We've had quite a number of severe storms lately -- out here in the Midwest -- and I remember the storms (if you could call the that now that I know what a storm is really like) we had when I was growing up and during the many times I returned home.
There was a smell in the air, even before there were any visible storm clouds. I suppose it's because we were due east of the Delaware River (yes that's what the smell was) and the wind had changed direction and picked up speed. Anyway, we always knew that a storm was coming well before we actually heard any thunder.
Now we have weather radar to keep us updated. These past few days one of our TVs has been tuned into that channel almost constantly. We praise God that the storms, while tornadic, haven't spawned any funnels in our area.
I recall one day, I had just gotten home from school. The sky was darkening. Our bad storms (remember that's relative) always came from just to the east of the Downing school. And we'd watched the clouds build up and darken. I usually just stayed on the front porch and watched them roll in.
I got home from school and my dad grabbed me and told me to go to the basement. Go to the basement? Why? Because there is going to be a tornado, I was told. Yeh, right. Well, the sky did get that greenish tint that accompanies and warns of the possibility of a tornado, but I wondered why my dad would say such a thing. NJ doesn't get tornadoes, does it? Well, not back then. We never heard of such a thing.
Well, if there was a tornado that day, it missed us, but I had nightmares for years of me being in the basement with the family, and looking up into a funnel and it turning and missing our house just as it got close enough to see what was whirling inside.
Last night as the storms came through we were given a play-by-play of where the whirling clouds were. Communities were told to go their "safe place". Our "safe place"? Our "safe place" is with our Lord. However, our tornado non-shelter is under the stairwell behind the elevator.
ttfn
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Monthly cleaning
I first attended Downing School, then Bingham, then back to Downing. One of our monthly "chores" was to clean out our desks. I loved doing that. We were encouraged to clean our desks whenever we had spare time, i.e., we finished our arithmetic before everyone else. But, we were required to do it at the end of the month. The teachers had to justify their attendance books at that time, and this was when we had the monthly cleaning of our desks and various other classroom chores, such as clearing off the bulletin boards of any papers that were posted, making sure that the cloak room was clear of all matter such as rotting lunches, or clapping the erasers -- which really was a daily chore which I loved to do. I think most of us did enjoy clapping the erasers.
For those of you who don't know what clapping the erasers is, it is simply taking two chalkboard erasers and taking one eraser in each hand -- chalk side away from the hand -- and then banging them together until you can't see any more dust flying from them. You had to either hang out the window or go outside to do this chore. If the weather was nice, we opted to go outside. Since each classroom was provided with four erasers, two of us had this job!
Our desks were the kind that had the seat that was hinged, as was the lid. There was a hole cut in the desk on the right side corner farthest from the child, which at one time held an ink pot. No more ink pots once the lead pencil was invented.
We had a desk like this on our back porch for most of my growing up time, and I used it, of course, to play teacher. Dad put a chalkboard up in front of one of the windows, which was a little high for a shorty, so I had to stand on a footstool to use it.
After our desks were cleaned out to our teacher's satisfaction, we received a new pencil. We got a new pencil (No. 2, eraser tipped, yellow painted) every month. And oh how we coveted the box in which the pencils came. The top slid off the box not unlike the larger crayon boxes do today.
I don't remember what qualified us for a box, but whatever it was, believe me I tried very hard to be one of the recipients. Since the class was 30 or 31 children, that meant that three boxes would be deprived of its pencil content (12 per box), so three of us each month received one of the coveted boxes.
I suppose it would have been fairer to just give the boxes out to the children in alphabetical order (10 months, 30 children) but that's not how I recall the boxes being given out.
I still have a love for all things stationery (as did my father to a hoarding extent). And I just love to walk through Staples and sniff the paper or the pencils (the wooden ones). The smell of these items evokes such fond memories.
ttfn
For those of you who don't know what clapping the erasers is, it is simply taking two chalkboard erasers and taking one eraser in each hand -- chalk side away from the hand -- and then banging them together until you can't see any more dust flying from them. You had to either hang out the window or go outside to do this chore. If the weather was nice, we opted to go outside. Since each classroom was provided with four erasers, two of us had this job!
Our desks were the kind that had the seat that was hinged, as was the lid. There was a hole cut in the desk on the right side corner farthest from the child, which at one time held an ink pot. No more ink pots once the lead pencil was invented.
We had a desk like this on our back porch for most of my growing up time, and I used it, of course, to play teacher. Dad put a chalkboard up in front of one of the windows, which was a little high for a shorty, so I had to stand on a footstool to use it.
After our desks were cleaned out to our teacher's satisfaction, we received a new pencil. We got a new pencil (No. 2, eraser tipped, yellow painted) every month. And oh how we coveted the box in which the pencils came. The top slid off the box not unlike the larger crayon boxes do today.
