Fan Time

I'm picky about my sports, but then I'm female, and I can be.  I'm talking the three major sports played by high schools, colleges, and pros.  Even the non-pros, but probably because I became designated team scorekeeper in my 20s for what's called a "town team."  Those are teams made up of local players, past the age of high school and no longer in college, who can't give up the sport.

In high school, I was a member of the Pep Club.  Those went the way of granny dresses, when pep clubs and the male equivalents were deemed...  I don't know why.  By the way, the guys at our HS were called the Rowdy Rooters and had their own section in the bleachers.  Aptly named, because they did get rowdy.

But high school wasn't my first introduction to basketball.  My "big brother," the guy who I grew up next door to, taught me at a young age how to shoot a basketball.  Believe, I wasn't all that good.  I'm not much of sport participant, and more of a fan.

My dad didn't play sports.  For one thing, he was 5'2, and, when his dad died when my dad was ten, he worked at whatever job he could find that would add to the family's finances.  But he did love to watch sports.  Everything from football to bowling.  I, in turn, spent many Sunday afternoons watching with him.  My mom preferred baseball.  I remember her sitting in a precursor of a recliner, keeping score and stats on a pad of paper during the playoffs and World Series.  Yes, I had my own favorite baseball players.  Roger Maris (my fave of all), Mickey Mantle, Willie Mays, Hank Aaron...  The list goes on.  Later, I became a Dodgers fan.  I bled blue.

We went to basketball games when I was young.  Wichita had a National Industrial Basketball League team,  the Wichita Vickers.  I vaguely remember going to the games.  My mom liked telling the story of the game where, when she'd jumped up from her seat after an astounding play, she'd forgotten I was on her lap and dumped me on the floor.  Apparently it didn't dim my enthusiasm for the sport.

Football.  'Nuff said?  I'm a Dallas Cowboys fan and have been since high school.  I think it may have been because I loved watching Tom Landry coach. A real gentleman and a great coach.  Then came the Dream Team  --  Emmitt Smith, Troy Aikman, Michael Irvin, Daryl Johnston, and more.

But Saturday we basked in basketball.  Not only did my hometown college team (WSU) win, but
so did the team (KSU) we went to see play--the team that was expected to lose that particular game.  Five of our family attended that K-State game, front row floor seats behind the dance team and stat tables, with a huge screen overhead, just in case our view was blocked at any time, and we watched them beat the 10-1 team by ten points.  Excellent game!  And so much fun to be a part of the drenched-in-purple arena crowd.  I'm known to get a bit rowdy, while watching games--shades of the Rowdy Rooters, perhaps?--but I behaved myself.  Not a single "Booooo" crossed my lips after a questionable call.

WuShock  (and if you don't know what a wheat shock is, it's time to learn)

Willie Wildcat

What a great Christmas gift my oldest daughter gave us, in spite of the sleet and snow we dealt with going and coming.  It will be a Christmas time we'll always remember.

Best wishes for a wonderfully memorable Christmas this year!  May your heart be open to the love of beauty of the season.

Happy, happy Christmas, that can win us back to the delusions of our childhood days, recall to the old man the pleasures of his youth, and transport the traveler back to his own fireside and quiet home! ~ Charles Dickens

Sound Blast from the Past

High school band, 1968

Last night, I attended my oldest granddaughter's instrumental concert.  I missed the first one, so going to this one, themed for the holidays, was one I didn't want to miss.  Because these were middle school band and orchestra students, many of them are just beginning their musical journey.  But I must say I was impressed with their playing--especially the 6th graders, who played after only a few months of instruction.  The teacher/conductor also impressed me.  Sure, there were some missed notes and, as I and my fellow former high school band members can remember, the tempo of each piece being played tends to speed up as the end approaches.  Last night, they handled that very well.

My granddaughter plays the viola.  She wanted to play the cello, but she's on the tiny side, and the girl across the street from me won out on that one.  By the way, the girl across the street is a sweetie and friend with both of my granddaughters.  I remember wanting to play the cello.  For a year or so when I was ten, I took private French lessons with a group of older girls, one a neighbor.  They were in what's now middle school at the time.  I'd learned French in fourth grade, so I at least had a clue.  That and the fact that a family friend had taught me several French phrases and to count from one to ten before I ever started school.  The daughter of the woman who taught those of us in the private group played the cello.  I fell in love with it.  So how did I end up playing flute?  I have no idea, but I did.  (I also missed seeing JFK before he was elected President, all because I had to go to French lessons.  Who knew?)

