Sour Beef, Hard Crabs & Bingo

Elle grew to 5’ 2” with beautiful brown eyes and hair. She was active in archery, shooting guns, a gymnast and eventually joined the United States coast guard. Elle and Mildred’s tumultuous relationship included times when Mildred was so angry that she took a wire coat hanger to  Elle’s clothes, tearing each item. When Elle came home and saw the damage she hurt deeply inside.

Elle did not acquire high level domestic skills and struggled from childhood on with keeping a home. She didn’t mind living with a good bit of dust and clutter. She was never the type to enjoy cooking and cleaning and insisted she could not even sew on a button. She tried once or twice to sew things for me such as a clown costume but insisted she had no skill or creativity. I’ve seen photos of the clown costume and it looked good. Elle underplayed her gifts and abilities.

When Elle was sixteen she ran away from home with a man nicknamed Skeets and they got married. Skeets adored her and he was heartbroken when the marriage was annulled. He carried the flaming torch for Elle for decades but they were never reunited. Eventually Elle knew Skeets got married and had children and they lost touch with each other. One of the drawers in her dresser contained special things like jewelry. There was a silver charm bracelet from Skeets and one charm had “Till Then” engraved on it which was the song they had made their own.

Elle later married a man who knew one of her relatives. She never talked much about him but apparently he had a very jealous nature, and was even violently jealous. When she left the house she was interrogated later on every detail of her time apart from him and he was suspicious of other men. The marriage lasted a few years and there was a divorce. Elle still had no children. She worked in administrative and bookkeeping jobs and established herself as a careerist in a world where mainly the men worked and the women were homemakers. Of course Elle’s mother Mildred set an example of a woman working full time outside the home. These women were different before their time. Mildred was the only woman in her extended family who was not a full time homemaker.

Elle loved her step father Dutch and always introduced him as her father. Few knew he was a step father as Elle’s biological father became a faint memory. Dutch was good to Elle and loved her like his own girl. He was a quiet, even tempered man who unlike his wife Mildred, never raised his voice or spoke a harsh word to anyone. Looking back, when Mildred went through menopause, “all hell broke loose” and her flaws and raging became accentuated as the volume on everything got turned up to high. Everyone loved her because she was also a kind, generous woman and because it was not even a consideration to detach from one’s blood relatives. Family was everything, including extended family and people endured the ups and downs of each other’s lives because it was the right thing to do.

Mildred and Dutch enjoyed gambling and were regular participants at the race track and places with slot machines which were Mildred’s favorite.

Horse Racing

Mildred also loved Bingo and played at least one night every week. I’d often be found in large smoke filled Bingo halls playing with dolls, eating candy, reading or searching for other ways to occupy myself while a man called out Bingo numbers all night from a loud microphone. The idea of wining money intrigued me but not enough to actually play the game more than occasionally. I found it boring and shallow. I extend my apologies to those who appreciate Bingo. My mother Elle inherited the love for Bingo but that gene stopped being transmitted with her generation and it even embarrasses me to discuss Bingo- silly I suppose but real feelings nonetheless. It’s probably a better time waster than television because it does require some social interaction and getting out and about. My mother made friends when she played Bingo. I am ready for a nap just thinking about it too much.

Mildred and Dutch shared a struggle with food. Putting it kindly, they were both overweight. Mildred’s arms were so fat that as a child I loved napping in the car with my head on Gran’s arm. It made such a warm, soft, large pillow. I didn’t know Gran was fat- she was just Gran. Although Gran worked full time as a seamstress when cooked often when she was home and established many family favorites. Everyone craved her German sour beef and dumplings made with ground ginger snap cookies as part of the recipe that stewed on the stove for hours. I can still see Gran dropping dough into boiling water to make the soft dumplings that went underneath the sour beef.