I don't remember what qualified us for a box, but whatever it was, believe me I tried very hard to be one of the recipients. Since the class was 30 or 31 children, that meant that three boxes would be deprived of its pencil content (12 per box), so three of us each month received one of the coveted boxes.
I suppose it would have been fairer to just give the boxes out to the children in alphabetical order (10 months, 30 children) but that's not how I recall the boxes being given out.
I still have a love for all things stationery (as did my father to a hoarding extent). And I just love to walk through Staples and sniff the paper or the pencils (the wooden ones). The smell of these items evokes such fond memories.
ttfn
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Back home
It's been almost a year, now, since I was back in Runnemede. Where has the time gone?
The Drexler family returned to Runnemede to attend the 100th Anniversary celebration for Mt. Calvary Union Church, where my father pastored for 55 years. What a weekend it was! I never had so much fun in my life, not even at family weddings.
In the past year I lost a dear friend, Dawn Anderson, who seemed to be doing pretty well fighting cancer when is saw her last May. She was one of my bridesmaids, and we kept in touch over the years. In fact, several years ago, I had a bridesmaids' lunch reunion and she was there. Also, Mr. Manduka (Uncle Bill) was very ill, nigh unto death, but God wasn't ready to receive him yet. He's 90 and still going and going and going. Praise God!
I am heading back in September and will see what or who is happening at the church. I need to get a few more pictures that I didn't get last May, namely the cornerstone of the church which has the date of the building of the church. And maybe some fall floral pictures from what's left of mom's garden.
ttfn
The Drexler family returned to Runnemede to attend the 100th Anniversary celebration for Mt. Calvary Union Church, where my father pastored for 55 years. What a weekend it was! I never had so much fun in my life, not even at family weddings.
In the past year I lost a dear friend, Dawn Anderson, who seemed to be doing pretty well fighting cancer when is saw her last May. She was one of my bridesmaids, and we kept in touch over the years. In fact, several years ago, I had a bridesmaids' lunch reunion and she was there. Also, Mr. Manduka (Uncle Bill) was very ill, nigh unto death, but God wasn't ready to receive him yet. He's 90 and still going and going and going. Praise God!
I am heading back in September and will see what or who is happening at the church. I need to get a few more pictures that I didn't get last May, namely the cornerstone of the church which has the date of the building of the church. And maybe some fall floral pictures from what's left of mom's garden.
ttfn
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Fancy lunch
I am reading a book about a WWII hero (Fiction) and in this book the author describes the Wanamaker Tea Room. Boy, did his description bring back memories. I don't know if I've ever written about this before, and it's realy about Philadelphia, not Runnemede, but the journey starts in Runnemede, so I guess it really is about Runnemede. When I was a child, say 7 or 8, my dad took me into Philly (via bus #31) and we got off the bus at 13th and Market in downtown Philadelphia, PA. The excitement began as we got on the bus. Excitement equals an upset stomach. However, I was able to keep my breakfast down during the bus ride into Town. Dad wanted to take me some place special. I think the occasion was my birthday. Anyway, it was the first of several trips dad and I would take to this wonderful restaurant -- the Chrystal Tea Room on the 9th floor of Wanamaker's store. There were three ways to get there once you got into the store. You could ride up in an elevator, you could take a series of escalators up, or you could climb nine flights of stairs. Dad opted for the elevator. (ASIDE: the music floor was two floors down - 7th floor -- and I spent many lunch hours there when I was working in Philly in the early 60s. The difference was that to save time I would run up the stairs to the 7th floor and run down the stairs when I left the music department. To think that now I can't even do one step!) We arrived at the entry to the restaurant. The tables were set with linen table cloths and had linen napkins and silver cutlery, as well as two goblets. One for water, and the other for wine I suppose. We only got water. Dad suggested that I get the chicken salad sandwich on toast, which I did. It was delicious, and became my favorite. Did dad and I return to that restaurant? Yes, we did, several times. So did my mother and I. Thank you daddy for taking me to such a nice place. And thanks to Dan Walsh (the author of the book The Homecoming) for reminding of those pleasant trips and times of love and laughter with my father. ttfn
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Daddy and his roots
The last time I really talked to my father, prior to our moving him to North Carolina, and he was still talking to me, he was telling me about his boyhood years and his Amish roots.
That got me thinking...Daddy never had an auto, didn't want one either. He did have a bicycle which he rode all over Runnemede and neighboring towns. He also would pay a bus driver to take him into Philly, and when he got older and wasn't riding the bike any more, he always paid someone to take him to the places he needed to go. A very Amish thing to do.
He also told me about the visits he had to one of his family's farm in Lancaster, PA. He loved going there, but for some reason there are no pictures of that farm.
