Space cadet

The day at the Ford garage wasn't the first (or last) time I spaced out.  In Kindergarten we always lined up to go everywhere, and in those days we lined up in two rows, by gender.  We took turns getting to be the first in line.  We were in an old school and had to go downstairs to go to the restroom, so we went at scheduled times, as a whole class.  It was finally my turn to be the leader of the girl's line.  We were on the right side of the boys.  Time to go downstairs, and I was so proud to be leading the girls.  All of a sudden I realized that there is no one behind me anymore.  I had forgotten to turn left at the stairs.  The girl behind me just led the rest of the line downstairs while I continued to walk straight forward.  I don't remember leading the line ever again after that. Well, who cares; they didn't follow me anyway!

Visiting the Ford garage

One day in 2nd grade, when it was time for afternoon recess, I walked out and started for home.  I must have been really out of it, because I didn't notice that when we walked out the door everyone else turned right when I turned left, or notice that I was the only one walking down the hill,. This was the year of the abusive nun, so maybe I went someplace else in my mind that day. It was when I reached the bottom of the hill that I realized I was alone and there was no safety patrol to help me cross the street.  I started to cry because I didn't know what was going on.  Across the street was the Ford garage, and one of the mechanics came out and took me into the garage.  I don't know why they just kept me there, but they did.  Maybe I didn't tell them my name, or whatever, but I would think that they would have tried to find out where I was supposed to be, or call the police, or something.  But they didn't do that. They sat me down and gave me snacks to eat, and talked to me while they worked.  I remember sitting on the hood of a car. When school was really over, they just sent me home.  Meanwhile, the school had called my mother and told her I was missing and hadn't come in from recess.  She called my dad at work and he was driving around looking for me. So when I walked in the door at home, oblivious, I was met by a frantic mother (who almost killed me).  This was just one of those weird things that happened in my life. In a freaky coincidence, as a freshman in high school I met a girl and became best friends with her.  Her father worked as a mechanic at the Ford garage, and he was the one who had come out to get me and took me into the shop.

Dating a priest

Speaking of priests, our family sometimes got friendly with younger priests at our parish.  My brother Alan was really good friends with Father Al. Al would come over to our house and hang out.  The summer I was 18 I didn't go to Colorado for the summer, but stayed home with Alan so I could work and earn money for college.  That summer Alan had a girlfriend named Karen who also spent a lot of time at our house.  That meant that the four of us spent a lot of time together.  We were all friends and didn't think anything of it.  One night we went out to see "Jesus Christ Superstar."  We all walked in, Alan and Karen in front, and me and Father Al behind them.  I was goofing off and introduced Father Al to a friend of mine as my "date." Right after that we turned around and saw some people from our church, staring at us and whispering.  They must have ran to tell the head priest about what they saw, because after that Father Al hardly ever came to our house any more.  Nosy bitches!  I didn't see father Al much after starting college, until he was going to marry me.  No, not MARRY me, marry me, but marry me as in performing the ceremony.  He was a great guy! Cute, too!

Toilet Papering

The second best time I went out toilet papering was a summer in Colorado living in Fort Collins. A bunch of us were hanging around outside and got the brilliant idea to go toilet paper something.  We went in and got the TP and started wandering around looking for something to put it on. When you don't really know anyone it is harder to decide where to go because you are going to TP a total stranger's stuff.  We decided to do cars (Do you see a theme here?)  We went down an alley and found a car we went to work on.  All of a sudden a car turned into the alley and we ducked down figuring it would go by us.  However, it didn't go by.  It stopped where we were and a light started shining at us.  That was when we realized it was a cop car.  Then that was when we started running.  We ran in all different directions, and I remember hitting the ground to go under a hedge.  We were lucky no one was caught, except for the branches that caught my arms and legs and ripped the hell out of them.  Try to explain THAT to your mother! (And also where all the toilet paper she just bought went.)

My first, best and favorite time going TPing was actually as an adult.  (I'll bet you thought my favorite time was in Denver at Cheesman Park!)  A bunch of us were at a house party and 'someone' decided we should go and TP another couple's house.  The police came and caught us at it, but we got away with it because the person who suggested doing it lied and said we had permission to do it.  You think I get in trouble? You think I was the 'someone'? Nope.  That person was our parish priest!

