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!