I was home in NY for a week last week, spending time with my 5 1/2 year old niece and 22 month old nephew. As usual, this means I've come back with quite a few stories to tell!
At some point as a young woman plans her wedding, the topic of her mother's wedding dress arises. My mother was married in December, 1974. While her dress was very stylish for 1974, it was not going to cut it for my August, 1998 wedding. My sister also agreed it would not do for her wedding (even though she wasn't planning one yet). Mom's dress had been stained by the confetti thrown at the church, and it had not been preserved well. We decided to sacrifice Mom's dress. A friend who was a seamstress took the dress and made purses for my sister and I to carry on our wedding days. She also made garters for each of us. Mom had a beautiful three tier veil that had survived fairly well. Our friend used the middle tier for my veil, which was attached to combs adorned with white satin roses.
The bodice of Mom's wedding dress was very intricate with a lot of lace and buttons. She wanted to keep that, so our friend made a heart shaped pillow with the lace. It made a nice keepsake. This pillow has sat on one of the beds in Mom's house for 14 years. Somehow, Sydney didn't discover it until last week. She promptly decided it was hers. Two nights later, she declared she couldn't sleep because the heart shaped pillow was at her house and she was at Mom's. Dad gave her one of his shirts to help her sleep.
We shared the story of the pillow with Sydney. She wanted to see Mom's dress. I pulled out the large photo album covered on the outside with a plush blue velvet. Sydney thought the blue velvet was super cool. I have to admit, I always found it really neat that Mom and Dad's wedding album was not your typical photo album. We looked through the pictures, and I explained who the people were in the photos. Sydney provided the color commentary. She liked Mom's mother's dress (a bright pink) but not Dad's mother's dress (blue). She liked the Bridesmaids dresses (pink) but not the Maid of Honor (blue). See a pattern here? Dad's father wore a suit that screamed 1970s. It was maroon pants and shirt topped by a loud maroon plaid jacket. Sydney said Great- Grandpa looked 'very stylish!' Yes, he did, for 1974.
Sydney was full of questions as we looked at the pictures. She asked why MeMe (her name for my Mom) wore a white dress. I told her that white was the traditional color brides wore. She had recently started using the word traditional, so I knew she understood the meaning. She rolled her eyes (she rolls them all the way back, so you only see the whites. It's a little creepy and hilarious at the same time.) and said "Not me! I'm going to wear pink!" One of my favorite movies is 'Steel Magnolias'. I instantly had visions of Julia Roberts' character, Shelby, describing her wedding colors as 'blush and bashful', whereas her mother described them as pink.
When Mom and Dad were married, Grandma and Grandpa lived in a big Victorian in Berlin. It's a two family home, one apartment on the main floor, one on the top floor. When Mom was growing up, they lived on the top floor and a pair of Grandpa's Aunts lived on the bottom floor. By the time my Mom got married, Grandma and Grandpa had moved to the bottom floor and rented out the top. The house has a beautiful wrap around porch on the front. The photographer positioned Mom and her father near the door, with the bridal party stretching down the porch to Mom's right. Sydney asked "Why does the Bride go first?" I told her the Bride walks into the church last, this was just a picture that was done. There were of course pictures of my Grandpa walking Mom up the aisle, and then Mom and Dad walking down the aisle. These prompted more questions. So I explained that the Bride walks into the church with her dad, and once the ceremony is over, she walks out of the church with her husband.
We moved on to photos of the reception. There was a picture of my parents with Dad's grandmothers. I told Sydney who the people were, and then she asked where Dad's grandmas were now. I told her they were in Heaven. She was solemn for a minute, then we moved on to the other pictures. The picture of Mom throwing her bouquet caused Sydney to ask "Why is MeMe throwing away her flowers?" I tried to explain this tradition. She thought it was silly and said "Let them get their own flowers. I'm keeping mine!" She certainly knows what she wants! The garter pictures stumped me- I didn't really know how to explain a garter to her. We finished looking at the pictures and put the album away.
A couple of days later, at Mom's 4th of July party, we had patriotic leis and beads on the tables. Near the end of the party, Syd said we were going to play a game. She took a string of beads and told all the boys to follow her. She then told them she was going to throw it and they had to catch it. A few minutes later, it was the girls' turn. She picked up one of the leis and told us to follow her. Again, when she threw it, we had to catch it. Someone commented that it was like being at a wedding, and just like that I realized what she was doing. She was playing wedding!
A couple more days went by. On Friday while Sydney, Mom, and I were at lunch, she asked Mom what her last name was before she married PopPop (Sydney's name for my Dad). Mom told her, and said it was the same as Duckie's last name (Duckie is my Mom's sister, for some reason, Syd calls her Duckie). Sydney thought about this. You could see her mind turning, that her mom and I are sisters, and I have the same last name as MeMe and PopPop. All of a sudden, she figured it out, and told us what her Mom's last name had been before she married Sydney's Dad. I wonder if she had been thinking about that all week.
I know we have a long time before Sydney gets married, but I have to wonder if she'll pass up her Mom's dress so she can have a pink one!