Cheesman Park in Denver

Every summer in Denver's Cheesman Park, they put up a stage and did a Broadway musical.  It was free, and you sat on the grass to watch.  In order to get a good place, my parents would pack lunch and dinner and we would go down in the morning.  All day we would run around and goof off while our mom and dad stayed on the blanket holding our spot.  The musicals I remember seeing were "The King and I," "South Pacific," "The Sound of Music," and "My Fair Lady." This was in the 60s, so these were pretty big back then.  They had some professional actors for the big parts, and local talent for the rest of the cast.  The year we saw "South Pacific" it rained, and I remember my sister Mary and I laughing hysterically about the song, "I'm gonna wash that man right out of my hair," being sung in the rain.  When the rain stopped, they mopped off the stage and just started where they left off.  A bunch of people had left, so we moved up closer to the front and stayed and watched the rest.  The year I was 17 we went with another family from Wisconsin whose dad was also going to school out there. They had a daughter my age (Becky), a daughter Mary's age (Nancy) and another daughter closer to our little brother Brian's age (Barbara).  I did a lot with Becky, who was my age, but frequently it was the four older kids hanging out together.  Teens with too much time on their hands can get in trouble, and that year I remember stealing toilet paper out of the bathrooms and using it to toilet paper random cars parked in the streets around the park.  That time no cops saw us.  Yup, I said, THAT time...

Summers in Colorado

My father went to school out in Fort Collins, Colorado at Colorado State University, to finish his Bachelor's degree and to get his Master's degree starting when I was 12 years old.  Most years we went along and lived there for the summer. Although not all of my brothers and sisters went along, because two were married, five of us lived there with our parents.  Because of having a large family and because we didn't have a lot of money, we rented several fraternity houses to live in. The first thing we did was clean the house.  We each got to pick our own room as long as we cleaned it.  It was the only time I ever had my own room.  The first summer we lived in Theta Chi.  There was no television in the house, which meant we had to come up with ways to entertain ourselves. One of the things we did was play multiple person Solitaire.  We would sit at one of the large tables in the dining room and each of us would deal out a game of Solitaire.  Then all hell would break out as we were looking at everyone else's game to try to play one of our cards on theirs.  The first person to go out would win.  At times you would see a chance to play a card and you had to get up and run around the table to the place you could play the card. Sometimes more than one person would see the same chance to play a card and would race to be there first.  Only time in my life I got bruises from playing Solitaire.

Not Politically Correct

When I was a kid we told a lot of jokes that today would be considered "not politically correct."  In addition to Pollock jokes, we told Helen Keller jokes (What did Helen Keller's parents do to punish her? Rearrange the furniture.), dead baby jokes (Won't even put one here), Chinese book title jokes (Spot On the Wall, by Who Flung Dung), and brother jokes (Mommy, mommy, I don't like my brother. Shut up and keep eating).  But my favorites were the "guy with no arms and legs" jokes. I loved the play on words.

What do you call a guy with no arms and no legs hanging on a wall?
Art

What do you call a guy with no arms and no legs lying on your front porch?
Matt

What do you call a guy with no arms and no legs lying in a ditch?
Phil

What do you call a guy with no arms and no legs floating in the ocean?
Bob

OK, so I'm weird!

Second Movie

My sister Patti took me to see the movie "Darby O'Gill and the Little People."  In this movie there is a "banshee." A banshee in Irish folklore is a fairy spirit who wails if someone is about to die.  The banshee in the movie didn't look like a fairy.  Watch this You Tube video. Right about the time the banshee comes forward, when Darby yells, "Keep off now! Keep off now!" I ran screaming from the theater.  I was in the lobby crying and shaking and the owner of the theater was trying to calm me when my sister came out to see where I went.  I would NOT go back in.  They gave us our money back and we went home.  Does anyone know how it ended?

BTW, did you see the young Sean Connery? I didn't even notice him the first time I saw the movie! Of course, that was when I was still planning on becoming a nun.

