. I hope I was different for if I just became my parents I have failed my children miserably.
Friday, December 9, 2011
A Dozen School Memories
First grade at Preston's Gap (one-room) School. Playing 'kick the can' at recess and being so frustrated I could not "catch" anyone because they were so much older (and faster) than me. Bragging I was going to make straight A's but Mrs Cooper giving me a B in 'effort'. LOL... Is that a compliment?
Second grade at West Van Lear. My first year there. Mrs. Green grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking the crap out of me for something. Back then teachers were pretty physical.
Third grade with my teacher, Gay Bailey. Getting my first 'paddling' in school for running in class. Hey, there were people running but I just jumped over my desk and did not even take a running start. I felt a little picked on but the whipping did not hut. The one from both my mother and father once I got home and they found out was much more worrying. Luckily I did not get one or both.
Fourth grade with Mrs. Hazlette. This was where I was when President Kennedy was assassinated. The fourth grade class room had the "front porch" of the school as a main entrance. I remember sitting out on the porch (right side coming out of the building) in the November sunshine thinking about the assassination.
Fifth grade with Mrs. Mollette. That is the class where I asked everyone what animal gave milk but a cow and then told them it was a woman. Mrs. Mollette was NOT impressed. It was also the grade I made a notebook saying exactly what I thought of each of my classmates. That did not go over very well either when the one person I trusted to show it to passed it around to everyone including the teacher.
Sixth grade with Tom Hummer as teacher. Sixth grade was complicated. I got my first filling in a 'permanent' tooth. I got my second paddling for not filling out my "Weekly Reader" questions because the teacher told us not to to them before they were assigned but I was working in the kitchen when he assigned them... so I did not do them. oops. He was also the teacher who told me I enunciated my words very clearly. Oh wow! Praise for something! Since then I've been somewhat of a grammar/pronunciation Nazi. Not ashamed of it either. It is either right or wrong and I always preferred to be right.
Seventh grade... Mr. DeLong. He was the nephew of my soon-to-be brother-in-law and our principal. I was terrified of him. But he really introduced me to sarcasm as an effective tool for communication. By this time I was reading Asimov, Heinlien, Clarke, Anderson, Norton and many other "adult" authors but when the time came for book reports I would grab one of those little, blue covered, biographies to do it on. I always hated any kind of public speaking and always took the easy way out. He commented on how "some people" would read books at one level then make their book reports on a book at a much lower level. So? Sue me.
We moved from West Van Lear back to Nat's Creek at the end of my seventh grade year. I got my report card about two weeks early as we were moving and I would not be able to go to any school at all for those two weeks. We were having a contest on who would read the most books that year. I had something like a twenty seven book lead when we moved. I hope the kid who got the award appreciates it a great deal because it was (and IS) rightfully mine!!!
When school started again my cousins were all going to Cherryville school. It was another one room school and I fully intended to go there myself. But I did not get off the bus. On down the road was the Chapman school. A two-room school house. I did not get off there either. I stayed on the bus until the end of the line at Louisa High School. At that time it was in town and was grades eight through twelve. That is how I got to Louisa in the eighth grade.
There is a lot I can say about that year and will in time but That was my introduction to being one of the "mean" kids. As well as one of he most "picked on" kids at the same time. That was the first school where we changed classes. When the bell would ring we would all leave and as we would go out the door we (boys) would all run our hands up under the girl's dresses. I suppose that might appear crude but they never made any effort to leave the class room in any hurry so I think they probably enjoyed it as well.
I had a varied and interesting group of teachers in the eighth grade and I'll talk more in detail about that at some future time. That was a very good and a very bad year.
Sophomore year was the year I got to read novels in class without teachers bugging me. Mr. (Greenville) Cordell was my social studies teacher for several years. This year it was Economics and Sociology. On test days we would have the first thirty minutes of class to study then the second thirty to take the test. When he told us to study I pulled out my western novel and started reading. Mr. Cordell saw that and asked me, "Frank, are you going to make a 100 on this test". I told him, quite honestly, "of course". He said no more. I made a 100 on the test and he never questioned my reading habits again. But it was such an absurdly simple course. NOT making a 100 would have been the hard part. But it did give me some extra reading time.
My junior year had a great English teacher. Funny I can't remember her name at all. But she said she always knew she had to give her tests twice. Once to the rest of the class and once to me when I bothered to come to class. I think her name was Johnson. And, I would not have made it these days. I missed over forty days of school my sophomore, junior and senior years. Back then it was all about grades and I made the grades. Pissed my future wife off no end. She worked her butt off in class and I played when I bothered to show up and still made better grades. :-) A mind may be a terrible thing to waste but it is also a terrible burden when you spend your entire life bored to distraction.
