Rubber Boots

I was looking through the LL Bean catalog today and saw something that reminded me of those good old days of rubber boots -- we called them rubbers.  Mine were black, boy's boots, hand-me-downs; but they did the job, sort of.

Anyway, we all had them, but the boots went over our shoes, so they had to be a couple of sizes bigger than our shoes so they would fit.  I wasn't overly fond of them for two reasons.

They were difficult to put on and then get off again, especially if you were a third grader and your mother wasn't around to help you.

The second reason was when you wore them in snow, the cold, wet, damp snow tended to implode downward into the boot freezing your tiny feet off and coaxing you to go indoors in less time that  you really wanted to spend outdoors playing in the snow, building snowmen, or sledding down the slight incline across the street, into the street, and onto the yard across the street.

Brrrr.

Today the rubber boots are lined in warm, fuzzy fleece, and you don't wear them over your every-day shoes. 

Niiiiiiccccccccceeeeeeee.


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The church bell

Up in the belfry there is a working bell.  It is pretty loud.

My father used to call us children to church by pulling on a rope and getting the ringing started.  He would pull the rope about 10 times and his own children would march in with his wife and other children would come as well.

I don't know much of the history of the church, but I know some of the history of the town.  It was decided in 1910 that the town of Runnemede (population 500 maybe) needed a church.  I believe the name Mt. Calvary Union Church was named "union" church because it was a union of the various denominations in the small town.  I know that one of the builders stayed with MCUC until his death.

I believe the bell was used to call people to church and those nearby could hear that call.

The bell was used for other occasions as well.  I remember when WWII ended in Europe on V-E day my dad went over to the church and rang the bell. He rang it for a long time.  I was only two but I remember that and I remember when Japan surrendered there was another ringing of the bell.  Of course by the time Dad got to Runnemede there were two other churches.  There was the Lutheran church and the Catholic church.  And with Runnemede being built up by that time, I don't know how far the sound of the bell went.

Also, after weddings, the bell was sometimes rung -- not always.  I asked that it be rung on my wedding day, but my father didn't want to do that.  He was losing one of his girls and, well, you've all seen Father of the Bride so I guess you can understand why he wouldn't ring the bell.

To my brother Mark:  Did you ring the bell on my wedding day?  Just wondering.

The bell still rings when someone pulls the rope.  But you have to pull that rope gently, because pulling too fast, or too hard will turn the bell upside down and then the rope gets all messed up.

I remember my father getting up into the belfry on a couple of occasions to get the bell straightened out -- he had to unwind the rope where it had gotten tangled, and he was not a happy camper on those occasions.  I think Sue Youngblood's father also came over to the church to fix the bell on a couple of occasions.

I think it is amazing that I can see Mr. Youngblood as he was then, and Mrs. Youngblood as she was then.  But I can't see how my aunts and uncles looked in the late 40s/early 50s.at i

My sister, Debbie reminded me that my father always rang the bell at exactly midnight on New Year's Eve.  And when I say "exactly midnight", I mean, exactly midnight.  Dad would check with the phone company a couple of times a day to make sure his pocket watch was holding perfect time and that it was set with US Naval Observatory Time.  And, I can't believe I forgot to mention that!


Well, I guess that's enough about the bell at MCUC.  Ring that bell one more time (at least) for me.

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Sunday, a long time ago

Many years ago, a lot more than 50, but fewer than 70, when I was a young child, my father deviated from the regular schedule of the church service. 

Here's what I remember of that Sunday morning. 

My father had purchased a Bible which he wanted to place on the Communion Table (that's the table on which you can see an open book).  He said that the Bible should remain on the table, open, and from time to time he would change the page to another chapter, and perhaps another book, and would talk about that for a few minutes. 

On this particular Sunday he had selected a chapter in Psalms.  I do not remember what the chapter was, nor do I remember the sermon that day.

I do remember another thing that my father pointed to, however. 