Seeing My First Movie

A new family moved in around the corner.  There was a boy my age, named David.  One day they came by the house to pick me up to take me to the movies.  My mother had forgotten they were going to do that, and told them I couldn't go because she forgot and I didn't have any shoes to wear because they were at the shoe repair shop, and I only had the one pair.  David's mom offered to drive over there to pick them up, so that's what we did. It was the weirdest feeling.  Going off in a car with total strangers and going in to pick up my shoes. I loved those shoes.  They were red leather Mary Janes.  Anyway, after we got my shoes we went to the movies.  It was the first time I ever went to the movie theater.  We saw the Disney film, "Johnny Tremain." The part that I remember most is when Johnny spilled melted silver on his hand and burned it. David went to the public school so I didn't really get to know him until high school. We didn't even play together in summer.  If he saw me he chased me away. In high school he asked me out, but he was 3 inches shorter than me so I didn't go out with him.  Hmmm, maybe if I would have gone in stocking feet...

Being Babysat 2: On being tied in bed

Parents should realize that younger children do not always listen to older children who have been left in charge.  I mean, these are brothers and sisters!  One night my parents went out to a party, and left my sisters and a brother, and me alone with our oldest brother, Bill.  He was probably 11 or 12 at the time.  When it was time for bed he told us to go to bed.  We went to bed, but we didn't stay there.  My sister Mary, who is a year younger than I am, shared a bed with me.  We kept getting out of bed to play.  Our giggling would give us away, and soon Billy would be there to yell at us to get back in bed.  It became a game with us to see how long we could be up before he came back at told us to get in bed.  Apparently he tired of the game before we did, so he brought some rope, wrestled us down and tied us in bed.  When my parents came home, Billy really got yelled at because, "What if there was a fire?" Us little girls were the trouble makers, but got off scot-free. Again.  And as an adult I have tormented Bill even more by telling him it is his fault that I like kinky sex. I figure he deserves it because of the cat.

Being Babysat 1: On Getting Lost

When you live in a large family, older brothers and sisters get stuck watching the younger ones.  When I was 3, my oldest brother, Bill, took some of us to play at a park near our house. I remember not wanting to go home when he said it was time.  I was sitting on a swing, and hanging tightly to the chains.  Bill tried to peel my hands off the chains, but he couldn't do it.  He got angry and went home with the other kids.  About 2 minutes later I realized I was alone and decided to go home.  The only trouble was I knew I had to go through the alley and then turn right on my block to our house, but didn't know I had to go more than one block through the alley, so I ended up on the wrong street.  Our mother had immediately sent my brother back to get me, but I was gone before he got there.  I wandered for blocks trying to find my house, and ended up on the busiest corner of our downtown.  By this time I was crying, and a Police Officer came and got me.  He took my to the Police Station, where he gave me candy and ice cream.  I don't know if my mother had called the police, or if I gave them my name, but I remember later being driven to our house in a police car.  My poor brother got spanked for leaving me at the park, and I got the candy an ice cream. Life is good. Heh heh heh.

Dressing the Cat, etc.

We always had a cat when I was a kid.  Our cat Fluffy was so mellow that we could dress her up in our doll clothes, put her in our little doll buggy and push her around pretending she was our baby. After Fluffy's unfortunate demise, we had to do something else, so my sister Mary and I started dressing up our little brother Brian.  We put him in girl clothes, put a chiffon kerchief on his head to hide the short hair, and pushed him all over town in his stroller.  We told everyone he was our sister Cathy. I'm surprised Brian didn't become a cross dresser when he grew up.  At least I don't THINK he's a cross dresser.  Maybe I should ask him.

Christmas Cat

Well, it wasn't really a Christmas Cat, it's just that my brother found it on Christmas Eve.  It was our family cat. We used to let our cats go outside when ever they wanted.  Our cat, Fluffy, went outside a few days before Christmas and didn't come back.  My brother Bill found her on Christmas Eve and brought her home.  Awwww, sweet story, huh?  In MY family?  It's a true story, but I left out a few details.  My brother found Fluffy dead, all squashed flat from cars running over her, frozen to the middle of the road.  He went home, got a shovel, and worked for about 40 minutes carefully scraping her off the road.  Then he brought the frozen flat cat home.  I remember it like it was yesterday.  I was in the kitchen, he walked in the back door, lifted the frozen cat by her tail and said, "I found the cat." And started laughing.  And I started crying.  And my sister Barbara started crying.  We cried all night and didn't even want to open our presents.  That day my mother almost killed my brother. When my brother and his wife came to visit us this summer I gave him a present.  I had found a cast iron flat cat (life size) and got it for him.  I thought maybe it would make a great stepping stone in his flower garden, or maybe a door stop.  Next time I go to his house I expect to see it in an honored place. It's the least he can do.

