Thanksgiving Memories

My earliest recollections of Thanksgiving put the whole family in Columbus, Ohio, at my grandparents on my mother's side of the family. That was due to several reasons, including the size of Gracie's dining room, the number of relatives who congregated and were always glad to see us, and the fact that the Ohio State-Michigan football game was usually played around Thanksgiving, and my parents just loved to attend it.

It was a huge festive occasion with aunts, uncles, and cousins, the adults eating at Gracie's huge, long table and the kids eating at card tables, getting away with murder while the adults were not paying one bit of attention! It is no wonder we all overate! The table almost groaned under all of the food!

We had a fresh turkey, so fresh it had been beheaded only that morning by my grandfather, as we watched in amazement! (You know that story about a chicken running around with its head cut off...) As kids, we had the dubious honor of helping remove the pinfeathers from said bird, not a pleasant task, I can assure you! For some reason, our Thanksgiving bird was always named "Archie," but I have no idea why! By the time the bird was roasted in the basement oven to a golden brown, our mouths were watering! There was, of course, the usual mashed potatoes and gravy, stuffing, and sweet potatoes, as well as brussel sprouts, a relish tray with homemade pickles, spiced peaches, pears, and apples, and lots of olives! There were homemade rolls and real butter, sometimes also accompanied by freshly made apple butter. YUMMY! Sometimes by the time the main part of dinner was over, we needed to sit (or lie down on the floor) for a while to let that settle before digging in to pumpkin and mincemeat pies, topped with whipped cream. And, OH! the stories that would go around the table, with the combined roaring laughter, as various ones would remember past years' adventures. Sometimes, of course, they quieted each other down so we children could not hear what was being said, which I always thought was rather rude of them! I never did hear some of those tales!

I can remember that often we would play card games after the mid-day dinner, and the biggest treat for us kids would be watching Gracie's new television which always had Milton Berle on the Texaco show for a Thanksgiving special. We just loved Uncle Miltie! Sometimes there would be other specials on, too, which is where I developed a greater appreciation for Jack Benny. In later years, they began to show wonderful movies, too, which we loved to watch, like the Wizard of Oz, one of my all-time favorites!

After we moved to the Philippines and Okinawa for three years, by the time we returned, things had changed drastically. Gracie and Lowell had sold their house off High Street and Dunedin and had moved to Upper Arlington to a smaller duplex, so there were no more dinners like that. My other grandparents had moved from New York to a smaller home in Akron, so there were no more gatherings there, either. My parents began to have the dinners for many years, until, then it became my turn for many years. Now, it seems, I have turned over the joy of having THE dinner over to our children, in hopes that the memories they make will live in their children's hearts as my childhood memories did! Happy memories and a happy and blessed Thanksgiving to all!

A New Challenge...

Those of you who know me may find this hard to believe! I am actually finding artistic buds arising within me! It all happened quite by accident after 1HW had created his stained glass cat, Mr. Magoo, fashioned after a picture my sister Susie sent him. Clearly, Mr. Magoo was a hit (he was the first sale at the Artfest), but he needed a companion: a dawg. We looked all over for funny pictures of dawgs to adapt and found nothing. So I began playing around with pictures of actual dogs I found online. The more I played with the sketches, the more fun I had, until, finally one seemed to come to life with enough whimsy to appeal, yet still looking like a dawg. 1HW liked him, too, and so set out to create him in glass, of course in somewhat crazy colors. And so, Mr. Droopy was born. And, unbelievably, he was a hit! He didn't sell, but he did cause attention and smiles, which is what we always want to do. When we stopped to say goodbye to brother-in-law Mike before we left Albuquerque, he asked about the dog, if it had sold, and proclaimed it to be his favorite piece in the show! Hugs and kisses for you, Mikey! He also wanted to know if I could do a Sheltie like that. And then, of course, you know how we like Scotties and Westies... What a fun new challenge! Any more new ideas?

During the winter of 1950-51 when I was in the third grade and Herb was in second, the family lived in Alexandria, Virginia, while Dad was stationed at the Pentagon. One Saturday, he had decided to take the two of us into Washington on a sight-seeing tour, and so we took off on a bright, sunshiny day. On our way into the city, as we approached National Airport, there was a huge commotion with many people, and since Dad had a top security clearnce and a VIP sticker on the car, he decided to drive in and see what was happening. Oh, the excitement and the celebrities! It turned out to be a happening! Gen. Dwight Eisenhower had been appointed by President Truman to be the commander of NATO, and he was leaving that morning for Paris to take the command, complete with all of the pomp and ceremony that Washington so well musters. We were able to mingle quite freely with all of the bigwigs, and I eagerly took pictures with my Brownie camera, asking Dad who various people were. At our house, there was a cardinal rule: Before I could read my favorite comics, I had to read the front page and discuss it with my father. So I knew who many of these people were. There was the Vice President, Alvin Barkley, and the WWII victorious generals Omar Bradley and George Marshall. Everyone was milling around, awaiting the arrival of the President and Gen. Eisenhower. My father directed my attention to a gentleman six feet away, and said, "Why don't you take that man's picture, Judy?" "Who is he?" I asked. "He's Dean Achison, the Secretary of State," Dad answered. Thinking and speaking as only an eight year old can, I replied, "No, I don't want to take HIS picture. He's not important." Can you imagine how quickly that man's head turned? After all, in a child's mind, a mere secretary cannot compare to a general or President! I have since learned that secretaries, at whatever level, and custodians are the MOST important people! I still cherish those black and white pictures taken with that little Kodak camera! And, not only did we see Gen. Eisenhower leave for Paris, we also saw the Wright Brothers' Kitty Hawk and Lindbergh's Spirit of St. Louis! I still have such fun memories of that wonderful day in Washington in 1951!