In this picture you can see a small sign over the Pastor's Chair which is just behind the Pulpit.  It is black and is just above the burgundy colored curtain.  It says, "Jesus".  This, my father told the congregation is Who was precious to him, and he wanted it there to remind the church on Whom it was built.  As Jesus Christ was humble, my father wanted the sign to be small and unobtrusive, but visible even from the back row of the church. 

Dad then stood behind the pulpit,  prayed his closing prayer, and we all sang the Doxology as we left the building.

I really never forgot that day when dad opened that Bible, placed it on that table, and said as long as he was pastor, he wanted that Bible there. 

It was on that table for over 50 years. 


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Brothers

I have two brothers.  There's the one that's, shall we say, the quiet one (now); and the one who speaks with forked tongue (broccoli hater) whenever he can get away with it.  I love them both dearly.  One for his yearly birthday call to me, and the other because he makes FB worthwhile.

Mark, is the one that most resembles in mind his sister (that would be me).  He is a pastor in Goshen.  That's the one in Indiana, not the one in southern Ohio.

He's the one I used to leg wrestle.  He's the one I would punch for no reason at all, and he took it because he was trained that as a boy/man he should never hit a girl/woman.  I still give him a slug from time to time.  But since the time-to-time times that I see him are getting less frequent as we get older and spouses that can't travel keep us bound to our local area for the most part, I guess my punches will have to be KIWIs.  (See paragraph below for explanation.

Mark has a running commentary on FB about his dog, his lazy dog, Sherm, and his bathroom habits (Sherm's not Mark's).  Not exactly the most tantalizing subject, but he does put a very humorous slant on all he says about Sherm. 

Mark also hates broccoli.  So, lately, instead of saying _**&^, he says "broccoli".  So, I've been countering with "kiwi".  It's not that I hate kiwi, it's just not in the "my favorite fruits" category. 

Mark has a way of exaggerating something so that it almost sounds like the truth.  And therein is the rub.  Mark is a pastor.  He speaks the truth on Sunday and Wednesday, but other days?  He's just funnin'.  I love him for his humor, believe me.  He is an interesting "preacher". 

As I said he has made my forays in FB fun and interesting and I just have to respond.

KIWI!

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My brother Mark (he's the elderly gent, not the baby).

 

 

Thrifty MOm

My mom was so thrifty.  She could refresh six people with two oranges.  She'd cut the orange into sections, six per half orange.  That would be twelve sections per orange.  And those sections were equal and didn't look very skinny, as they should have. 

So with 24 orange sections, and six people, we each received four sections -- or smiles as mom put it.  We would suck the juice out of a section, then eat the pulp.  Yummies in our tummies.  We had our afternoon snack or breakfast orange supply and we were all happy.

Of course with three oranges, we made out like bandits, 36 sections, 6 people, 6 sections per person.  That would be dessert after dinner. 

To this day I cannot cut oranges the way my mom did.  I mean I cannot cut even sections like she did. 

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Sunday School Picnic Time

Sunday School Picnic Time was one of the most awaited events of the year back when I was a child.  This was one of the highlights of the summer. 

The church would get a bus to take those who didn't have cars (not all families had cars in the 40s and early 50s) and even those who had cars allowed their children to ride the bus. Some of the dads would take their cars to the site in case the children tired and wanted to get home earlier.

The picnics were usually held at one of the lakes in the "lake region" of South Jersey.  I know we went to Lake Oberst for a few years, and then we went to lake Paletine for several years.   I know we went to a third lake in my teen years, but as much as I've tried to think of the name of that lake, I just can't. 

The picnics always had grills where mom would cook hot dogs for lunch and then hamburgers for an early dinner.  The bus left at 7 p.m.  (I think).  I know by the time the bus did leave the lake to take us home, we were wiped out and slept very well after our Saturday night bath.

The hosts and hostesses of the events (they changed from year to year) had games for the children -- the best of which was the candy toss. 

One thing about the S. Jersey lakes -- they are for the most part cedar lakes.  That means that there are cedar trees in the deepest parts of the lakes, and they are surrounded by these trees.  You cannot see your feet if you are standing in one foot of water.  And you do not want to wear a new bathing suit in one of these lakes, unless it is black or brown, because the suit will be darkened because of the pigment in the water (cedar?).   I learned that the hard way. 