Monday, July 9, 2012
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Too Many Books
At first, readers might wonder about the title of this post. Isn't the credo of bookworms that you can never have too many books?
There was a story on our local news the other night about two guys who stole books from the library here in town. Between the two of them, they stole almost 250 books. The pair racked up over $5000 in fines. The books were found in the basement of one of their homes. They had attempted to remove the library labels from the books. They were charged with theft and sentenced to 90 days in jail each. It was mentioned in the report that they checked the library books out under their own names, which the reporter seemed to think was brazen. No, they were just using their library cards!
The part of the story that prompted me to write was the fact that the library allows patrons to check out 150 books at a time! 150. You can check out 150 books at one time from this library. This just amazes me. I'm kind of dumbfounded. According to the library website, you check out books for a period of 21 days (three weeks). This means if you checked out the maximum, you would need to read 50 books a week. If the books you checked out are not on hold by another patron, you can renew them five times. Assuming each renewal is for another three weeks (the website isn't clear about this), you could keep your stash of 150 books for a total of 18 weeks- or about 4 1/2 months. So you would only need to read an average of 8 1/3 books per week.
Pondering the possibility of borrowing 150 books at a time from the library raised many questions. I asked Erich about this policy. His mother worked at the same library for years. He worked there part time too. He was just as baffled by this policy as I was. He said he remembered it being 20 books for patrons, but staff could check out an unlimited number.
Among the questions I have: How long does it take to choose 150 books to borrow? Do you go in with a list or just wander through the stacks? How do you carry 150 books to the desk, and then to your car? Why do you need 150 books at one time? Do the people who check out 150 books at a time do anything other than read? How many people, other than these two crooks, take advantage of this generous limit?
To me, the limit of 150 books at a time is too many books. It is absurd. Although, there is a tiny part of me that wants to get a library card and try it out!
There was a story on our local news the other night about two guys who stole books from the library here in town. Between the two of them, they stole almost 250 books. The pair racked up over $5000 in fines. The books were found in the basement of one of their homes. They had attempted to remove the library labels from the books. They were charged with theft and sentenced to 90 days in jail each. It was mentioned in the report that they checked the library books out under their own names, which the reporter seemed to think was brazen. No, they were just using their library cards!
The part of the story that prompted me to write was the fact that the library allows patrons to check out 150 books at a time! 150. You can check out 150 books at one time from this library. This just amazes me. I'm kind of dumbfounded. According to the library website, you check out books for a period of 21 days (three weeks). This means if you checked out the maximum, you would need to read 50 books a week. If the books you checked out are not on hold by another patron, you can renew them five times. Assuming each renewal is for another three weeks (the website isn't clear about this), you could keep your stash of 150 books for a total of 18 weeks- or about 4 1/2 months. So you would only need to read an average of 8 1/3 books per week.
Pondering the possibility of borrowing 150 books at a time from the library raised many questions. I asked Erich about this policy. His mother worked at the same library for years. He worked there part time too. He was just as baffled by this policy as I was. He said he remembered it being 20 books for patrons, but staff could check out an unlimited number.
Among the questions I have: How long does it take to choose 150 books to borrow? Do you go in with a list or just wander through the stacks? How do you carry 150 books to the desk, and then to your car? Why do you need 150 books at one time? Do the people who check out 150 books at a time do anything other than read? How many people, other than these two crooks, take advantage of this generous limit?
To me, the limit of 150 books at a time is too many books. It is absurd. Although, there is a tiny part of me that wants to get a library card and try it out!
Thursday, May 31, 2012
How Old Are You?
Like thousands of other women, I am dishonest about my age. Although, I may be in the minority in that I usually say I am older than I am. That's correct. I will not be celebrating the 8th anniversary of my 29th birthday next week. I will be celebrating my 36th birthday. Finally!
I say "Finally!" because in my mind, I've been 36 for the past year. To really understand, you'd have to venture into Amyland. Amyland is the imaginary world Erich thinks I live in. Well, no, that's not quite correct. It's not that he thinks I live in an imaginary world. Rather, when I do something that seems odd or unconventional, Erich asks if that's how they do it in Amyland. This question comes up usually when I am certain that the way I'm doing it is correct, or when I defend myself by saying this is the way I've always done it. It has become a joke between us.
I do not like odd numbers. I never have. I don't know why, but I'll blame it on the fact that I was born in an even numbered month, on an even numbered day, in an even numbered year. That's the best reason I can come up with. Either that or I'm just crazy (which hasn't been totally ruled out!). I dislike odd numbers so much that it is kind of distressing to me when my age is an odd number. So I round up. Last year, shortly after my 35th birthday, I started referring to myself as 36. If someone who really knew pointed out that I was 35, I would say 'Well, I'll be 36!'. Yeah, in JUNE! It's one thing to say 'I'll be 36 in June' when it's May. It's another to say it in July!
The result is that 50% of the time, I'm lying about my age. I don't know when I started rounding up. It's become second nature now, and when I'm someplace where they really need to know my age, like at a doctor's office, I have to think about it. Is it an even numbered year? Ok, then the year I'm thinking is correct. Is it an odd number year, but after my birthday? Ok, then I have to subtract one for my real age. I'm sure I look like a real idiot. Who doesn't know how old they are?