A Letter to my Dad for the WWII Honor Flight

Dear Dad,
     As a kid, I remember you bringing out your "soldier" things once in a while, and seeing your jacket with the Black Panther on it, the K-rations, etc., but a child doesn't really make the connection to the war.  In fact, for many years I didn't ever want to see anything about WWII at all.  It was a period of history I didn't want to know more about.  I never really knew why, because other areas of history I found very interesting.  As an adult, I've thought about that, and maybe it was because it hit "too close to home."  When you talked (infrequently) about being a soldier, it scared me- because even as a child I worried that my Dad could have been killed in that war. (The fact that then I never would have been born did not occur to me!) I didn't ever want to think about that my dad could be gone- that I could be without my wonderful father, the best Dad a kid could have, someone who I loved more than anything in the world.  I couldn't even think about that, so I avoided anything that could remind me of that.  I love you so much, Dad.  I'm so proud of you for all you have accomplished in your life.  The war was a small part of you as a man, but I know how much our experiences shape who we are.  WWII was a big thing in your life.  No one can ever know what you went through, except for you, but I know you were then, and are still, a man who is one of America's best!  You truly are a good man in all the best sense of the word.  I love you more than I could ever put into words, and when I think about you I feel it in my heart.  I am so lucky to have you for a Dad, and I am so lucky to still have you.  You probably don't hear it enough.  I love you, Dad.  I'm so proud of you.  You are my hero!  You had a big part in who I am today, and in all of your children's and grand-children's and great-grand-children's lives, as well.  We all carry a part of who you are with us in who we are.
     I'm so happy that you are getting to go on this Honor Flight to Washington, D.C. to see the WWII monument honoring the sacrifices all of you soldiers made to keep America free.
     I've always been proud of you, Dad. (OK, there was that one time I told you to keep your hat on when you brought the Christmas tree for the Home Ec. Club party so they wouldn't see your receding hair line and I thought you'd look cuter with your hat on, but that was only that one time...!)
     I'm proud of you, Dad, I love you, and I can't ever say enough about how much you mean to me.  I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, etc.
                                                                                       Your loving daughter,
                                                                                        Carol
P.S. Wave to Obama for me.

Attics

In our house today we have an attic above our garage.  In my childhood home there was just an opening in the ceiling to an unfinished attic.  But some neighbors across the street had a huge attic with a floor and steps leading up to it. On rainy days we sometimes were allowed to go up in their attic. We played board games, mostly, and our friends' mom would make popcorn and Koolaid.  I thought she was such a nice mom, and, also, I thought she was beautiful.  Her name was Elaine.  I thought that was a beautiful name, too. I named my Barbie doll Elaine.  Everyone else could have a Barbie, but I had an Elaine.  The neighbors had a trunk in their attic with old clothes that we could rummage through and try on.  We would put on dresses and pretend the Koolaid was tea.  Such fond memories came to an end when we got a bit rambunctious one day (remember we only went up there when it was raining) and started running around, and someone (who shall remain nameless) threw a handful of popcorn at someone else, and pretty soon there was popcorn all over the attic floor and Elaine came up to see what was going on, and we got kicked out. After that we had to find somewhere else to spend our rainy afternoons.

More Fishing

Another place that we went fishing was a place we called "Little Niagara." We would ride our bikes about a mile away from home to a place we could hide the bikes and walk over some girders that were across the river.  The river ran behind the Borden Company and we could walk all along it. There was a well worn path, even though we rarely ran into any others kids there.  There was one place where the river widened out to a little pool area, and we could get close to the shore.  That was where we fished (and also started fires, but that's another story). One day I caught a 22 inch fish!  I put it on my stringer, carried it back to my bike, and rode home. After I measured it and had my picture taken, it's gills were still moving so I put it in a wash tub in the back yard and it started swimming around. The damn thing was still alive!  When I showed my dad, he told me it was a carp, a bottom feeder that wasn't good to eat.  My dreams of a good fish dinner went down in flames.  The next day two of my brothers killed it by stabbing it with screwdrivers.  I was really mad at them because I was proud of catching such a big fish.  Then we buried it in the garden.  I'm pretty sure my oldest brother's dog dug it up, because it was gone the next day and the dog smelled like dead fish for at least a week.