Sour beef

Many summer days were spent with relatives around a table spread with open newspapers with heaps of large steamed crabs in the center of the table. There would also be large pots of fresh corn on the cob steaming on the stove and plates of the largest, reddest tomato slices I’ve ever seen. Another favorite was cantaloupe slices which my Pop (Dutch) would coat with salt..he salted everything that went into his mouth. The corn was slathered with butter then a thick layer of salt that adhered to the butter. Eating whatever tasted well was the only criteria for what one ate. Additionally crabs are meant to be eaten with a lot of beer!

Steamed hard crabs

Brides of Dracula

As young as I remember my mother Elle took me to Gran's (Mildred's) house every weekend. My mom thought I loved it but I didn't. I loved my grandmother but I always wanted to stay near my mom and every separation even for hours or a few days hurt my heart. I was never able to express anything going on inside. I didn't know how and no one took any interest.

I remember the weekend that changed my childhood. Mildred and Dutch sometimes took me to places with them like bars, race tracks and gambling casinos or left me with babysitters or left me by myself. One Saturday I was left with Pat the teenage girl who lived next door. Gran gave Pat money so I could join her and her girlfriend at the movies. Saturday movies meant a double feature and lots of affordable candy- it was an all afternoon event.

Gran gave a strong warning to Pat to take me to a different movie than the horror film that was playing. Pat and her friend wanted to see the off limits film so she took me anyway to see "Brides of Dracula." That movie set bondage to fear in motion in my childhood imagination that lasted for many years. I had no way to discern reality from fantasy and no one to explain- so I believed what I saw in that movie. I thought vampires were real and that I was in constant danger of being apprehended in my sleep and forcefully indoctrinated into becoming a vampire.
Sometimes I would look in the mirror and wonder if my teeth were growing fanglike points. I was so scared. I wanted to remain a girl and not be a vampire. What seems ludicrous now was sad and frightening to a child. I never told Gran or anyone what Pat did and suffered silently as my fears multiplied.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QZ9hZNuk04w

Breakfast in bed anyone?

It is Sunday morning- The Lord’s Day as it has often been called in times past. Cold, rainy and gray makes me want to stay under the covers indefinitely. The red poinsettias are a lovely contrast to the somber weather.  Some days I wish there were no requirements to do anything like work, exercise, avoid eating chocolate and other fattening things. Why can’t all the yummy stuff besides collard greens be really fantastic for our health? As a child breakfast was either a chocolate donut, chocolate Tandy cakes or on school days it was either Tang instant fake orange juice sugar filled look alike and Chocolate Instant Breakfast mixed with cow’s milk. I honestly cannot recall an adult ever making breakfast for me. It just wasn’t part of life. Maybe it happened occasionally since I knew what an egg was and liked them soft boiled but I don’t recall them at breakfast time of day. Adults were always in bed when I was up in the morning.

Eating breakfast with others is an amazing beautiful feat. I think one of the greatest ways to demonstrate love to those most special in your life, especially children is bringing them breakfast in bed on a tray. Pretend you are a fine bed and breakfast and they are the honored guest. This creates memories and love and I wish I’d done it more for those I love. Sometimes when alone I arise and go prepare breakfast on a tray and bring it back to my bed…then I feel like a queen and revel in eating under the warm covers. I remember when I had my first child it happened to be in a Seventh Day Adventist hospital. I was impressed with the healthy delicious breakfast they brought for me that included hot tea. How can one grow up in America among coffee drinkers and not acquire the habit? Everyone drank coffee but it was an adult drink. Coffee might have been better for me than the Coke I drank which with the sweets definitely damaged my teeth. I’ve never been a coffee drinker which is one of life’s mysteries but hot herbal or Yerba Matte tea on a cold morning is a great comfort.  