Then again, who actually makes themselves older than they are? Those of us who reside in Amyland!
I say "Finally!" because in my mind, I've been 36 for the past year. To really understand, you'd have to venture into Amyland. Amyland is the imaginary world Erich thinks I live in. Well, no, that's not quite correct. It's not that he thinks I live in an imaginary world. Rather, when I do something that seems odd or unconventional, Erich asks if that's how they do it in Amyland. This question comes up usually when I am certain that the way I'm doing it is correct, or when I defend myself by saying this is the way I've always done it. It has become a joke between us.
I do not like odd numbers. I never have. I don't know why, but I'll blame it on the fact that I was born in an even numbered month, on an even numbered day, in an even numbered year. That's the best reason I can come up with. Either that or I'm just crazy (which hasn't been totally ruled out!). I dislike odd numbers so much that it is kind of distressing to me when my age is an odd number. So I round up. Last year, shortly after my 35th birthday, I started referring to myself as 36. If someone who really knew pointed out that I was 35, I would say 'Well, I'll be 36!'. Yeah, in JUNE! It's one thing to say 'I'll be 36 in June' when it's May. It's another to say it in July!
The result is that 50% of the time, I'm lying about my age. I don't know when I started rounding up. It's become second nature now, and when I'm someplace where they really need to know my age, like at a doctor's office, I have to think about it. Is it an even numbered year? Ok, then the year I'm thinking is correct. Is it an odd number year, but after my birthday? Ok, then I have to subtract one for my real age. I'm sure I look like a real idiot. Who doesn't know how old they are?
Then again, who actually makes themselves older than they are? Those of us who reside in Amyland!
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Allergy Shots
I've been getting allergy shots weekly for over three years now. I don't like needles. So the shots are not the most fun part of my week, but I know they are helping.
For the past year, we've been battling with Cobalt's allergies. He's been scratching a lot. We've taken him to the vet a couple of times for steroid shots, which stopped the itching for a couple of days. We've given baths more frequently, using special shampoo designed to moisturize and stop the itching. We've even given him Benadryl when it seems he couldn't stop itching. And we've found ourselves saying "Cobalt, stop itching!" an awful lot.
Finally we realized we couldn't delay it any longer. It was time to do allergy testing on Cobalt. I was amazed that for a dog, they simply do a blood draw and then send the blood off to the lab. Really? My arm was pricked by about 50 different needles. I looked like I had a weird case of mumps that was isolated to one arm. But I am grateful they could do Cobalt's with a simple blood draw. My question is why can't they do humans like that?
We waited a couple of weeks and then the results came back. When the allergy nurse told me what I was allergic to, she said 'Well, basically everything'. It was kind of the same thing with Cobalt. Our Vet told us he was allergic to 'a lot'. The lab printed out this full report of both environmental and food allergens. He's allergic to all kinds of grasses- and who knows what type of grass is in our yard. Food wise, we were glad to see he does NOT have a nut allergy- since we tend to give him his pills in peanut butter! I also make homemade peanut butter bones for the dogs which they adore. He is however allergic to rice, sweet potatoes, yeast, and fish. Erich used to pull off the corners of his sandwiches and give them to the dogs. No more. He also used to split a can of tuna fish with them. We fed them sweet potato treats to help their joints, and even tried making our own. Rice was our meal of choice when they had upset tummies. So we'll have to find something else to feed them.
Along with the diagnosis comes the next part- giving shots to Cobalt. I dreaded this. Cobalt does not like to have anything done. One night we tried to put some ointment on him because he had scratched himself raw. It took 15 minutes to get the ointment on him. He has this sense that we are going to do something to him, and he takes off running. He likes to hide in the dining room, just under the table where we can't reach him. The layout of our house does not help. Our dining room, living room, and kitchen kind of make a circle. We don't have an open concept house. The living room has two doorways- one into the kitchen and one into the dining room. The dining room has two doorways- the one into the living room and one into the kitchen. What we have learned in the past 11 years, is this makes a perfect racetrack for small dogs- either when they are chasing each other or when they are trying to get away from us.
Erich has handled the shots so far. I have offered to help, but until yesterday he insisted he didn't need it. I witnessed Cobalt and Erich engaged in staring contests. Cobalt has amazing posture, and when he wants to, he can sit perfectly still but look like he's going to bolt at the same time. Each day Erich told me how long it took to actually get the shot into the dog. Only once was he able to sneak up on him while Cobalt was asleep. Still, for two weeks, every other day, Erich has been able to handle it. Last night, Cobalt wouldn't let him give the shot. So we had to put it off a night (since I had already gone to bed) until tonight.
