I dreamed of 819 inside-out Otter Lake

I floated like down
laid myself down
my body was flashed with silver
Nana's hair was waving iron gray and silver
pungent pine tar gum stuck to my shoe
I picked up my black paten leather shoe
dreaming of two tall trees reflection shimmering
a silver dollar falling through cold mountain water shimmered
I float myself down
through hair combs laced with silver
tapping coal black shoes
lays my mind shimmering

The day was hot with the hiss of cicadas song
pungent pine gum wafted under cool shade trees
I was floating down to dream
of silver fish and half dollars falling through icy water- shimmering
beneath the shallow root beer colored mountain water
I tasted iron and blood
a curling smoky red snake between my legs
cramping as my face broke the rippling lake's skin
my bleeding madras shorts- vivid
I awoke with a sudden inhale

I dreamed about Otter Lake last night

It was an evening daydream...where I just floated back in time and space. I could smell the mushroom under brush.
It was an overcast day. The lush green was vivid. I was leaning out of the breezeway door looking at the forest walk around. Nana had a two wood plank walk made that arced in a circle and was accompanied by a skinny wood railing. The first building on this path was the outhouse. As a child, when I arrived for vacation at Otter Lake I would run the circular walk way. The boards would bend and heave, my bare feet worried about being pinched between the planks. Once there was a huge snake running ahead of me. I'm not sure who was more frightened. I never saw a snake run before. He took great loopy leaps and disappeared into the forest beyond the wooden path, where my little girl world ended.
then all the memories evaporated...I tried to coax them back but really they just escaped like the snake.

Once again I am peeking through 918's letter slot

I spy something beautiful and old.

fall

918's fashion runway for the autumn attire. tennis anyone?

bonnets

another easter sunday picture in which you see five sisters decked out in their finest 1950's coats, wearing corsages, white gloves, patent leather shoes, or saddle shoes! and easter hats. i actually have on a bonnet!

we almost always had a mad rush getting to church on time. lots of hysteria trying to find the right match to our gloves, or crying because our shoes were lost. "dad, where are my gloves?" "well, I haven't been wearing them!" he would get so frustrated with us and curse under his breath something about the irish and time.

we were late alot. and it was almost always ten minutes late. strange. so, they set the kitchen clock to be ten minutes ahead. somehow, we all liked it this way. it seemed more natural, somehow right. of course our visitors and guests would have quite a start and pack up to leave prematurely thinking it was much later than it was. didn't everyone have their clocks set forward?

918 Easter

This may have been the same Easter in both pictures, I'm not sure.
Check out the stuffed baby duck in my hands!
I loved the skirt E is wearing.
Wasn't mom's dress lovely?
B & I in-front of our yellow bus, our nickname for the old Ford. With great irritation, dad taped over the oil light because it came on one too many times and the engine seized up for lack of oil. His mechanic proudly displayed the motor in public, which may have made dad chuckle? I know my other sisters know more about this story...I invite them to help me out.

caboose

here's the front porch fashion runway. and that is the inner lining of dad's fedora crowning my head. the front of 918 had two landing strips of concrete that made a great perch to view all the coming and going. and it was a very active household with many visitors, always welcomed warmly.

being the baby of our family was like being the caboose of a very fast moving train. i could often get a glimpse of the engine ahead when we were on a fast curve but from my vantage point, i could only go along with the momentum and direction we were headed. sometimes we'd get off track, sometimes go in for repairs, and come out for a smoother ride. it was ALWAYS exciting and unpredictable, not to mention, a little nerve-wracking. i sometimes sucked my thumb when feeling insecure, unsure. where are you?

918 waits

(Almost) Stealing Big Old Jesus

In the parish church, there was a big old crucifix behind the altar, with a writhing and flesh-toned Jesus on it. The large dome of the church was painted with a biblical mural and all those images added to the story of the religion. I have never understood why Catholicism chose to focus on the image of Jesus on the cross, when the promise and wonder of that myth is the resurrection, but anyway ....

In the 70s St. John's started to renovate, to "move with the times", as many other Catholic churches did. They painted over (!) the mural, and they took down the lurid Jesus and leaned him and his crucifix against a back wall of the church.