Watching the middle school students last night and listening to them play brought back memories of being a member of my high school band.  I went to a small school (56 in our graduating class), where the only instrumental was band.  A good thing I didn't take up the cello!  Because our junior high shared the building with the high school, we 7th and 8th graders were integrated into the high school band.  We were pretty good.  But we got better.

Senior year, the second year without our beloved band teacher.

My freshman year in high school, we were introduced to a new music (band and vocal) teacher.  He was young, had a wife that was just as young and fun, and two small children.  We adored them, and especially him, whether band members or vocal music members.  He worked us hard, especially the marching band.  We went from a disordered bunch of kids on the football field at halftime, scrambling to find our places to create a cherry tree (George Washington) and a stovepipe hat (Abraham Lincoln) to a precision, synchronized marching band.  You've probably seen college bands perform during football games

Goofing off after a parade (no, not me)

that do the same on a much bigger scale.  We had no idea how our movements appeared to onlookers as we zigged and zagged across the field, eight steps to each five yards, while playing.  Or marched in a parade, all in same step, while dodging piles of horse...well, you know.  Bill. Rotter knew not only how to teach music, he knew how to make playing it a joy.  He could also play a mean sax and piano.  One of my best memories is of him playing the piano and singing the song, Little Egypt for us.  (Only 'us oldies' remember it. ☺)  He was fun, he was talented, and he was the best.  His second year, we competed in a state marching contest and won a I rating, the highest.  The nearly 6 hour round trip was worth it.  He

Napping-or trying to-on the bus

left us a year later, moving on to direct at a community college in Pratt, KS.  Some of us visited him and his family there one weekend.  One very memorable weekend with good friends, not simply a former teacher.  He's now in Oklahoma, directing a band of his making and bringing enjoyment to many.

Those are the things that went through my mind last night, as I watched the 6th, 7th, and 8th grade bands and orchestras perform.  When Carol of the Bells played, I remembered singing it in vocal music.  It's one of my favorite songs of the Christmas season.  But our favorite in band, not played last night, was Sleigh Ride.  Each time we played it i concert, the audience was on its feet, applauding and cheering when it ended.  I can't hear the song without thinking of Mr. Rotter, standing before us, waving his wand, while we made magic the way he taught us.  We were blessed, and they continue in our memories.

Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent. ~ Victor Hugo

Family Gatherings

MEMORY MONDAYS

Great-Grandparents and their children & grandchildren.  Mid-1920s

It's that time of year when I start thinking of the Good Ol' Days.  Holidays do that, and with Thanksgiving only a few days away, those memories of my family's holiday get-togethers come tumbling back through my mind.

I'm not technically a member of the genealogy of my family.  I'm adopted.  But my adopted family is all I've ever known, and I'm proud to be a part of them, even though I won't ever be listed in the official genealogy records.  I don't mind.  It's still my family.

My grandmother was the oldest girl of seven children.  Her grandparents immigrated to the U.S. from Germany in 1886 and settled on the farmland of Kansas.  She passed away when I was six months old, so I don't remember her.  But I have known most of her brothers and sisters, my great-uncles and great-aunts.  And their kids and their kids' kids.  I have a LOT of cousins.

The family enjoyed getting together and did so often.  The photo on the right was taken in the late 1930s.  The bib-overalls are proof that this was a farming family, although the photo was taken in the city at my grandparents' house.  I love this picture, because it's the house where I grew up, after my grandparents passed away.  The boy in the overalls standing with his hands in his pockets is my uncle.  My mother's younger brother.  As it is with many families now, the men would gather in one spot, while the women gathered in another--usually the kitchen!

Thanksgiving and Christmas were always big family affairs when I was growing up.  As many as possible would gather for a big dinner out in the country on one of the farms.  Quite often it would be at the home  of one of my Great-aunts, Aunt Dorothy or Aunt Lucy.  Lucy had a twin, Louis, but I didn't see much of him.  It was those two Great-aunts and their families who celebrated the holidays together.  There was never a lack of good food.  Everyone brought something.  My mom was often the one who cooked and brought the turkey, so I'd always wake up to the smell of roasting turkey on holiday mornings.

They were a noisy bunch.  Talking, joking and laughing went on throughout the day.  When everyone had stuffed themselves, but still sneaked an olive, celery stick or carrot, or another slice of homemade pie, they cleared the table, washed the dishes.  Once the chores were done, the grownups sat at the table for an afternoon and evening of playing cards.  Pitch was always the card game played, and I've never learned how to play it.  The level of sound would go up, and we kids could often hear the friendly arguments and shouts, while we climbed trees and scouted out the livestock outside.  I remember bottle feeding lambs and gathering eggs, which I detested, convinced that if a hen pecked me, I'd get chicken pox.  That proved to be untrue, of course, even though I did have chicken pox when I was 10.

