Month: August 2020

Being old and decrepit has its drawbacks. One of those seems to be middle-of-the-night leg cramps. Since both my husband and I are inching up in years, we have been accumulating various and sundry items to offset aches, pains, and — yes — leg cramps. The collection includes two nightstands (his and hers) loaded with roll-on essential oils, neuropathy creams, aspirin, and chewable vitamin B-12. For leg cramps, there are three remedies that tend to be somewhat effective. Jumping out of bed and standing hard on the affected leg works — eventually. Ingesting a vitamin B12 is quite helpful. And the the fastest way to thwart a nasty cramp seems to be an acupressure technique in which you place your index finger in the dent above your upper lip, then take your thumb and middle finger to pinch the upper lip in toward the indexfinger/dent. It’s kinda like magic!!

But, when attached by our own bodies in the middle of the night, we don’t always think so clearly as we might in the daylight. So one night awhile back, when I stretched in my sleep and was thus suddenly awakened by a horrendous cramp ripping up my calf, I yelled to my husband “B12!” In a fog, he asked, “What?” and I responded yet again, “B12!” While I was thrashing about trying to straighten my leg enough to stand on that foot, he sat up and seemed confused. He then asked, “Where is it?” This is the man who keeps two bottles of B12 on his nightstand and bookshelf. So I directed him, “On the shelf.” He rummaged around and replied that he didn’t have it. Eventually I remembered to pinch my lip, and the cramp subsided. I turned on the light and looked over at the bookshelf where the bottle of B12 sat proudly, waiting to be called into action. “There!” I pointed. “How did you not see it?” He scratched his head and answered, “You asked me for a beach ball. I didn’t have a beach ball.” B12. Beach ball. Yeesh!!! And I’m the one who has a hearing problem!!!

On a later occasion, while riding with grandsons, one of them pointed out a groundhog eating acorns by the roadside. My bad ears heard “grandpa”, so they found this amusing. Since my husband has taken up a healthy breakfast diet of nuts and berries (okay, cereal and fruit), I gave the kids a photo of “grandpa eating acorns”, although not by the roadside.

And, at our house, the B12 is now known as “beach ball”….

As we have lost another member of my extended family, memories come flooding back. When I was around 9 years old, Joanne married my cousin, the older son of my mother’s third brother. She was lively and fun, and I liked her immediately.

One of my earliest memories of Joanne was that we had been shopping at one of the five and dime stores, and I had spotted doll clothes that I just knew would fit one of my dolls. Alas, the outfit was 16 cents, a hefty sum for a girl my age. I wheedled with Joanne to buy it for me; however, Joanne was not of the same ilk as my mother (i.e. a wimp who gave in to an only-child-spoiled-brat who threw tantrums). With Joanne (and probably just about everyone except my mom), “no” meant “no”. Go figure! But…Joanne helped me come up with a plan to earn money to buy the precious outfit for my doll. So the following day, she packed me up and took me with her to pick potatoes. (Did I mention we were on my uncle’s farm at the time?) In a huge field, a tractor was turning over rows and rows of dirt bearing potatoes, and we joined in with the many kids and adults who were going down the rows and putting potatoes into bushel baskets. The job paid pennies per bushel, and the sun was gruelling. But we spent the day there working. It was actually a lot of fun, even for a city kid. And thanks to Joanne, who shared the income with me, I was able to return to the store and proudly make my purchase.

Some of the later memories have to do with ironing and house plans. Joanne taught me how to iron clothes, and I found that I actually enjoyed it! Imagine! And Joanne loved to design houses and would sit with paper, pencil, and ruler drawing house plans. She taught me how to measure, and to display windows, doors, and the like. Over the years, when I had to move offices at work or when we were redesigning things at home, I have used those skills and always think of Joanne.

Of the many memories of Joanne, perhaps my favorite is the ferris wheel adventure. As a child, I loved to ride ferris wheels. When I was about 15, however, I had been somewhat traumatized by an incident at an amusement park when I was on the ride by myself, and the smart-aleck ride operator decided it would be fun (for him) to throw it into reverse so the cars rocked violently back and forth. As the rumors proclaim, my life flashed before my eyes and I held a death grip on the bar, convinced the car was going to flip full circle and dump me out. Obviously I survived, but I was terrified of heights, especially ferris wheels.