I forget if it was my freshman or sophomore year when I first took my stack of books from the library (boy, a school library! What a wonderful thing) to the desk and the librarian would not let me check them out because they were all on the senior reading list... I had to go to my English teacher and get a note stating I had a brain and could safely be allowed to read a book with more content than "See Dick. See Jane. See Spot." Even with that it did not take too long for there to be darned little left in the library to read I had not read.
Senior year was interesting. At that time we needed eighteen credits to graduate. I took five each of my first three years so I could only have to take three my senior year. I has three classes and three study halls. I had one to do all my homework, one to read my novels and one to play "flip football" and other games with my friends and just generally goof off.
That year my English teacher was Imogene Butler. She only had one lung and in the winter missed even more days than I did. But she had a little red head substitute I loved to sit in the back and flirt with. She was ugly as a mud fence but she was a very nice young woman and not really all that much older than me.
That year I had two required classes (English IV and American Government) and had to pick up one elective. I took Art the first semester with Mr Cheek (the Principal) as the teacher. Our "student motto" was "Our school is like an ass; it takes two cheeks to run it". Jim Cheek was the principal and his brother Bill Cheek was the superintendent.
Anyway, the second semester they decided to offer a French class and I signed up for it and dropped art. I had zero artistic talent anyhow. Our French teacher was Mz Bunch and I imagine she wished she had never seen me. LOL.
At that time I was reading a lot of porn novels. One of which was called the Coxman. It had a lot of sexual terms in French so I was continuously asking Mz Bunch to translate them for me in front of the class.... "Miss Bunch, what is a 'manage a troi'"?
All in all, school had a lot of fun things involved with it and not just the painful things I've talked about before. Sure wish I could have spent some time with that redheaded substitute out of class...
Second grade at West Van Lear. My first year there. Mrs. Green grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking the crap out of me for something. Back then teachers were pretty physical.
Third grade with my teacher, Gay Bailey. Getting my first 'paddling' in school for running in class. Hey, there were people running but I just jumped over my desk and did not even take a running start. I felt a little picked on but the whipping did not hut. The one from both my mother and father once I got home and they found out was much more worrying. Luckily I did not get one or both.
Fourth grade with Mrs. Hazlette. This was where I was when President Kennedy was assassinated. The fourth grade class room had the "front porch" of the school as a main entrance. I remember sitting out on the porch (right side coming out of the building) in the November sunshine thinking about the assassination.
Fifth grade with Mrs. Mollette. That is the class where I asked everyone what animal gave milk but a cow and then told them it was a woman. Mrs. Mollette was NOT impressed. It was also the grade I made a notebook saying exactly what I thought of each of my classmates. That did not go over very well either when the one person I trusted to show it to passed it around to everyone including the teacher.
Sixth grade with Tom Hummer as teacher. Sixth grade was complicated. I got my first filling in a 'permanent' tooth. I got my second paddling for not filling out my "Weekly Reader" questions because the teacher told us not to to them before they were assigned but I was working in the kitchen when he assigned them... so I did not do them. oops. He was also the teacher who told me I enunciated my words very clearly. Oh wow! Praise for something! Since then I've been somewhat of a grammar/pronunciation Nazi. Not ashamed of it either. It is either right or wrong and I always preferred to be right.
Seventh grade... Mr. DeLong. He was the nephew of my soon-to-be brother-in-law and our principal. I was terrified of him. But he really introduced me to sarcasm as an effective tool for communication. By this time I was reading Asimov, Heinlien, Clarke, Anderson, Norton and many other "adult" authors but when the time came for book reports I would grab one of those little, blue covered, biographies to do it on. I always hated any kind of public speaking and always took the easy way out. He commented on how "some people" would read books at one level then make their book reports on a book at a much lower level. So? Sue me.
We moved from West Van Lear back to Nat's Creek at the end of my seventh grade year. I got my report card about two weeks early as we were moving and I would not be able to go to any school at all for those two weeks. We were having a contest on who would read the most books that year. I had something like a twenty seven book lead when we moved. I hope the kid who got the award appreciates it a great deal because it was (and IS) rightfully mine!!!
When school started again my cousins were all going to Cherryville school. It was another one room school and I fully intended to go there myself. But I did not get off the bus. On down the road was the Chapman school. A two-room school house. I did not get off there either. I stayed on the bus until the end of the line at Louisa High School. At that time it was in town and was grades eight through twelve. That is how I got to Louisa in the eighth grade.