Prejudices against flowers and people

Christmas like all holidays revolved around Mildred’s family- her siblings and their children. Family was central and always meant buffet style food, beer and working class prejudices. I was one of the few children at these gatherings and hung around the adults. As years passed I gravitated to settling somewhere by myself to play with my dolls or read. Books were not emphasized yet I loved them. I sometimes listened as mostly the male relatives would drink beer and vent why they didn’t like Niggers and Jews.  I marveled at the strange conversation that left me feeling sad and empty inside. I didn’t like it but couldn’t understand why. Mostly I was bored, bored to tears.

These were decent, caring, hard working family people who were just plain ignorant about some important things. But most of America was ignorant and it seemed some people were viewed as if they had a contagious disease when they were just different. Sure there were social problems and there always will be but… no one is ever really innocent. Only a dishonest person denies ever noticing fears associated with prejudice- we are all prejudiced in our hearts.

The Supreme Court of the United States has been wrong more than once. They were clearly wrong in their Dred-Scott decision ruling that dark skinned people were not fully human yet… it was accepted by society. They were equally wrong in their Roe vs. Wade decision ruling that unborn people are not fully human yet …it is still accepted by society. Hitler ruled that Jews and people with handicaps were not fully human yet… it was accepted by society. It’s all irrational.  Unless ALL human life is viewed without exception or qualification as intrinsically valuable and worthy of protection then there exists a slippery slope into the potential chaos of a dictator or 51% vote. Most people unthinkingly follow like herding animals- more precisely like dumb sheep. We can be astoundingly dumb.

The Sunday before Christmas everyone spent the day at Uncle Frank’s house with his wife Ann and their only son Irvin. Irvin later married Sandy who was from another country and had an accent. They had two daughters before Irvin was killed by a drunk driver.  When Frank died from a heart attack about a week later, the companionship of widowhood left Ann and Sandy looking so sad together. The large floral arrangements that filled the funeral home later filled their houses so full it was hard to find room to move in the house.

Christmas Eve was at Mildred’s and Christmas day was at Mildred’s only sister’s house. The Sunday after Christmas was at Uncle Henry’s who married Libby but had no children. The family was tamer when at Henry’s house because for some reason Henry and Libby did not do things like swear or drink. I think they may have been attended church regularly but I can’t recall for sure because spiritual things were not discussed. Most of these German immigrant Lutherans were found at church only for holidays, especially Easter Sunday and funerals.  There were a lot of funerals.

Since Elle was Mildred’s only child and I became Elle’s only child our extended family died with my Grandmother Mildred’s generation, leaving us quite alone. Funerals were a regular part of my childhood. Mildred’s brothers gradually all died of heart attacks, her sister died of cancer and Mildred (my Gran) died from a second heart attack when I was sixteen. Well into my adult years I still associated the scent of most flowers with people dying because the funeral homes were always filled with large fragrant floral arrangements, especially around the open casket. The flowers were bold varieties like gladiolus and lilies such as the fragrant Stargazer. The beauty and fragrance nearly became a stench to me and it took years to outgrow this floral prejudice. Now I love them all and understand why flowers are part of everything important from holiday and birthday celebrations to hospital stays and funerals. Their sensory stimulation evokes joy when celebrating and comfort when ill or grieving.  My poinsettias do this now at Christmas time- it is impossible to walk around my house without feeling uplifted by the poinsettias everywhere and of course the centralized Christmas tree.  This can be holiday cheer to take the edge off depression. Holidays can be very hard if one is alone, has suffered loss or is estranged from family. It’s interesting to ponder the history of flowers in one’s like whether male or female. I am very thankful I can have winter flowers right now to enhance life. Did God create the luxury of flowers just for our enjoyment? They are not a necessity…or are they? I once lived in rural Switzerland and was told b a woman there that the Swiss women always used a portion off the top of their food money (even if meager) to put flowers on their table because people are made in the image of God and therefore beauty is important. What role do flowers play in your life -even if you are a guy you have to notice them?