Also, the things dad loved to eat could be taken right from any Amish cookbook. He loved creamed celery, which he got to eat rarely, so he substituted cream of celery soup. Not one of my favorites. He loved noodles and dumplings and pies and he always had bread and jelly with his dinner. Coffee was another favorite of dads, and he had several cups each day.
Now, some are saying, so what. He had coffee. Read any of Beverly Lewis' books. The characters in her books are always sitting down to have a cup of coffee, and they always have bread and jelly with dinner.
My mom put up enough jelly every summer so that she didn't have to buy any and dad especially loved her peach jam and her apple butter. Of course, we children loved mom's jams and jellies also, but we were rationed a couple of bites. Dad was very stingy with his wife's jellies and jams. I think my favorite was peach, but my sister and brothers liked the grape jelly.
ttfn
That got me thinking...Daddy never had an auto, didn't want one either. He did have a bicycle which he rode all over Runnemede and neighboring towns. He also would pay a bus driver to take him into Philly, and when he got older and wasn't riding the bike any more, he always paid someone to take him to the places he needed to go. A very Amish thing to do.
He also told me about the visits he had to one of his family's farm in Lancaster, PA. He loved going there, but for some reason there are no pictures of that farm.
Also, the things dad loved to eat could be taken right from any Amish cookbook. He loved creamed celery, which he got to eat rarely, so he substituted cream of celery soup. Not one of my favorites. He loved noodles and dumplings and pies and he always had bread and jelly with his dinner. Coffee was another favorite of dads, and he had several cups each day.
Now, some are saying, so what. He had coffee. Read any of Beverly Lewis' books. The characters in her books are always sitting down to have a cup of coffee, and they always have bread and jelly with dinner.
My mom put up enough jelly every summer so that she didn't have to buy any and dad especially loved her peach jam and her apple butter. Of course, we children loved mom's jams and jellies also, but we were rationed a couple of bites. Dad was very stingy with his wife's jellies and jams. I think my favorite was peach, but my sister and brothers liked the grape jelly.
ttfn
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Snowy winter
I know I have a picture of a snowy winter in the 60s, but I can't find it, so you'll have to just visualize a snowy Runnemede in 1961. This is not the picture, I just wanted to put you readers in the mood, so to speak.
I have to smile at some of former Runnemede-ites (or is it Runnemede-ians?) who are on Facebook and still live in the area and their comments about the snowy winter of 2010-11.
Thinking back to 1961, if I recall correctly, we didn't see the tar of the street from Christmas until after March 21 (we had a really bad snow/ice storm on March 15) in 1961. And we all loved the snow. It snowed a lot that year. We had a lot of "snow" days. So many, that school finally closed somewhere around June 25. And it was hot that summer, which started early, so we suffered in an non-air-conditioned high school building.
All of us who are now opining over the snowy/cold weather (including myself) loved the snow when we were young and weren't afraid of falling down and breaking a hip. We had the energy to shovel the snow, although, I usually left that to my brothers. We enjoyed snowball fights. We could make snow angels and get ourselves back up out of the snow with the aid of another human being. We youngsters even enjoyed ice storms, because they left a sheen of ice over everything, and we could break out our ice skates and actually skate on the ice layer left by the ice storm.
Ah, yes, we loved that snow.
Frankly? I still love the snow. It looks pretty. Everything is quiet. You can actually walk in the street without getting run over.
Me? I just stay indoors, and because I'm retired I have the luxury of doing that. Those who have still not retired and have to get out, well, I do feel badly for you.
Just think nice thoughts... "The weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful" ...Or sitting in front of a fire drinking hot chocolate, or buttered rum (not my personal favorite) ... Or watching your grandchildren playing in the snow enjoying all the things you used to enjoy.
As I watch the flakes coming down again, at 6 a.m. on a Tuesday morning Februrary 22, 2011, and the school closings are pouring in, I think, better them than me. I'll just stay indoors today, and make my husband some oatmeal and a nice pot of coffee, infused with chocolate, and enjoy the view.
ttfn
Blast from the past!
Okay, I'm not real proud of this picture, but I thought I'd post it and give you all a laugh!
I'm 16 years old. Note the classy glasses! Note the curly hair! Note the long, Audrey-Hepburn neck!
How time changes things.
I still wear dorky glasses. It seems when I get new glasses, I always purchase a "current" style that is sadly, out-of-style in two weeks after purchase.
The curly hair? It is no more. First, there is so much less hair now, than there was then. Second, the color is different. Under the "coloring" it's snow-white. Third, it is no longer curly, a new phenomenon which has occurred only since I had my hair colored just before Christmas, 2010.
I post this picture so that all my classmates from the Triton class of 1961 can recall what I looked like. The soon-to-be 50th-anniversary-of-our-graduation party will be celebrated. I will be there, Lord willing, and except for the infusion of over 100 pounds since this picture was taken, a different color, hair, you all will recognize me by the "dorky glasses."
ttfn
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