After dinner, we tried to keep Cobalt calm. Erich drew the shot and set the needle on the table. We each sat on couches, trying to make ourselves look comfortable so that Cobalt would join us. This would have worked, if it weren't for Princess Onyx. She decided tonight that her brother annoys her. Or maybe his presence annoys her. She gets in these moods sometimes. It just happened to be tonight was our lucky night. She decided he was not allowed to be in the same room as the humans. So first she chased him off into the dining room, almost nipping at the rough of his neck as she ran him off. Then she sat down in the living room, where he could see her, and sat perfectly erect. She looked like a German Shepard dog on guard! When he ran through one of the other doors to get past her, she ran him off again. This was not conducive to keeping him calm. Yet I have to admit, it was hilarious!
Eventually, Cobalt snuggled on the couch with me. He stretched out on the blanket on the other end of the couch and started to relax. Erich petted Onyx and lavished her with belly rubs so she would leave her brother alone. When Cobalt started snoring (even though he was still awake), we opted to move in. I approached from behind, talking in a soothing tone and petting him, while Erich went from the front. I was able to wrap Cobalt in my arms and held him through all his squirming. I think staying on a bucking bull for 8 seconds would be a whole lot easier than holding onto Cobalt! Once I had a firm hold on him, Erich stuck him with the needle. When he was done, I let go, and Cobalt went running off. He had to get away from the people! Onyx agreed with him, and once again chased him from the room.
Such an ordeal! When we were done, he was given a treat. We're hoping to establish a positive association with the shot. "I get a shot, then I get a treat". At least it's over. Until Friday when we give him the next dose!
For the past year, we've been battling with Cobalt's allergies. He's been scratching a lot. We've taken him to the vet a couple of times for steroid shots, which stopped the itching for a couple of days. We've given baths more frequently, using special shampoo designed to moisturize and stop the itching. We've even given him Benadryl when it seems he couldn't stop itching. And we've found ourselves saying "Cobalt, stop itching!" an awful lot.
Finally we realized we couldn't delay it any longer. It was time to do allergy testing on Cobalt. I was amazed that for a dog, they simply do a blood draw and then send the blood off to the lab. Really? My arm was pricked by about 50 different needles. I looked like I had a weird case of mumps that was isolated to one arm. But I am grateful they could do Cobalt's with a simple blood draw. My question is why can't they do humans like that?
We waited a couple of weeks and then the results came back. When the allergy nurse told me what I was allergic to, she said 'Well, basically everything'. It was kind of the same thing with Cobalt. Our Vet told us he was allergic to 'a lot'. The lab printed out this full report of both environmental and food allergens. He's allergic to all kinds of grasses- and who knows what type of grass is in our yard. Food wise, we were glad to see he does NOT have a nut allergy- since we tend to give him his pills in peanut butter! I also make homemade peanut butter bones for the dogs which they adore. He is however allergic to rice, sweet potatoes, yeast, and fish. Erich used to pull off the corners of his sandwiches and give them to the dogs. No more. He also used to split a can of tuna fish with them. We fed them sweet potato treats to help their joints, and even tried making our own. Rice was our meal of choice when they had upset tummies. So we'll have to find something else to feed them.
Along with the diagnosis comes the next part- giving shots to Cobalt. I dreaded this. Cobalt does not like to have anything done. One night we tried to put some ointment on him because he had scratched himself raw. It took 15 minutes to get the ointment on him. He has this sense that we are going to do something to him, and he takes off running. He likes to hide in the dining room, just under the table where we can't reach him. The layout of our house does not help. Our dining room, living room, and kitchen kind of make a circle. We don't have an open concept house. The living room has two doorways- one into the kitchen and one into the dining room. The dining room has two doorways- the one into the living room and one into the kitchen. What we have learned in the past 11 years, is this makes a perfect racetrack for small dogs- either when they are chasing each other or when they are trying to get away from us.
Erich has handled the shots so far. I have offered to help, but until yesterday he insisted he didn't need it. I witnessed Cobalt and Erich engaged in staring contests. Cobalt has amazing posture, and when he wants to, he can sit perfectly still but look like he's going to bolt at the same time. Each day Erich told me how long it took to actually get the shot into the dog. Only once was he able to sneak up on him while Cobalt was asleep. Still, for two weeks, every other day, Erich has been able to handle it. Last night, Cobalt wouldn't let him give the shot. So we had to put it off a night (since I had already gone to bed) until tonight.
After dinner, we tried to keep Cobalt calm. Erich drew the shot and set the needle on the table. We each sat on couches, trying to make ourselves look comfortable so that Cobalt would join us. This would have worked, if it weren't for Princess Onyx. She decided tonight that her brother annoys her. Or maybe his presence annoys her. She gets in these moods sometimes. It just happened to be tonight was our lucky night. She decided he was not allowed to be in the same room as the humans. So first she chased him off into the dining room, almost nipping at the rough of his neck as she ran him off. Then she sat down in the living room, where he could see her, and sat perfectly erect. She looked like a German Shepard dog on guard! When he ran through one of the other doors to get past her, she ran him off again. This was not conducive to keeping him calm. Yet I have to admit, it was hilarious!
