Finishing a chapter

Tomorrow, my siblings, their spouses, me and my spouse and some of our kids will gather at my brother’s for dinner. I’m really looking forward to it. I think it’s been two years since I’ve seen some of them. It seems that the fact that most of our children are adults or near that, we all spend a lot of our free time and our energy staying connected with our kids, making it very difficult to stay connected with other family members who mean so much to us.

Because of that, I have been scurrying to finish the last two memory books – Mike and Kevin have had theirs for quite a while, I have Joellyn’s done, and hope to have Pat’s done by the time I get in the car tomorrow afternoon.

The compilation of a small book with family photos seems like an easy task. But I’ve also included some of our stories. And, frankly, I’m glad the task will soon be over. One reason the job has taken much longer than it should have is that it is draining to me emotionally to remember, and record the stories. I loved my Daddy, all of my grandparents. I loved the happy life we lived on Lincoln Avenue and at the store on University Avenue and when I look at all of those photos once more, I just want it all BACK.

The logical side of me knows that I can’t have my cake and eat it, too – I can’t have my childhood back, and even if I could, then I wouldn’t have my beautiful kids and that beautiful daughter-in-law, and of course, sweet little grandbaby Ada.

But my heart still aches for a hug from a man in a clean white apron. So, I’ll be finishing the albums, check to make sure all of the photos have been scanned, distributing cds, and calling this project done. And thanking the Dear Lord for the beautiful childhood that I was fortunate to have.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas...

I stopped by the Wabash Depot to drop off Steve's rent check for the nonprofit antique booth and saw some old wax ornaments on the counter. They looked just like the ones that was on our tree at home in the 1950s. I didn't want those ornaments, don't need more junk (unless it's scrapbook stuff!), but it was neat to see them and remember those sweet trees.

Daddy always sold Christmas trees. There were some tiny ones (about 2-3 feet tall) that were already nailed to a stand for apartments or small houses. I always wanted one of those. But Daddy picked the biggest one that would fit in our house for us. It was almsot always short needled, although we had flocked ones a couple of times.

It was a cold and miserable job selling them. I was too young to help with that, but I remember my Mom, Dad and brother going out to the lot with a customer to help them pick a tree -- a difficult task since the trees were so cold, it was hard to see what shape they actually were.

One of my favorite things was that when we finally closed the store on Christmas Eve, Daddy just left the lot unlocked so that if anyone happened by who still needed a Christmas tree they could just take one. Anything that was left would be burned on the 26th, so he figured he may as well share what was left.

And speaking of Easter in the 1950's...

We had these wonderful bright yellow plastic records. One I remember well was an Easter one.

In your Easter bonnet,
with all the frills upon it,
you'll be the grandest lady
in the Easter parade.

I'll be all in clover
And when they look me over
I'll be the proudest fellow
in the Easter parade.

On the Avenue,
Fifth Avenue,
The photographers will snap us
And you'll find that you're in the rotogravure.

Oh I could write a sonnet about your Easter bonnet,
And of the girl I'm taking to the Easter parade!

I don't know how my Mother stood it, but I'm sure we played this over and over! We loved it! I think I remember Joellyn and I marching around the coffee table in dress up finery, pretending we were in that Easter parade!

Here's another favorite:

Here comes Peter Cottontail
Hoppin' down the bunny trail,
Hippity hoppity,
Easter's on its way

Bringin' ev'ry girl and boy
A basketful of Easter joy
Things to make your Easter
Bright and gay

He's got jelly beans for Tommy
Colored eggs for sister Sue
There's an orchid for your mommy
And an Easter bonnet too. Oh!

Here comes Peter Cottontail
Hoppin' down the bunny trail
Hippity hoppity
Happy Easter Day

In Your Easter Bonnet...

As Easter approaches, I like to remember the Easter Sundays of my childhood. Not so much the Easter basket goodies (I have always disliked those chocolate rabbits!), but getting ready for church.

Really, except for the fact that Mother made sure we were dressed to the nines on Easter Sunday, there wasn't much different on that day than any other Sunday. Church? If it was Sunday, the Kelseys were there. Now that my kids are almost grown, I can empathize with all of the work that went into getting a family of seven ready to leave for church -- clean and on time.

On Saturday night the single bathroom in our house was kept busy as Mother and Daddy made sure everyone had a bath.

Then off to the kitchen sink for a shampoo with bright green Prell shampoo. Since either "no tears" shampoo didn't exist, or we just didn't have it, we had this plastic thing with a hole in the middle. Mother put it on our heads, pulled it down on our forehead, and then pulled our hair through the hole. The plan was that our hair could be washed without getting that harsh Prell in our eyes. If we stood still, it worked pretty well.