Mother-in-law's tongue

My grandmother Mildred (Gran) as a girl in the early 1900’s

When Elle was born in the spring of 1926 her father was there. She remembers seeing a photo of him holding her as a baby yet the mystery of his disappearance would remain for many decades. His marriage to Mildred must have been so tumultuous that she erased his memory and none of her relatives ever mentioned him. After going through a required waiting period and legal proceedings including posting notice in newspapers concerning the whereabouts of Elle’s biological father as a missing person, Mildred married Dutch who became the only father Elle ever knew.

Mildred was a mother working outside the home when most women were full time homemakers. After Mildred’s sibling became adults Elle was an only child. She loved Mildred’s youngest sibling who was the only girl. Elle later named her only daughter after her aunt.

Mildred could cook, sew and create domestic tranquility and beauty but she had her hands full even after her marriage to Dutch. My Gran seemed to want to make up for the Great Depression by collecting doodads (more on that later) and blessing me with whatever toy, stuffed animal or doll I wanted. Gran gave me my first doll that was like a real baby and I named her Mary. I treasured her, carried her everywhere (until sexy Barbie and Ken came along when I was older) and I still have Mary today. Gran and I made several trips on Saturdays to the doll hospital where a man made his full time living repairing dolls. It was Gran who taught me to crochet and sew doll clothes and she was the qualified professional seamstress.

Gran collected plants and because she never threw away anything I thought that when you acquire a house plant it meant a lifelong relationship with that plant. Only in the last decade have I realized that house plants eventually need to be thrown out and replaced-strange how old habits linger. Most of my life I felt terribly guilty if I threw out a plant- well I just couldn’t because it was a living thing. Now when they start looking bad they are tossed into the trash with only a small tinge of guilt. Am I a bad person?

Gran did have some well to do relatives and one of them was a taxidermist.  She had several large glass cages filled with branches and beautiful stuffed birds at the front of her parlor. Surrounding the multi-colored birds was a jungle of plants. African violets were everywhere and there were always new violet leaves growing roots through aluminum foil over a glass with water. There was one prolific plant that fascinated me since Gran called it “Mother-in Law’s Tongue.” I’ve never heard it called that by anyone else so I decided it was probably not the nicest name for an innocent plant. Since these plants are hard to kill, multiply in the pot and require almost no maintenance I have a few in my home now. Here are two photos of the “Mother-in Law’s Tongue. If anyone knows the real name of this plant and the best ways to care for it I’m all ears.

                                                                               

2010 Christmas tree glimpses

Decorating a Christmas trees is like writing a book. There is always more you can do to improve, polish, simplify, beautify so it is more compelling but there comes a time when you have to say "it's done."

Christmas at Mildred/Gran's house

The street where my grandparents Mildred & Dutch lived

Christmas at Mildred’s house was amazing. It meant family, food and gifts. For weeks ahead MIldred baked specially cut and decorated sugar cookies and old fashioned toll house cookies and carefully stored them in her endless supply of tin boxes. On Christmas Eve her entire extended family came for the day and her kitchen and living room had every surface covered with goodies.  Growing up eating piles of sugar foods set my sweet tooth very early, especially for chocolate. No one seemed to have a clue that permitting a child to eat a diet predominated by sweets could do them harm.  Since no one managed to take me to the dentist until I was a teenager I have a mouth full of dental craftsmanship and have probably added a wing to the home of more than one dentist. How I wish sealants were invented when I was a child.

The amazing part is I was always SKINNY- so skinny that everyone and I do mean everyone from kids in school to relatives made fun of me for being skinny…like I could help it. This was before girls were allowed to wear pants to school so I quietly endured the pain of almost daily comments about my skinny legs.  I tried so many tactics for gaining weight and nothing ever worked- until recently that is.  Now I can look at something chocolate and gain a pound. I know no one understands. Right?