There is a lot I can say about that year and will in time but That was my introduction to being one of the "mean" kids. As well as one of he most "picked on" kids at the same time. That was the first school where we changed classes. When the bell would ring we would all leave and as we would go out the door we (boys) would all run our hands up under the girl's dresses. I suppose that might appear crude but they never made any effort to leave the class room in any hurry so I think they probably enjoyed it as well.
I had a varied and interesting group of teachers in the eighth grade and I'll talk more in detail about that at some future time. That was a very good and a very bad year.
Sophomore year was the year I got to read novels in class without teachers bugging me. Mr. (Greenville) Cordell was my social studies teacher for several years. This year it was Economics and Sociology. On test days we would have the first thirty minutes of class to study then the second thirty to take the test. When he told us to study I pulled out my western novel and started reading. Mr. Cordell saw that and asked me, "Frank, are you going to make a 100 on this test". I told him, quite honestly, "of course". He said no more. I made a 100 on the test and he never questioned my reading habits again. But it was such an absurdly simple course. NOT making a 100 would have been the hard part. But it did give me some extra reading time.
My junior year had a great English teacher. Funny I can't remember her name at all. But she said she always knew she had to give her tests twice. Once to the rest of the class and once to me when I bothered to come to class. I think her name was Johnson. And, I would not have made it these days. I missed over forty days of school my sophomore, junior and senior years. Back then it was all about grades and I made the grades. Pissed my future wife off no end. She worked her butt off in class and I played when I bothered to show up and still made better grades. :-) A mind may be a terrible thing to waste but it is also a terrible burden when you spend your entire life bored to distraction.
I forget if it was my freshman or sophomore year when I first took my stack of books from the library (boy, a school library! What a wonderful thing) to the desk and the librarian would not let me check them out because they were all on the senior reading list... I had to go to my English teacher and get a note stating I had a brain and could safely be allowed to read a book with more content than "See Dick. See Jane. See Spot." Even with that it did not take too long for there to be darned little left in the library to read I had not read.
Senior year was interesting. At that time we needed eighteen credits to graduate. I took five each of my first three years so I could only have to take three my senior year. I has three classes and three study halls. I had one to do all my homework, one to read my novels and one to play "flip football" and other games with my friends and just generally goof off.
That year my English teacher was Imogene Butler. She only had one lung and in the winter missed even more days than I did. But she had a little red head substitute I loved to sit in the back and flirt with. She was ugly as a mud fence but she was a very nice young woman and not really all that much older than me.
That year I had two required classes (English IV and American Government) and had to pick up one elective. I took Art the first semester with Mr Cheek (the Principal) as the teacher. Our "student motto" was "Our school is like an ass; it takes two cheeks to run it". Jim Cheek was the principal and his brother Bill Cheek was the superintendent.
Anyway, the second semester they decided to offer a French class and I signed up for it and dropped art. I had zero artistic talent anyhow. Our French teacher was Mz Bunch and I imagine she wished she had never seen me. LOL.
At that time I was reading a lot of porn novels. One of which was called the Coxman. It had a lot of sexual terms in French so I was continuously asking Mz Bunch to translate them for me in front of the class.... "Miss Bunch, what is a 'manage a troi'"?
All in all, school had a lot of fun things involved with it and not just the painful things I've talked about before. Sure wish I could have spent some time with that redheaded substitute out of class...
Paper Airplanes
For about as long as I can remember I loved making and flying paper airplanes. There were all sorts of designs, sizes and types. The needle nosed rocket, the wide winged soarers, many in between. When I went to school at West Van Lear (6 room school for grades 1-8) we had a large (to me then HUGE) front "lawn" to play on at lunch and recess. My friend Paul Mike Howard and I would, at times, go out and fly our paper airplanes. He always seemed to have more talent at making them than I and that fell in line with all Else as he seemed to have more talent for everything than I.
We would make the basic designs and experiment with folding flaps on the wings for guiding them. We either wanted to make them turn or keep them from turning to force them to go straight. How long has that been now? I think we were in the fifth grade then in Mrs. Mollette's class. That would have made me around eleven years old. Aging did not take away my love for paper airplanes. Once we moved to the old "Blessing place" when I was thirteen (late Spring 1967) I still loved to experiment and fly my airplanes.
This place had a big, old (very old) house that sat up on a bank a good ways above the creek. I can remember getting out in the front/side yard and hurling my planes up into the air. Mostly they just circled a bit and came back down but, every once in a while, a special gust of wind would catch one and propel it out over the decline and it would soar for a few minutes like a kite without a sting. I loved those times. It is really the most simple pleasures in life that are the most important and leave the most lasting memories.
My brother taught me to make paper planes. He made them differently than most everyone else did. Rather than a one-piece folded piece of paper he would make a plane with a separate front and tail with folds that looked like two engines on the front.