As they evening grew later, talk of going home would begin, but it would take some time before everyone could tear themselves away from the good company and that last piece of Aunt Dorothy's chocolate pie.  When we kids were older, we'd have Aunt Dorothy bring out the wood folding table.  Four of us would sit at it and ask the table (spirit) questions.  The table would tilt on two legs, then drop down to "knock" once or twice for yes or no.  I've discovered mine wasn't the only family that did this, so we weren't the only "crazy" ones.

The drive down to the farm had seemed hours long, but it was barely 25 miles.  On the way home, as we drove in the dark through the small town that would one day be where I finished growing up, we followed a diagonal road shortcut that appeared to lead straight into the big grain elevator.  Of course it didn't end up at the elevator, instead leading to the north-south road that would take us home.  It wouldn't be long before I fell asleep in the quiet of the night, only to be roused, sleepy and grumpy when we arrived home.  Then off to bed, thinking of how fun and happy the day with family had been, eager for the next holiday.

I hope your memories of long-ago are as happy as mine!

Family is not an important thing. It's everything. ~ Michael J. Fox

The Music of Our Lives

Procrastination isn't all that bad.  It can bring on a bit of nostalgia.

While listening to one of my playlists as I work on edits, a sudden urge to check out Burton Cummings of  the band The Guess Who hit me.  That led to learning that he and Randy Bachman (Bachman Turner Overdrive aka BTO), who was a member of the band for a while, co-wrote many of The Guess Who's hit songs.  And to think I saw them in concert in 1970.

For Christmas in 1967 I received my first stereo record player.  It looked similar to this one ↑, and I was wildly ecstatic.  Stereo, for goodness sake!  And an album to play on it, too!  Simon and Garfunkel's Sounds of Silence.

I grew up in a home that where music was listened to often and appreciated.  Sure, that meant watching The Lawrence Welk Show, a favorite of my parents for many years, but I can now recognize many of the songs from the 1940s---yes, before I was born--and the bands and vocalists from the era.

When I was four-years-old, my parents bought a small, neighborhood grocery store.  The memory of those two or so years are still strong.  In the far back corner of the store, near the meat counter, where a real butcher worked, a radio sat high on a shelf.  Music played all day long, much of it Country-Western music.  To this day, listening to Tennessee Ernie Ford singing Sixteen Tons is like being in that store again.

Growing up, my next door neighbors were more like family to me, an only child.  They were the ones who took me trick-or-treating every Halloween, taught me how to play jacks, hopscotch, to shoot a basketball and ride a bike.  The oldest was a teenager in high school, about the time I was eight, and Kay plastered her walls with Elvis Presley.  To this day, I've never swooned over him.  I usually cringe. :)  Between Kay and her younger sister Margaret, they had a record collection of 45s that were to die for.  Pat Boone, Ricky Nelson, Eddie Fisher, Connie Francis, Bill Hayley and the Comets, and more.  I was allowed to borrow them.  At my first slumber party (today's sleepover) in third grade, we managed to crash & break my bunkbed by swinging on the end of it, while we listened to Perry Como singing Hot Diggity.

A quick jump forward to the early 60s.  Neil Sedaka,, the Four Seasons, the Everly Brothers, Brenda Lee, Chubby Checker, Johnny Mathis, Little Richard were only a few of the hit-makers.  We learned to do the Twist, the Mashed Potato, and the Locomotive.  Then came cruisin' music and surfer music--The Beach Boys, Jan and Dean, The Hondells, the Safaris.

And then came the British Invasion.  The Rolling Stones getting satisfied, the Dave Clark 5, The Byrds, The Monkees and the never-to-be-forgotten Beatles topped the charts.  I still listen to Marvin Gaye, The Mamas and Papas, the Temptations and the Lovin' Spoonful and so many I can't list them all.  Those were the groups of my generation, the generation that protested The "War" That Shouldn't Have Been.

I still listen to all of those groups and their music.  My playlists are endless, and I've learned that William Congreve's "Music has Charms to soothe the savage Breast" is still as accurate today as it was in the 17th century.  Music can comfort and uplift, energize and calm.  Listen to your favorite music and refill the well of your soul.

Music is the universal language of mankind. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

'Twas the Night Before Halloween

'Tis the Eve of the Eve.  All Hallows Eve, that is.  Yes, tomorrow is Halloween, the time of ghosts and ghouls, princesses and ballerinas, ninja warriors and transformers.