Fishing

When I was a kid we walked to various parts of the river that went through town, to go fishing. We dug worms in the garden, and carried our fishing gear to where we wanted to fish.  One place was part of the river near the mill pond.  I don't know why we didn't fish in the mill pond part.  We always fished in the shallow river part below the water fall that used to turn the wheel of the mill.  We never caught much, but one time I remember coming home with a whole bucket of bullheads.  Bullheads are sort of like mini-catfish.  They have these barbs around their mouths that can sting you.  It was quite a task to get them off the hook without getting stung.  We used to clean our own fish, but when we got home we didn't have the slightest idea how to clean these.  We waited for my dad to come home from work, and this is what I remember about cleaning the bullheads.  Pound a big nail through the bullhead's head into the picnic table.  Cut around the neck with a sharp knife.  Grab the very tough skin with a pliers and pull it off of the fish.  There's more, but that was as far as I got watching my dad clean the first one before I took off for fishless pastures.  I guess my dad finished cleaning them and we ate them, but all I remember is if I ever caught one again it went right back into the river once I got it off my hook.

Squirrel Buddy

I have this thing about squirrels.  It started when I was a kid when a neighborhood squirrel decided it could trust humans and would come on our shoulders, etc. to get peanuts.  We named him Buddy (not sure if Buddy was a girl or boy squirrel- didn't know what to look for when I was an innocent child).  Buddy LOVED peanuts.  Since he was so "tame" my sister Mary and I decided that Buddy would make a good pet.  One day when our parents were gone (of course), Mary and I laid our trap.  We put out peanuts in a little path leading into our house.  Buddy, the trusting soul, ate the peanuts one by one until he was in our house.  Then we shut the door.  Realizing at once that his means of escape was gone, Buddy panicked and started to run around all over the house.  Not only did he run all over the house, but he POOPED AND PEED all over the house.  We chased him trying to catch him, which contributed to his running all over the house pooping and peeing.  Who knew such a little squirrel could contain so much excrement?  Eventually we opened the door and chased him until he ran outside.  Then we looked around and saw the disaster that was the house.  We frantically started trying to clean it up.  Mom came home while we were doing that.  Needless to say, (but I'm saying it anyway), we were in BIG trouble.  Buddy was never seen again.  I guess he decided trusting humans wasn't such a good idea after all. Years later when Mom was in the hospital, Mary and I were sitting in the room talking quietly while Mom was sleeping.  One of the things we talked about was Buddy.  We started giggling, and found out Mom wasn't sleeping after all when she said, "I almost killed you two."

Abuse

In second grade I had a teacher, a nun, who physically abused me. I became her victim of choice for the year, I think. I never really knew what I did wrong, probably not really anything.  I guess I did some things like look out of the window when I was bored. I always was a bit of a dreamer. Anyway, she would hit me, pull my hair, things like that. Then she would keep me in for recess and tell me that I didn't have to go home and tell my parents that I was bad, because they would only punish me again at home and I had been punished enough.  I believed her.  Sad what adults can do to trusting children. I learned to "go someplace else." (That has really come in handy- like at the dentist.) It is hard to think about what I went through, but it made me who I am today.  I wouldn't have been *ME* without all of my experiences. It does help to explain things though, doesn't it? As an adult I actually found this nun's grave.  First I spit on her grave. Then I forgave her. Then I went through years of therapy. I'm OK now. Really! I only twitch once in a while.

The Booger Man

Yeah, that's right, the Booger man.  Most kids were afraid of the Boogie Man, but not my sister Mary. She feared the Booger Man.  I was allergic to grass as a kid, so I used to be "stuffed up" a lot.  When it got bad I used to pick my nose.  Come on, you did it, too.  We learn not to pick our nose in public, but who doesn't do it in private?  Anyway, if I picked my nose at night I would wipe the booger on the edge of the sheet above Mary's head. Hell, I didn't want the boogers by me!  Eventually Mary noticed the boogers and said something about it.  I told her that the Booger Man came at night and pulled boogers out of your nose and wiped them on the sheet above your head.  She believed me.  What are sisters for, anyhow? Lots of times I give her a birthday card dealing with picking noses.  It's good to bring back fond childhood memories.