Several weeks later, Joanne was kind enough to help me work on getting over my fear. We were at the county fair, a safe place with many witnesses to ensure secure family fun. Her oldest boy, about 4 years old at the time, was with us. When I wanted company on the ride with me, Joanne reluctantly agreed to go. (Might I add that she was 8 months pregnant at the time?) So the three of us boarded the car, and the ride began. Okay, I thought. Not so bad. The ferris wheel in and of itself (without a smart-aleck operator) is a gentle ride. We can do this. Although I got a bit nervous when the car would tip forward as we would come up over the top, I tried to relax, and relatively soon the ride was over. Whew! We had survived! I was still a bit antsy when we had to hitch along, position by position, as the operator let off passengers and boarded new ones. We spent a lot of time on top, but we were almost ready to get off. Down below we could see my cousin (Joanne’s husband) and their 2-year old boarding the ferris wheel. Hitch. Hitch. Uh oh! What the heck?! Just before our turn to disembark, the machine began moving again! And around we went. Still a gentle ride, but by this time I was really ready to be safely on the ground. Ah, finally! Slowing down….hitch…hitch…passengers getting off, new passengers boarding. My cousin and Randy got off. We were still on. Up at the top, of course. Did I mention that a ferris wheel car will tilt forward when holding an 8-months pregnant passenger whose body weight is concentrated in the front?! And Joanne was inviting me to feel the baby kick. Oh, no! She was going to give birth on the top of the ferris wheel! Hitch…hitch…And Dougie, not at all concerned about the possibility of plummeting, was squirming and trying to lean over to peer down at his dad and brother on the ground below. But we were just about to get off. Then…nooooooooo!!! Here we went AGAIN!! The next time we slowed down we could see my cousin frantically talking to the operator, pointing up to us and making pregnant-wife-get-her-off-this-thing gestures. Finally, finally we were on the ground.

And I will never forget the ferris wheel adventure with Joanne….

Our family recently lost Wayne, a gentle soul who married my cousin, the younger daughter of my mom’s third oldest brother. My cousin had been a home ec major in college and was the go-to person in the family for table etiquette and anything proper. So, of course, Wayne was a quiet, polite fellow with an easy smile and kind manner. You couldn’t not like Wayne.
I think I was in my early teens when they married, and weddings were so exciting with all the beautiful finery and ceremony. I especially recall being back at the farmhouse where my cousin was opening gifts — another bit of excitement with the mystery of what wonderful items might be revealed with the sheddng of the elaborate bows and shiny wrapping. Somewhere in the middle of the festivities, my cousin had taken a break to change from her wedding gown into more comfortable clothes, and we (mostly the womenfolk) anxiously awaited her return so we could thrill to the gift-opening. Someone came in from the kitchen to summon my aunt because Mrs. (Wayne’s last name) was leaving. It seemed kind of sad that she would miss the gifts, but my aunt left the room to see her off. After what seemed like an eternity, my aunt returned to the living room. What, we wondered, was keeping my cousin??? My aunt smiled and explained that my cousin and Wayne had gotten a head start on their honeymoon. The “Mrs” to whom my aunt had said her goodbyes was my cousin who, of course, now officially had that same last name as Wayne’s mom. The couple had cleverly escaped the shivoree!! I was young enough at the time that the term “shivoree” was a new one to me. I learned that the fellows in the wedding party had threatened to follow the couple to their overnight destination and serenade them with the music of tin cans tied to the bumper and whooping and hollering. My cousin wanted none of this and had planned the big getaway. Later, as my mom and I rode up north toward home with another aunt and uncle who lived near us, my uncle spotted the wedding car at a motel. He offered to stop so we could say “hello”. I thought it was a great idea, but my mom and aunt made him keep driving! (But he had a good chuckle.) A couple of years later, I got to go — with my cousin and Wayne and a group of young people from the high school where my cousin taught to see “Green Grow the Lilacs” (the play from which “Oklahoma” was taken) at the local summer theatre. Incidentally, the show starred a young man named John Davidson, a handsome fellow that my cousin and Wayne felt was talented enough to have a professional future. (He went on to off-Broadway and then television fame.) Anyway, a shivoree was part of the play, and I always wondered if the couple thought fondly of their own escape.

Wayne and my cousin eventually moved to a nearby town and bought their permanent home. When they had spent several years hoping to start a family, they decided to adopt two boys (who later became great playmates with my son when we’d visit). Ultimately they gave birth to a daughter as well. Wayne was always supportive with his wife’s school and family activities and was very involved in their church.

Somewhere during all this, Wayne discovered the work in which he thrived. He became a barber and established his shop within walking distance of their home. I fondly remember visiting the shop with my husband one day when we had been in the area (we lived a couple of hours away) and decided to just stop in. My cousin had not been home, but Wayne was at his shop and showed us around. (Somehow I had never been inside before.) The atmosphere was homey and comfortable. Wayne had compiled some historical barber instruments and old photographs as part of his decor and, absolutely beaming, showed them off to us. That was the moment that I really saw close-up the love and pride he had for his profession.

Shivarees and barber shops — memories of Wayne….