Amazing!

Almost every day I am amazed at something new, it seems. Right now we are cruising along I-10 between Fort Stockton and Kerrville, Texas, and here I am, blogging and sending emails, instant communication, all over the country or even the world! That is truly amazing!

Have reached the ripe old age of 65, it is truly remarkable to think back on the changes which have occurred in my lifetime, far too many to list here in one little space. However, communication is definitely one big change. When I was a kid, radio was our form of entertainment before television arrived on the scene. I can remember sitting in front of the big radio, as tall as I was, listening to the Saturday morning children's programs: "Let's Pretend," "The Buster Brown Show," "Flash Gordon," and so on. With my eyes closed, I imagined all of the scenes and places that came to life without anyone else's pictures to show me. It is no wonder that kids from my generation grew up with such vivid imaginations! Every Sunday night, the family would gather around the radio listening to Jack Benny, Phil Harris, Fibber McGee and Molly, and Our Miss Brooks. They became close friends to all of us, and they made us laugh!

Telephones were certainly different back then, too! At my grandmother's in New York, I was fascinated by her telephone. When I picked it up, often there were people on the line having a lively conversation, and I could just sit there and listen in! Fortunately, I didn't do that too often, especially after my grandmother caught me doing it and explained to me that those were private conversations, even though it was on a shared party line. Now, that was hard for a six-year old to understand! At that time, even in the New York City area on Long Island, her phone number only had four digits. That tells you how many phones there were. By the time I was 11 and my father was in the Philippines, the only way to communicate with him was one time talking via a short wave radio contact, waiting weeks by mail, or through an impersonal telegraph by wire. There was absolutely nothing to compare to our email or phone system today.

So when I blithely pick up my cell phone and talk to anyone any where in the country (Can you hear me now?), it is amazing to think of that capability. And to think I can write this message on a computer while traveling down an interstate highway, click a button, and it can immediately be seen all over the world! What amazing progress! It would even more extraordinary to imagine that people all over the world could put that communication to better use by trying more diligently to learn to get along together in a more accepting, understanding, peaceful world. Now, that it is REALLY something to imagine!

Paul Tibbetts and the Enola Gay

Tonight we heard on the news that Brig. Gen. Paul Tibbetts had died in Columbus, Ohio. He is perhaps best known for having commanded and flown the Enola Gay over Hiroshima, where the atomic bomb was dropped in 1945. He had requested that there be no ceremony and no information about anything regarding his death, apparently because of the protesters who still haunt his heroic flight. How sad. How sad that such an American patriot is not recognized for doing his duty in a time of war, a terrible, terrific job that bothered all of the flight members until their dying days. How sad that people today have not read their history, have not appreciated that President Truman made the horrific decision to drop the bombs based on Japan's refusal to surrender, recognizing how many lives, both American and Japanese, would be lost if the war continued and the United States would have been forced to invade Japan. How sad that people cannot recognize the courage involved in Tibbetts' and others' voluntary commitment to participate in the flight, and the countless lives that were saved as a result in the ending of that awful war. How sad that people cannot realize that aggression against the United States, for whatever cause that is imagined or real, will result in unimagined retaliation. That has been the case since 1775, and it still is the case today. I am sad for the family of Paul Tibbetts, and I am thankful for the members of the American military who defend our shores today. It will soon be Veterans' Day, but I am giving thanks early this year. Thank you, all of you. And special prayers for nephew Matthew in Iraq! We love you!

There is an unusual harbinger of winter which occurs here, unlike anything anyone in the North has ever seen. In Arizona, it is called the arrival of the "snowbirds;" here it is known as the arrival of the "Winter Texans." These are those Yankees who travel from the climes of the usually cold north, such as New York, Minnesota, Montana, and, yes, even Nebraska. Now, since we are officially Texans, and particularly since we appeared here in September, rather than November, we are NOT in that catagory. Nope, we have a catagory all our own, one which mystifies and intrigues even others who roam around in motor homes. We are those strange ducks known as "Full-timers."

There really are not too many of us, for several reasons. First, most people have grown up and lived in one central area for much of their lives and are reluctant to leave those familiar territories where all of their friends and families are located. However, more importantly, most women absolutely refuse to leave their houses/homes and give up their "things." Countless numbers of men have told us that they would so enjoy the opportunity to do what we're experiencing, but "the missus just won't do it." Probably many of you feel the same way.

The first time we attempted being full-timers, we were not too sure how we would feel when we did it, but we decided to take the plunge anyhow, although we kept two large storage areas fully loaded here in Kerrville, and also had a huge antique shop at the Sunrise Antique Mall here. So, in actuality, we had not really given up too many of our "things." We soon discovered that we really didn't need those possessions. So this time as we approached the beginning of becoming full-time wanderers again, we unloaded most of our belongings. The antique business is totally closed; most of the furniture from our Omaha house was sold; and we have downsized to one 10x15 storage space in Omaha. Amazing! And, we have realized, once again, that moving from a 2800 square foot house to our 40 foot RV (OK... opened up it is about 480 sqaure feet) suits us perfectly. Our home has a great stove with an oven; a microwave and convection oven; and a fully stocked side-by-side refrigerator-freezer with an ice-maker. We have some art hanging; there are photos of most of the family on a bookshelf which is packed with unread books, just waiting for us to slow down a bit. There are so many projects that are packed away here and there, that we could stay busy for years, if we could just find the time to work on them. Best of all, we have each other, and we never seem to get tired of each other's company or run out of things to talk about. The only problem I have found is that my clothes get wrinkled in the limited space. Now that's such a big worry, isn't it?

So, even though we are somewhat of an anomaly to many, we are quite content to wander for a while. It rather reminds me of Tolkien's quote, "All who wander are not lost." Anyone want to join us?