The German men in the family had a fondness for the holiday highlight - raw beef sandwiches.  They started with white bread slices spread with German mustard and pickles then layered on the thickly sliced onions and hefty raw beef patties from the serving trays. Umm. I remember eating this holiday culinary specialty and thinking I liked it. Nowadays I can imagine how mortified guests would be if one served such potentially bacteria laden fare. Back then it was a special treat.

Opening presents was the culmination of the celebration and I knew to look for the package with the big Santa on the front. Gran (as I called Mildred) put that package in a prominent place because after all I was the only grandchild of her only child. I looked for that package first for many Christmases. My grandmother lived through the depression and was a masterful recycler. Year after year she carefully removed the wrapping paper from every gift, removed the tape and carefully folded and stored each piece for next Christmas. The idea of throwing away anything was foreign. There was very little trash since most everything was used again. 

I recall one afternoon when Gran was putting away Christmas items and layering the used folded wrapping paper inside a large rectangular box. There was clearly more wrapping paper than the box would hold but she paid that no mind and was determined to make it all fit. One of Gran’s little problems might be called rage-a-holism nowadays.  Something would set her off and she would pitch a real fit with thrashing arms, yelling at varying decibels- the works. Usually when during these events everyone around ran for quiet cover. When Gran behaved this way in the car we were trapped and forced to listen as she vented herself into feeling better. This time after numerous efforts to close it resulted in the wrapping box popping back open on one side Gran really lost it and started swearing and hitting the box as if she could beat it into submission. I stood by watching and working with everything in me to hold back the belly laughs. I failed which incited Gran all the more in her rage against the recycling box.

Consumable items such as milk, soda, and even potato chips were purchased with a deposit for the containers that were returned to the store or delivery man (always a man) to get your deposit back. It was common to place empty bottles outside your door for the milkman to pick up and replace with full bottles. I remember the “Charlie Chip” man who used to deliver potato chips all around our neighborhood. I recall a television jingle about having milk, butter, eggs and cheese fresh from the farm to your door- “If you don’t own a cow call the dairy now” is something I can still sing exactly the way I heard it on the small television. Such is the power of music.

My question for today is: Do you know anyone who lived through the depression?

Christmas Season 2010

Today includes upgraded efforts to decorate my Christmas tree in a gold and burgundy theme. I think it needs more lights and some wired ribbon streams. Any input?

Venturing into new low cost creative ways to bless those we love with gifts to celebrate led me to try forcing flower bulbs this year. Learning along the way is teaching me the sprouting time for various bulb varieties. This is one of my little projects where the paper white narcissus is shooting way ahead of the slow sprouting hyacinth. Once the bulbs are set in water it is a marvelous opportunity to practice patience- they take weeks.

Mildred

Mildred holding daughter Elle

Mildred was the surviving oldest daughter of two German immigrants. Whatever took her parents early in her adulthood left her to parent her four younger siblings (one sister and three brothers) alone. Mildred’s extended family was a mix of refined well to do and working class steel workers. Somehow she got sorted into the working class part of the family. She worked as a seamstress in a factory sewing the zippers into men’s pants. She sewed at this same job until she retired in her fifties. What a task it must have been working and caring for her siblings in the midst of the depression.

Mildred married a man and had one daughter, Elle. Mildred added Elle to her siblings as she tackled the task of providing. Mildred’s stormy marriage was short lived and her young husband disappeared one day never to be heard of again. As Elle grew she recalled seeing only one faint photo of her real father. Mildred destroyed all reminders of him and erased him from their lives. All Elle had from her father was her last name- Reedy.  Many years later through extensive investigation, Elle found out that he was of Scottish descent.

Elle as a Baby

Mildred later remarried a man named George which became a popular family name. She had a brother, nephew and cousins all named George so her husband somehow acquired the nickname of Dutch.  Dutch joined the men of the family every day in the steel mills. They lived in a small, narrow city row house built around 1880 for which they paid cash- no mortgage. The 900 sq ft house had two rooms on the main floor- a long living room and a large kitchen with a big table in the center of the room. The refrigerator was small with a freezer smaller than a shoe box that could hold ice cream and regularly became encased in ice so defrosting was a routine procedure.