Eventually, Cobalt snuggled on the couch with me. He stretched out on the blanket on the other end of the couch and started to relax. Erich petted Onyx and lavished her with belly rubs so she would leave her brother alone. When Cobalt started snoring (even though he was still awake), we opted to move in. I approached from behind, talking in a soothing tone and petting him, while Erich went from the front. I was able to wrap Cobalt in my arms and held him through all his squirming. I think staying on a bucking bull for 8 seconds would be a whole lot easier than holding onto Cobalt! Once I had a firm hold on him, Erich stuck him with the needle. When he was done, I let go, and Cobalt went running off. He had to get away from the people! Onyx agreed with him, and once again chased him from the room.
Such an ordeal! When we were done, he was given a treat. We're hoping to establish a positive association with the shot. "I get a shot, then I get a treat". At least it's over. Until Friday when we give him the next dose!
Monday, April 23, 2012
Education and Secrets
Education has always been an important part of my life. Not just for me personally. The importance of an education was impressed upon my sister and I from an early age. For us, it was never a question of IF we would go to college. Rather, it was a matter of WHERE. Even when I wanted to be a truck driver, I was told I could drive a truck after college.
This emphasis on education didn't come just from my parents. Yes, Dad (a heavy equipment mechanic) told us frequently that we had to go to college so we could make a living using our brains. He didn't want us to use our backs, as he did. I have always been so proud of my parents. I know some people look down on their parents because they don't have degrees. I've never felt that way, and in fact, have argued with those who hold themselves as better because they have a degree. My parents worked hard to give Laura and I wonderful opportunities.
My Grandpa Wager was another big proponent for a college education. Grandpa always wanted to be a lawyer. He was the smartest man I've ever known. Grandpa skipped a grade in school and graduated at the age of 16. He worked some while he was saving money for college. He was ready to enroll in college and had some books bought. Then his younger sister needed emergency surgery to have her appendix out. His parents did not have the money for the surgery, so my Grandpa gave them the money he had saved. He was never paid back. Grandpa went to work, not college. Life went on. For me, this has always seemed the saddest event in my Grandfather's life. I know how devastated I would have been if my dream of college was taken away. Yet my Grandpa never complained. He just accepted it with his usual quiet grace and made the best of what he had. He was always reading though, always learning.
For her part, Grandma Wager was just as adamant that we get a college education as Grandpa and our parents were. As I said, it was never 'if', but 'where'. Although, for quite a long time she held out hope that we would attend Stetson University, not far from their house in Florida. I almost did. I interviewed with the admissions department during my Junior year of high school. It was on my short list of colleges (I had been looking at colleges since sixth grade). Then the summer after my Junior year, I attended a Communication program at the University of Pennsylvania. After that program, I knew I would major in Communication- something Stetson didn't offer. Even though I know my grandmother was disappointed, I wasn't going to waste my chance at college going someplace that didn't offer what I wanted.
Such a value was placed on education, that as I worked on the family history a few weeks ago, I had the biggest surprise yet. The 1940 US census was recently released, and I found mom's parents on the census in the town of Berlin. The census provided valuable information, including highest level of education. I found that my Great-Grandparents on the Wager side both only completed 6th grade. Grandma's parents completed 5th grade. Grandpa was listed as 'H4'- meaning he had completed four years of high school. Yes, that was correct. And below Grandpa's name, was my Grandma's. They were married not quite 2 years when the census takers came around. Next to Grandma's name under education it says '8'. I read it, and read it again, and said 'huh?' Then I did what all good family historians do when confronted with something that is the complete opposite of what you were ever told- I called my mother.
The story I had always been told, by my Grandma no less, was that she had finished high school but her family moved before graduation. So she didn't have a diploma, but she had finished high school. I remember her always being so proud about this. I knew her family moved a lot. Grandma grew up in The Depression, so they moved with the jobs. It was, in fact, something my Grandmother was so proud of, I included it in her obituary! I sent the obituary to my mom, aunt, and sister before we printed it.
I asked Mom why it said an 8 next to Grandma's name. Did the school she went to only go to 8th grade- and so when she said she finished high school, that was what she meant? Mom didn't think so. Mom was as baffled as I was, because she had always been told the same story- in fact, we recited it together. Mom thought maybe this was a secret Grandma carried to her grave. My next call was to Mom's older sister. My aunt shattered what I had known as 'fact' by saying that no, 8th grade was correct. Grandma's family moved so much, she couldn't adjust to the different schools, and finally just dropped out and went to work on a farm (probably picking produce) to bring in more money for the family. My aunt said the only one of Grandma's siblings to graduate high school was the youngest, Vivian, who was 10 years younger than my Grandmother (and therefore, was too young during the family's hardest times).
Mom, my sister, and I emailed about this the next day. I emailed what my aunt had said, and my sister's response was 'I don't know why this is such a surprise to you- I've known this for a while!' My mother and I are even more perplexed. How did half of us know the truth, and the other half of us have this completely different story that we believed as the truth? It has raised so many questions. Why did my Grandmother keep this from my mom and I? Was it something that she was ashamed of, and is that why she pushed college on my sister and I? It makes me sad that she felt she couldn't share this with us. It would not have changed our opinion of her at all. In fact, I always found it remarkable that both of Mom's parents were able to finish high school during the Great Depression. I know my Grandfather never held it against her. I guess it's one of the things I'll never understand about her.