I bought myself a new bathing suit -- I wanted a NEW one, and not someone else's hand-me-down  -- for a change, and it was a really cute suit -- pink gingham, one-piece.  Well, it was brown when I got home, so I washed it right away.  It was still brownish.  It just looked dirty.  I bleached it.  It didn't help.  So I had this mauve and muddy colored bathing suit which I wore for several years. 

The last Sunday School picnic I attended at Mt. Calvary was when I was in my late 40s.  We were home for a short vacation, and it was SS picnic time, only this time it was held at someone's home.  Sunday school had dropped quite  bit in attendance since the 50s.  I remember this day because I helped mom get ready for the picnic and we went in our car.  Mom was carrying the potato salad which I made.  When we got out of the car to go into the very large yard where the picnic was being held, mom would not let go of the bowl.  She said it was helping her keep her balance.

I never knew what she meant by that until this past year.  I have had severe balance problems, and I fine if I am holding something with both hands I can walk steadier.  Who knew?

One final note:  I find that out here in the Midwest they don't refer to these picnics as Sunday School picnics, but church picnics. 

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My brother reminded me that we went to Centerton Lake a couple of years and I think that's what I have pictures of in one of my many albums, and we also went to Cedar Lake.  I loved swimming there until one day I saw a bunch of fecal matter in the lake.  That was the end of it for me.  Sorry, Mark.

A small house

I lived for 23 years in the house in the picture above.   It was a small house.  The footprint is at most 1,000 feet.  It is a two bedroom house, with two attic rooms. 

I must start at the beginning.  I am writing this because I used to enjoy watching House Hunters on HGTV.  I have gotten tired, recently, of the younger set whining for and wanting at least four bedrooms (they have no children, just the two of them), they must have at least two bathrooms, and the master bedroom must have a bathroom with two sinks, a soaker tub, and a huge shower, separate from the tub.  The fixtures must be up-to-date, etc.  The kitchen must be huge with granite countertops.  And finally, this is in most cases their first home, not the one in which they want to raise their children.

There is rarely mention of the house being a home.

Well, our small house was a home.  My mother made it a home.

When I was small we had the two bedrooms, one for mom and dad, and one for us children.  In the children's bedroom my sister and I shared a double bed, and there was a crib, and a twin bed. One of the two closets in the house was in that room.  It held my mom's clothes.  Dad's clothes were in a walnut wardrobe.  The only other closet in the house was in the hall way.  It stored winter coats.  There was room for about six coats in there.  The vacuum cleaner was also stored there. 

There was little room to move around in either bedroom but we managed and we didn't think we were deprived.  And, oh, did I mention there was only ONE BATHROOM, no shower, except for a hose-like contraption attached to the faucet in the tub, which was a beautiful claw-foot tub.  Six people, one bathroom.  We didn't feel deprived, because it was our home.

When my sister and I had reached the ages of 6 and 9, respectively, we were put up in the attic.  It was cold in the winter and hot, hot, hot in the summer.  We didn't feel deprived.  There was no closet up there, so we hung our clothing on nails or a very small roll-around valet.  We were crowded in the attic because the center part was probably only 9 feet wide, and the only place to put the bed was sticking out into the 9x15 room that had a chimney in the middle (the heat source) and stairs taking up three feet at one end.  We loved that room. 

To this day, I have very fond memories of that room.  When I went to college I moved into the storage room in the attic, pulling out as much of the junk that was stored there so I could put in a single bed and use one of the chests of drawers that was stored in there.  I liked that room a whole lot.  Why?  Because I could rearrange my furniture as often as I wanted.  I had a desk, a chest of drawers, a bed and lots of neat "stored" items which I arranged in that small room.  The only source of heat in that room was what came through the doorway, so in the winter I had to leave the door open.  I felt like Louisa May Alcott.

I loved that  home.  My sister loved that home.  My brothers loved that home.  Mom and dad put the love in our home.

Yes, we had outdated appliances, fixtures in the bath and an unfinished basement.  Shabby sheik?  My mom invented it!

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