The second floor had three bedrooms and you had to walk through the middle bedroom to get to the master room that overlooked the front street. The middle room where I often slept as a child had a window on the roof like a skylight that created plenty of sounds for monster stirrings especially when it rained. The only option when one had to use the bathroom at night was to go two steep flights down to the cellar where the “bathroom” was located or use a bucket.  

The only time I ventured down the steep cellar stairs was in daylight when the monsters slept. Often I tumbled down the stairs because they were narrow and steep for little legs. When I’d fall down the stairs my grandmother Mildred would say “See that is God punishing you.” She was superstitious and believed it was bad luck to have a black cat cross your path or to walk underneath an open ladder. Mildred never permitted a wire coat hanger to be hung on a door knob because it would mean that someone in the family would die!

The cellar steps landed on a dirt floor that extended to the front of the house. Rarely did I venture in that direction because all sorts of scary creatures such as zombies and vampires might visit there. En route to the partitioned area housing a toilet and claw foot bathtub were shelves and Mildred’s wringer washing machine which rattled noisily when operating. The washer looked something like the one I am posting. I recall Mildred carefully feeding each item through the wringer which removed enough of the water to hang them for drying on the clotheslines in the cellar in the winter and the back yard in the summer.  The sopping clothes and sheets came from the other side of the wringer like damp cardboard.

One hallmark of Mildred’s home was the white marble front steps. Neighbors were often seen scrubbing their steps with wooden scrub brushes and buckets to keep them clean and shiny. How many houses are built today with marble front steps?  This is a narrow house on the same tiny one lane street where I spent most weekends and holidays as a child. Our house had no railing to detract from the beautiful marble steps.

Monday December 6, 2010

Do you write or ever wanted to write? My answer to both is yes. I once thought I was a decent writer. Some others said so. Now I really don’t know. So what am I doing and can I possibly achieve the forever illusive skill of conciseness? A few of my many children have expressed a desire to know more about my life, what it was like being me. In the business of everyday living I’ve neglected to share even a fraction of my own history.

Why a blog? Several  reasons... I am not courageous enough to be forthright about who I am and where I’ve been in life so for now at least I need to be anonymous.  Since AmericanWoman.com and AmericanLady.com are not available on godaddy, after deliberating I chose AmericanMavenLady.com because it is available and occasionally others have called me a maven. A maven is an expert or connoisseur. Trust me I hesitated on that word but decided I am the most likely expert about my own life and know something that might be significant about a few other things.

Honestly I’ve meant to write a biography for longer than I am going to say. Someday I intend to share it with my children if they are interested.  There are a few other reasons for taking it to a blog. I am a make it happen go for it person yet struggle with self discipline. Aside from brushing my teeth and taking my handful of natural supplements I can’t say there is much that I do the same way every day.  I’m hoping this becomes a means of accountability to maintain my goal of writing at least five days per week. I figure that documenting my history of growing up and living in America and all that means will take at least a solid year if I do something daily.

I hope to find at least one other person to befriend and encourage to write too. Take hold of your reasons- whatever they are -and write. Did you ever hear that writing is hard? It’s true. Even the best, most passionate writers must work at it. I’ve read enough to know that. No easy glide ride of uninterrupted creative flow. So how long have you had writer’s block? A year or lifetime maybe?  We all have a story we could tell and someone else who might want to hear it. So talk to me if I can somehow encourage you.

Though I’ve written before, I am a blogging rookie. If anyone stumbles onto my effort, I ask in advance for forbearance. My plan is a daily exercise writing in two parts- first and most important is documenting history which is going to begin with my grandparents.  Factual reporting is my goal. Then I may share (in a separate section) thoughts and feelings about today. The format is past history and today’s perspective.