My sister and I, like many of our friends, were the first generation in our family to go to college. We took different paths to our degrees. I chose the traditional path. I went to a four year college at the age of 18, and finished with my bachelor's four years after I graduated from high school. My sister also entered college after high school, and earned an Associates degree in two years. Then she was tired of school. She went to work, with my parents blessing. She worked for the same company for 11 years, and then was laid off three years ago. She found it difficult to get another job; everyone wanted a Bachelor's degree. So she went back to school. She has been taking classes while working full time, raising two children, keeping a house, and doing all the things that women find themselves doing. It was not easy, and I know was quite stressful for her. Today she is able to realize the fruits of her labor. She finished her last paper yesterday, and is now officially done. She'll walk in the graduation ceremonies in early June. I am so proud of her.
I think how far we have come in just two generations. Laura graduated with her Associates degree just days before I graduated with my Bachelor's. Grandma told me Grandpa was never more proud of his girls, than at that time we both held degrees in our hands. Grandma and Grandpa are both gone, but I know they are looking down and smiling. I suspect, Grandpa is more proud today that both of his grandchildren hold Bachelor's degrees than he was of us 14 years ago. Though he's been gone a dozen years, I can hear him telling us "An education is something no one can ever take away from you".
This emphasis on education didn't come just from my parents. Yes, Dad (a heavy equipment mechanic) told us frequently that we had to go to college so we could make a living using our brains. He didn't want us to use our backs, as he did. I have always been so proud of my parents. I know some people look down on their parents because they don't have degrees. I've never felt that way, and in fact, have argued with those who hold themselves as better because they have a degree. My parents worked hard to give Laura and I wonderful opportunities.
My Grandpa Wager was another big proponent for a college education. Grandpa always wanted to be a lawyer. He was the smartest man I've ever known. Grandpa skipped a grade in school and graduated at the age of 16. He worked some while he was saving money for college. He was ready to enroll in college and had some books bought. Then his younger sister needed emergency surgery to have her appendix out. His parents did not have the money for the surgery, so my Grandpa gave them the money he had saved. He was never paid back. Grandpa went to work, not college. Life went on. For me, this has always seemed the saddest event in my Grandfather's life. I know how devastated I would have been if my dream of college was taken away. Yet my Grandpa never complained. He just accepted it with his usual quiet grace and made the best of what he had. He was always reading though, always learning.
For her part, Grandma Wager was just as adamant that we get a college education as Grandpa and our parents were. As I said, it was never 'if', but 'where'. Although, for quite a long time she held out hope that we would attend Stetson University, not far from their house in Florida. I almost did. I interviewed with the admissions department during my Junior year of high school. It was on my short list of colleges (I had been looking at colleges since sixth grade). Then the summer after my Junior year, I attended a Communication program at the University of Pennsylvania. After that program, I knew I would major in Communication- something Stetson didn't offer. Even though I know my grandmother was disappointed, I wasn't going to waste my chance at college going someplace that didn't offer what I wanted.
Such a value was placed on education, that as I worked on the family history a few weeks ago, I had the biggest surprise yet. The 1940 US census was recently released, and I found mom's parents on the census in the town of Berlin. The census provided valuable information, including highest level of education. I found that my Great-Grandparents on the Wager side both only completed 6th grade. Grandma's parents completed 5th grade. Grandpa was listed as 'H4'- meaning he had completed four years of high school. Yes, that was correct. And below Grandpa's name, was my Grandma's. They were married not quite 2 years when the census takers came around. Next to Grandma's name under education it says '8'. I read it, and read it again, and said 'huh?' Then I did what all good family historians do when confronted with something that is the complete opposite of what you were ever told- I called my mother.
The story I had always been told, by my Grandma no less, was that she had finished high school but her family moved before graduation. So she didn't have a diploma, but she had finished high school. I remember her always being so proud about this. I knew her family moved a lot. Grandma grew up in The Depression, so they moved with the jobs. It was, in fact, something my Grandmother was so proud of, I included it in her obituary! I sent the obituary to my mom, aunt, and sister before we printed it.
I asked Mom why it said an 8 next to Grandma's name. Did the school she went to only go to 8th grade- and so when she said she finished high school, that was what she meant? Mom didn't think so. Mom was as baffled as I was, because she had always been told the same story- in fact, we recited it together. Mom thought maybe this was a secret Grandma carried to her grave. My next call was to Mom's older sister. My aunt shattered what I had known as 'fact' by saying that no, 8th grade was correct. Grandma's family moved so much, she couldn't adjust to the different schools, and finally just dropped out and went to work on a farm (probably picking produce) to bring in more money for the family. My aunt said the only one of Grandma's siblings to graduate high school was the youngest, Vivian, who was 10 years younger than my Grandmother (and therefore, was too young during the family's hardest times).