After the shampoo, Joellyn and I took turns getting our hair combed through with Wave Net and then done up in pin curls, with the hope that in the morning, our hair would have dried into beautiful waves. It was a futile hope. Joellyn's auburn hair was naturally curly. If Mom had left it alone it would have been fine. But with the help of the pin curls, she had the effect of a very TIGHT curl. My hair did the opposite. Once the bobby pins were out, we could comb it gently once. Any more than that and all curl was gone before we got in the car.

Let's see...everyone is bathed, shampooed, girls hair is curled. Then all nails were clipped, all Sunday shoes rounded up, cleaned and polished. They would be waiting on the kitchen counter in the morning, along with a quarter and either a pack of gum or a roll of lifesavers. The quarter for the offering, and I guess the gum or candy with the hope that if our mouths were full, we might be quiet.

In the morning, we would sit down to a breakfast of bacon and eggs and then put on our new church clothes (Joellyn and I often were dressed alike) and then pile into the car and drive to church.

When I was very little, Mother took a cottage cheese carton (it had rabbits on it), cut a hole in the top and told us that whenever we got money, we must put 1/10th of our money into the carton, to be taken to church for the offering. We loved to drop our coins into that container.

I've said all that to say this. My parents taught us what was important by their example. Church was a priority, not a last minute, rush to get ready thing. They prepared and planned ahead of time to go. They taught us to get ready and to get there. I remember very few Sundays when we weren't sitting in a row at Perkins Church of the Nazarene, singing "Do Lord" and reciting "I was glad when they said unto me, 'Let us go into the house of the Lord.'"

They were good times. Unforgettably good.

Her Children Shall Rise Up and Call Her Blessed

Last Spring, I met my siblings at my mother's home to empty it and get it ready to sell since she is now in a nursing home. We sorted clothing, dishes, you name it.

Although a lot was given or thrown away, we still brought home too much -- she wanted me to take her Christmas decorations. They have no value, but I brought them home because she wanted me to have them.

My daughter Meghan claimed some scarves and out-of-style clothing that she thought looked "retro." One brother took the books. One chose a lamp and towels. We saved our grandfather's level for a third brother. Three of us got Bibles. Most of the furniture was donated to a local mission.

It was a life lesson. My mother has had a happy life and lots of friends, but has owned very little in worldly goods. A widow for over 30 years, stuff has never ever been important to her, and she has always managed to live on very little money. There was very little of value in her home, and if it was there, one of her children gave it to her and that is why she kept it.

In her bottom drawer was a huge bundle of cards with pink envelopes. They were all of the Mother's Day cards she has ever received!

This bittersweet day gave me a new look at the things I think I want.

Afterwards, my daughter and I went to the nursing home to see Mother. Although her body is frail, her mind is as sharp as ever. I was dreading this visit, not wanting to tell her that we had discarded her things -- that the deed was done. I felt like a traitor and was afraid she would be sad because her belongings have been dispersed. She didn't care at all. Not one bit. She just wanted some of her things to be a blessing to someone else. She has her sights set elsewhere. "Where your treasure is . . . "

You may wonder at the name for my blog. It's the name of my Daddy's grocery store in Urbana, Illinois. It was the center of our lives when I was growing up. The store was open from 7 a.m. until 9 p.m., Monday - Saturday. That meant that someone in our family was there all day. Every evening, Mother would feed my brothers, sister and I, leave us home, and drive a few blocks to the store to relieve Daddy so that he could come home and have dinner and a break. Those breaks would include planting flowers, which he loved, mowing, painting the fence and other things that needed doing. When my grandparents were alive, they were able to help, but it soon fell all on Daddy's shoulders.

I loved that store. It was our home away from home. A very safe place. I often stopped there on the way home from school -- it was about the half way point. Daddy would give me money for a small bottle of Coke, and get me a bag of chips. I'd enjoy my treat and then, when I was ready to go on home, he would take my hand and walk me halfway across the busy street, and then make sure it was safe for me to cross over the rest of the way, while he stood in the middle watching.

Every evening of my young life during warm weather, we stopped whatever we were doing to get to the store at 8:30 where everyone in the family pitched in to carry all of the baskets and baskets of fruit and vegetables and all of the pots of flowers inside the store for closing. We had a huge rolling "truck" on which we would load the bushel baskets, wheel that inside, unload it, and then back again. Then we would ride with Daddy to put the truck away in the garage he rented from neighbors, and then skip with him back to the store. What a Daddy I had. Sometimes, we would go to the A&W or Dairy Queen afterward.

We hated doing that every night then, but I would love to go back and do it once more, with our family all together.

We were coming home from vacation several years ago and stopped somewhere at a small town gas station. Steve went in to pay and came back to the car and told me I had to come inside. The gas station was also a small family-owned grocery -- he knew I would love it!

And he was right.