Trying to figure out just how long it has been since I made one. I don't think I even made them for my own kids so it has to have been a good many years. But, they were great fun.
I don't know what got me thinking of all this. Perhaps it was Heather's descriptions of Haydn's origami. When I was growing up we would not have know the meaning of origami though we did a lot of "paper folding" making airplanes, paper drinking cups and "fly catchers".
I think some part of us (or at least the most fortunate of us) never grows up completely and remains a child with that childlike wonder for discovering new things. Discovering new things about out universe, our world, our people, ourselves is the most constantly interesting thing I can possibly imagine. How poor is the life of a person who already "knows it all"! How boring life must be without those daily discoveries.
We would make the basic designs and experiment with folding flaps on the wings for guiding them. We either wanted to make them turn or keep them from turning to force them to go straight. How long has that been now? I think we were in the fifth grade then in Mrs. Mollette's class. That would have made me around eleven years old. Aging did not take away my love for paper airplanes. Once we moved to the old "Blessing place" when I was thirteen (late Spring 1967) I still loved to experiment and fly my airplanes.
This place had a big, old (very old) house that sat up on a bank a good ways above the creek. I can remember getting out in the front/side yard and hurling my planes up into the air. Mostly they just circled a bit and came back down but, every once in a while, a special gust of wind would catch one and propel it out over the decline and it would soar for a few minutes like a kite without a sting. I loved those times. It is really the most simple pleasures in life that are the most important and leave the most lasting memories.
My brother taught me to make paper planes. He made them differently than most everyone else did. Rather than a one-piece folded piece of paper he would make a plane with a separate front and tail with folds that looked like two engines on the front.
Trying to figure out just how long it has been since I made one. I don't think I even made them for my own kids so it has to have been a good many years. But, they were great fun.
I don't know what got me thinking of all this. Perhaps it was Heather's descriptions of Haydn's origami. When I was growing up we would not have know the meaning of origami though we did a lot of "paper folding" making airplanes, paper drinking cups and "fly catchers".
I think some part of us (or at least the most fortunate of us) never grows up completely and remains a child with that childlike wonder for discovering new things. Discovering new things about out universe, our world, our people, ourselves is the most constantly interesting thing I can possibly imagine. How poor is the life of a person who already "knows it all"! How boring life must be without those daily discoveries.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
How to Skin a Cat
I guess we've all heard the old saying, "There is more than one way to skin a cat". Sounds kind of cruel but from what I've read this refers to the many ways of skinning a cat fish and not the "meow' kind of cat. But when I was growing up there was another kind of skinning the cat.
It was pretty simple, like a basic gymnastics movement, but it was fun for a small child. To skin a cat you grab a tree limb with both hands then bring your feet up between your arms and turn on over to bring your feet down toward the ground.
At my grandparent's house on Nat's Creek they had a Quince tree (look up Quince. I believe it was something like a pear thought this tree bore no fruit to my memory) that had a limb just the perfect size for me to use for skinning a cat. :-) And, I did use it extensively. I've spent many a morning when I should have been in school playing on that tree.
It was on the corner of the bank on the left side of the path that went down past the coal house and towards the creek. There was some kind of "brushy" bushes behind them though I cannot recall what they were. Then to the right of the path was a big apple tree. I think my grandfather had 'spliced' two or maybe three different apples onto this one tree. I really don't remember for sure but it seems I do remember being told of this. The apples pretty much sucked but that is what it was. I preferred them when they were 'green' (un ripe) with salt. I still must have (lots of ) salt to eat apples. But, green apples have a special flavor. Green apples and June apples. Two of my favorite things.
It was pretty simple, like a basic gymnastics movement, but it was fun for a small child. To skin a cat you grab a tree limb with both hands then bring your feet up between your arms and turn on over to bring your feet down toward the ground.
At my grandparent's house on Nat's Creek they had a Quince tree (look up Quince. I believe it was something like a pear thought this tree bore no fruit to my memory) that had a limb just the perfect size for me to use for skinning a cat. :-) And, I did use it extensively. I've spent many a morning when I should have been in school playing on that tree.
It was on the corner of the bank on the left side of the path that went down past the coal house and towards the creek. There was some kind of "brushy" bushes behind them though I cannot recall what they were. Then to the right of the path was a big apple tree. I think my grandfather had 'spliced' two or maybe three different apples onto this one tree. I really don't remember for sure but it seems I do remember being told of this. The apples pretty much sucked but that is what it was. I preferred them when they were 'green' (un ripe) with salt. I still must have (lots of ) salt to eat apples. But, green apples have a special flavor. Green apples and June apples. Two of my favorite things.
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