Mom, my sister, and I emailed about this the next day. I emailed what my aunt had said, and my sister's response was 'I don't know why this is such a surprise to you- I've known this for a while!' My mother and I are even more perplexed. How did half of us know the truth, and the other half of us have this completely different story that we believed as the truth? It has raised so many questions. Why did my Grandmother keep this from my mom and I? Was it something that she was ashamed of, and is that why she pushed college on my sister and I? It makes me sad that she felt she couldn't share this with us. It would not have changed our opinion of her at all. In fact, I always found it remarkable that both of Mom's parents were able to finish high school during the Great Depression. I know my Grandfather never held it against her. I guess it's one of the things I'll never understand about her.
My sister and I, like many of our friends, were the first generation in our family to go to college. We took different paths to our degrees. I chose the traditional path. I went to a four year college at the age of 18, and finished with my bachelor's four years after I graduated from high school. My sister also entered college after high school, and earned an Associates degree in two years. Then she was tired of school. She went to work, with my parents blessing. She worked for the same company for 11 years, and then was laid off three years ago. She found it difficult to get another job; everyone wanted a Bachelor's degree. So she went back to school. She has been taking classes while working full time, raising two children, keeping a house, and doing all the things that women find themselves doing. It was not easy, and I know was quite stressful for her. Today she is able to realize the fruits of her labor. She finished her last paper yesterday, and is now officially done. She'll walk in the graduation ceremonies in early June. I am so proud of her.
I think how far we have come in just two generations. Laura graduated with her Associates degree just days before I graduated with my Bachelor's. Grandma told me Grandpa was never more proud of his girls, than at that time we both held degrees in our hands. Grandma and Grandpa are both gone, but I know they are looking down and smiling. I suspect, Grandpa is more proud today that both of his grandchildren hold Bachelor's degrees than he was of us 14 years ago. Though he's been gone a dozen years, I can hear him telling us "An education is something no one can ever take away from you".
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Diamonds, Ducks, and Cookie Jars
Today was a sad day. A very dear family friend, Laura, died this morning. Laura's late husband, Lionel, was my father's best friend. Lionel passed away just after Christmas in 2007. Lionel was about 20 years older than my dad, but they were best friends. Laura and Lionel were married over 50 years. She has missed him terribly and today, they were reunited.
I have known Laura and Lionel my whole life. It seems they were a part of every big family event- birthday parties, graduation parties, bridal showers and weddings. They followed our progress in school and gave us encouragement- just as they did with their own grandchildren (whom my sister and I went to school with). Lionel tried to correct my poor posture as a child. If you've ever seen me in person, you know he didn't really succeed. But he tried. If I was slouching, he pulled my shoulders and told me to stand up straight. As we moved out on our own, they continued to ask my parents about us. When first Sydney and then Drew came along, they delighted watching another generation grow up.
Laura was from Puerto Rico. Even after living in the US for more than half a century, she still had an accent. She was a very slight woman, and very kind and generous. But she also had a temper, which kind of endeared her to me. I have always liked fiesty old women. I hope to be one someday. I remember there were times that Lionel would come to our house to hang out, saying he had to get away from 'that mad little Puerto Rican'. They both had their difficult moments, but they would have done anything for you if they liked you.
There are some very special memories I thought of today when I was telling people about Laura. Oh, and just to clarify- yes, my sister's name is also Laura, but my sister was named for Laura Ingalls Wilder, not our friend Laura. Usually, in our family we used our friend Laura's last name just to distinguish the two Lauras.
The first memory I hold very dear of our friend Laura is from my sixteenth birthday. I had a big sweet sixteen party. I made my own birthday cakes (because I wanted to). I had two cakes shaped like cars. It was, to that point in my life, the biggest party I'd ever had. The present Laura and Lionel gave me was a necklace with a small diamond pendant. It was just a tiny diamond, set in a very pretty gold setting. The gold wrapped around the stone forming what looked like a very delicate flower. I was speechless, and that doesn't happen often. Laura told me that every woman needed a diamond. She also felt that first diamond should come not from some boy who might leave (wow- she had some foresight!), but from someone who has been special to you throughout your life. I felt so grown up and so incredibly blessed.
Laura was very thoughtful giving gifts. My other very special memory involves another gift. Fast forward a few years to my Senior year of college. I was preparing for graduation and planning a wedding at the same time. I registered for all kinds of household items: pots and pans, knives, dishes, sheets and blankets, towels. While registering at J.C. Penney, I found a cookie jar shaped like Donald Duck. I love Donald Duck. I always have. I just had to have this cookie jar, even though it didn't go with the rest of the decor. So I added it to the registry.
When Laura saw my registry, she was looking for something she could buy that would be special. She told me she didn't want to buy me something generic for the house. She wanted something for ME. Something that I would love and always remember who gave it to me. When she saw the Donald Duck cookie jar, she knew that was the gift. She told Lionel that I loved Donald Duck. When I opened the gift at my shower, and then she told me the story, I felt that same feeling as I had at my Sweet Sixteen.