Halloween has become my favorite holiday.  Usually it's spent watching television and answering the door once or twice.  There aren't many trick-or-treaters in our neighborhood, so a big bag of candy would last for years...if not eaten by my own g-kids.  But a tradition of watching favorite Halloween movies is as good as it gets.

This year I've chosen two movies.  Hocus Pocus and Practical Magic.  After all, it is the season of the witch.

I remember walking through my neighborhood as a child, accompanied by the older next-door-neighbors, collecting a large paper bag of goodies that seemed to last forever.  My mother nearly always made my costumes.  Homemade were always the best.  I was a monkey, a bride, a clown, and more than I can remember.  There are home movies I can watch, if I really wanted to a list.  Maybe next year.  The most

memorable Halloween was the year I was a Pilgrim/Dutch Girl.  Yeah, a bit weird, but the costume resembled that of a Pilgrim, complete with a yellow pig-tail wig, and those older-than-me neighbor's let me borrow their grandmother's wooden shoes for the evening.  They weren't all that comfortable, either.  We stayed within our own block, both across the street and the street behind us.  Two blocks of goodies, and everyone had something to pass out.  As we approached one house, a witch appeared from the side of it, scaring me.  I truly believed it was an old, scary witch, and I took off running for home and screaming.  In the process of trying to run in a pair of too-small wooden shoes, I lost my hat and my wig, arriving home frantic, crying, and shouting that a witch had tried to get us.  My dad looked at me and said, "Looks like you lost your hair and hat, too."  Devastated that I'd lost part of my costume, I begged him to go back for it, but to watch out for the witch.  I waited, afraid the witch would catch him, but he returned some fifteen minutes later, with Pilgrim hat and wig in hand.

I hit the age of twelve, grew up, and had just moved to a small town.  Life changed and so did Halloween.  But life in that particular town was exciting.  Pumpkin patches were raided, and the main street was littered with smashed pumpkins.  An outhouse or two was stolen and placed in the center of town.  Small fires and bales of hay littered the street.  Costumes?  Who needed them?  They'd have only been covered with eggs.  By the Halloween of my senior year in high school, the Sheriff's Department sent officers on horseback to corral the destruction.  But we were smarter and managed to make Halloween memorable.

I married, had children, and found myself creating costumes for my own girls, just as my mother had for me.  We often used items we already had or old fabric left from my childhood.  My youngest's first Halloween was spent as a Gypsy, created from odds and end of clothing we had.

Over time, as more daughters were born and became old enough to knock on doors, we went along with one of their cousins, in the tiny country town near where we lived.  By then they'd become fairly good at minding their manners with "Trick or Treat" and "Thank You," as we visited the homes of friends, family and neighbors.  During all that time, we went through a wide range of costumes.  Devils and angels, a tough kid with a black eye, a cheerleader, a ballerina, and an Indian Princess.  (That's the boy cousin during one of his robot phases).  The last costumes I made were four genies, all in different colors.

My girls grew up and had their own little Trick-or-Treaters, and at times, I was coerced into making a few costumes for them.  There are five to created for, and it can take some time an imagination.  Although we'd planned a Peter Pan theme this year, time got away from us--thanks to that family wedding less than two weeks ago--so we're sticking to face painting only, this year.

2009 with all 5 g-kids and oldest daughter

2011 in full costume and looking great!

2012 and, oh, how they've grown!

Not too bad for a group with different tastes and desires, not to mention from help from Goodwill and anything we found around the house, some years.  Yes, that's my crew, who are here to drive me to cackling.  An almost 12-year-old, an almost 11-year-old, a 9-year-old, 6-year-old, and the youngest is 4. 

I haven't dressed up for Halloween for a long, long time.  I've been too busy with costumes for the others to have time to think about me.  But this year, I was invited and attended a party at the home of a local author friend.  Just dressing up at the last minute, grabbing this and that from my closet and painting my face was fun.  The party proved even more fun!  Maybe next year I'll give more thought to it.  The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe, Maybe?  It's a thought...

Enjoy your 2013 Halloween, whether you're partying, escorting off-spring or off-spring of your off-spring around the neighborhood, or simply sitting at home, thinking of the times gone by.  Because it's believed by some to be the night the veil is lifted between our world and the world beyond, think of the loved ones you've shared with on some of those past Halloween nights.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

But I love Halloween, and I love that feeling: the cold air, the spooky dangers lurking around the corner. ~ Evan Peters