Sisters

I have three sisters (and three brothers).  The four girls shared one bedroom growing up. The two older sisters shared a bed, and I shared one with my younger sister Mary.  Mary was afraid of the dark, so she would wake me up and ask me to go to the bathroom with her in the middle of the night.  Now, being the enterprising girl, I decided that if I was going to be getting up, I was going to get something for it. Mary had a doll I was jealous of.  A Toodles doll.  The 1958 American Character doll had "high cheek color and flirty eyes" that opened and closed. She made noise when you squeezed her.  (You can check it out on eBay.) Mary got it from Santa, but I didn't get one. So I told Mary that every time I got up with her she had to give me part of her doll.  An arm, a leg, a finger, like that.  I kept track of every part I got, and eventually we got to the point where I finally owned the entire doll.  I made Mary give it to me.  The little crybaby went to Mom and Mom gave me a stern lecture and made me give the doll back to Mary. I wouldn't get up with her anymore after that.  She had to learn to "hold it." Luckily she did.  We shared a bed, remember?  Maybe I should buy one on eBay. Naw, it just wouldn't be the same as when I earned it.

"Praying" at Noon Hour

Going to Catholic School had some advantages.  We had an hour lunch, so after we ate we went out to play on the playground.  I was overweight so I never got picked to play in any reindeer games. I would go up to the playground supervisor nun and ask if would be OK if I went into church to pray.  Of course I always got permission.  I would trot over to the side door of the church and go in.  I would stop in front of the altar to pray for about, hmmm, two seconds, and then I would go to the huge front entrance doors, peek out to see if anyone was around, and if not, I would make my escape.  I would run down the steps, cross the street and run down a that street about half a block where I thought no one would be able to see me. I would then slow to a walk (I was overweight, remember?) and walk down to the corner, turn left and walk down to the next corner where there was a little neighborhood grocery that sold penny candy.  I usually bought about a dimes worth, and then ate it while I slowly walked back to the church.  I would again make sure no one was looking, and run across the street and back into church, where I would walk up to the altar, make the sign of the cross, or something, and back out the side door to return to the playground. It worked out pretty well until one day I took too long and the bell ending our noon hour had already rung. The teacher was wondering where I was and one of the kids told her I was probably in church.  The principal came looking for me.  Luckily I had just reentered the church at the entrance and was in the narthex, where she found me peacefully looking at holy cards left over from funerals.  I was shooed back to school.  I didn't go to the grocery store after that.  It was too close of a call for a chicken.

Seeing Mary

When I was seven, I decided I was going to become a nun.  I went to a Catholic school, and we had just seen the movie "The Song of Bernadette." I was walking home from school, and as I crossed a bridge I looked down at the river and saw THE BLESSED VIRGIN MARY! No shit! I saw her blue gown and veil, and the aureole around her head shimmering in the water.  I knew then that I was destined for greatness and would become a nun and maybe someday there would be a St. Carol so kids could dress like me on All Saints Day instead of having to dress like St. Anne (my middle name saint) because Carol is a derivative of Charles and I couldn't dress like him because I was a girl. The next day I told some of my school friends what had happened. After school they walked down to the bridge with me and looked into the river where I had seen Mary, and THEY SAW HER, TOO! We formed a club and would pray together trying to find out what the hell Mary wanted us to do for her.  We never heard back, so gradually we drifted away from trying, discovered boys, and that was the end of our wanting to be nuns.  Years later I found out that in that pre-environmentally conscious world, the workers at the Ford garage dumped their used oil down the hill at the back of their lot, which then ran down into the river right where I saw THE BLESSED VIRGIN MARY. Go figure.  Mary was an oil slick.  Well, I didn't become a nun, either, so take that, Mary.

Childhood Memories

New blog.  This one is going to be about my (mis)adventures in childhood. There were many times that--- "My Mother Almost Killed Me." Those were her words about things I did growing up.  And those were only the things that she KNEW about!  But let me tell you--- my life has been an incredible ride!