I have a picture of Laura and Lionel at my wedding. They are dancing. Laura is wrapped tightly in Lionel's arms, and they seem lost in their own world. It is my favorite picture of them. When my marriage broke up, Lionel told me that while it was supposed to be until 'death do us part', he believed God made an exception in cases of violence. I found that comforting.
Whenever I went home to visit my parents, I had to visit Laura and Lionel. If Mom was having a party, they were invited. If there was no party, I went to their house to see them. I last saw Laura in August, at Sydney and Drew's birthday party. She had so much fun watching all the children run and have fun. We took a picture of her holding Drew- they were both smiling. It was such a sweet picture.
On my way home for lunch today, 'How Great Thou Art' was the song that came up on my MP3 player. It is my favorite hymn. The song both comforts me and sends me to pieces. I walked through the door with tears streaming down my face. Then I had to explain to Erich what happened. As I walked through the kitchen making my lunch, I saw the cookie jar in the dining room. Yes, I still have it. I don't think I could ever get rid of it. It means too much to me.
Tonight those of us on earth are grieving. But I have no doubt she and Lionel are dancing in Heaven, wrapped tight in each other's arms. Perhaps she even gave him a tongue lashing for keeping her waiting so long!
I have known Laura and Lionel my whole life. It seems they were a part of every big family event- birthday parties, graduation parties, bridal showers and weddings. They followed our progress in school and gave us encouragement- just as they did with their own grandchildren (whom my sister and I went to school with). Lionel tried to correct my poor posture as a child. If you've ever seen me in person, you know he didn't really succeed. But he tried. If I was slouching, he pulled my shoulders and told me to stand up straight. As we moved out on our own, they continued to ask my parents about us. When first Sydney and then Drew came along, they delighted watching another generation grow up.
Laura was from Puerto Rico. Even after living in the US for more than half a century, she still had an accent. She was a very slight woman, and very kind and generous. But she also had a temper, which kind of endeared her to me. I have always liked fiesty old women. I hope to be one someday. I remember there were times that Lionel would come to our house to hang out, saying he had to get away from 'that mad little Puerto Rican'. They both had their difficult moments, but they would have done anything for you if they liked you.
There are some very special memories I thought of today when I was telling people about Laura. Oh, and just to clarify- yes, my sister's name is also Laura, but my sister was named for Laura Ingalls Wilder, not our friend Laura. Usually, in our family we used our friend Laura's last name just to distinguish the two Lauras.
The first memory I hold very dear of our friend Laura is from my sixteenth birthday. I had a big sweet sixteen party. I made my own birthday cakes (because I wanted to). I had two cakes shaped like cars. It was, to that point in my life, the biggest party I'd ever had. The present Laura and Lionel gave me was a necklace with a small diamond pendant. It was just a tiny diamond, set in a very pretty gold setting. The gold wrapped around the stone forming what looked like a very delicate flower. I was speechless, and that doesn't happen often. Laura told me that every woman needed a diamond. She also felt that first diamond should come not from some boy who might leave (wow- she had some foresight!), but from someone who has been special to you throughout your life. I felt so grown up and so incredibly blessed.
Laura was very thoughtful giving gifts. My other very special memory involves another gift. Fast forward a few years to my Senior year of college. I was preparing for graduation and planning a wedding at the same time. I registered for all kinds of household items: pots and pans, knives, dishes, sheets and blankets, towels. While registering at J.C. Penney, I found a cookie jar shaped like Donald Duck. I love Donald Duck. I always have. I just had to have this cookie jar, even though it didn't go with the rest of the decor. So I added it to the registry.
When Laura saw my registry, she was looking for something she could buy that would be special. She told me she didn't want to buy me something generic for the house. She wanted something for ME. Something that I would love and always remember who gave it to me. When she saw the Donald Duck cookie jar, she knew that was the gift. She told Lionel that I loved Donald Duck. When I opened the gift at my shower, and then she told me the story, I felt that same feeling as I had at my Sweet Sixteen.
I have a picture of Laura and Lionel at my wedding. They are dancing. Laura is wrapped tightly in Lionel's arms, and they seem lost in their own world. It is my favorite picture of them. When my marriage broke up, Lionel told me that while it was supposed to be until 'death do us part', he believed God made an exception in cases of violence. I found that comforting.
Whenever I went home to visit my parents, I had to visit Laura and Lionel. If Mom was having a party, they were invited. If there was no party, I went to their house to see them. I last saw Laura in August, at Sydney and Drew's birthday party. She had so much fun watching all the children run and have fun. We took a picture of her holding Drew- they were both smiling. It was such a sweet picture.
On my way home for lunch today, 'How Great Thou Art' was the song that came up on my MP3 player. It is my favorite hymn. The song both comforts me and sends me to pieces. I walked through the door with tears streaming down my face. Then I had to explain to Erich what happened. As I walked through the kitchen making my lunch, I saw the cookie jar in the dining room. Yes, I still have it. I don't think I could ever get rid of it. It means too much to me.
Tonight those of us on earth are grieving. But I have no doubt she and Lionel are dancing in Heaven, wrapped tight in each other's arms. Perhaps she even gave him a tongue lashing for keeping her waiting so long!
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