Dogstar and I went down to see the church one day while we were in Green Bay (I do not recall if we were living there or just visiting at that point). We saw Jesus leaning there, looking dejected. They had put up an empty slim cross in his old place of pride. He seemed forlorn.

We very nearly stole him, dear reader, very nearly. There were a couple of good reasons not to:
1. The POLICE
2. The weight of the cross on our shoulders dragging him off ... and where to?

So we left him there alone. I wonder how he is doing and what he is up to now?

summertime

aaahhhh yes...summertime in the back yard of 918: restful sunday mornings, crossword puzzles, iced drinks, breeze in the birch tree,
exchange of comments, especially the articles of irony and humor.



dad was a hambone in front of my camera on this glorious sunday morning in the backyard, sort of a combination of ease meets shyness.



you can see how blissed-out he could be in this last photo.
he was enjoying this moment.

he was such a loved man...

Who's this good-looking guy?

#4 gets the key

~~~~
#4 reached into the center of the yin yang image and extracted the crystal key. In her hand the key vibrated and a high pitched tone emanated. She fell off the swing and into the red current bushes. #4 was determined to keep hold of the key. Her hand turned white. The garden disappeared and there came a great darkness.
~~~~

Dark mirror in 918

As the witch’s procession disappeared towards a big green house with the number’s 918 over the door, I could hear tar-baby's voice talking to white dog, “Hey, Cinderella let’s take a break and sniff our way to the neighbors...”
I walked to the door as tar-baby and cinderella ran off. Witch had passed through the door without opening it. As I grasped the tarnished brass handle the house seemed to lean in towards me and the door opened. Pink and blue heat lightening peppered the edges of the night sky. Fireflies in great numbers swam around my head. They were sticking together and making letters in the air. I couldn’t read the words that the letters formed at first: ‘you wlil fnid the cyrastl key in the lienn clesot dno’t let wtich see you’. Had I dreamed this about this crystal key? The fireflies dispersed. I entered the front hall, stopped at a small vestibule table and struggled to open it’s drawer. White gloves sprung out, some of them cotton others misshaped kid, I put on a pair of soft gloves that fit well, I inserted the pearl buttons into the buttonhole at my wrist. Above the table I noticed a large dark mirror where my image shimmered. My face in the mirror was mouthing something to me that I didn’t understand, “I can’t hear you,” I whispered. The house seemed to get very quiet as if listening to me and my reflection stopped moving and stared over my left shoulder.

ripples

The youngest sat by the lake in deep contemplation. This was her favorite place to sit when she needed to ask the Great One for direction. Listening was easier within the inner ear, in the gentleness of Nature. She tossed a pebble into the clear, calm surface of the lake and it made a 'kerplunk' sound that tells you how deep the water is and how far the pebble needs to travel to reach the bottom. The soft ripple circle spread out, then another sister ripple, and another.

"Help me find the words, how to share with others, what exactly happened within the ring of fire that burned away the past. Please, show me", she whispered.

Layer after layer of human thought burned away when she surrendered and jumped into the Center, stripping away thousands of years of human made illusions:
who we are; who is the enemy; what and who is valuable; who to reject and discard; how to be top dog; how to conquer and control to dominate. Even her personal ideas of who she was burned away: the sister of...the daughter of...the youngest of...not to smart...won't amount to much...etcetera. It was actually a very fragile belief system that only hangs there in a subtle agreement within the psyche. And it is only the Relative Truth---not the Real Truth. The Real Truth is a whole lot older. It is very, very old and when you remember it, It feels like Home.

kerplunk...ripples and circles...ripples and circles...

"Soon, i will know how to share..."

#4's Journey: yin~yang & crystal key

~~~~

Her carpet of moths had transformed into a hammock nestled between two old apple trees in the backyard of 918. #4 woke to the barking of pair of black and white terriers. Clapping her hands in glee the dogs looked at her eagerly. Deep within the eyes of the dark one she was pulled to see vast amounts of space without light. In contrast, the white one glowed with the candle power of every living thing. #4 sat upright, it appeared, the hammock had become a swing, she gave herself a big push. As her feet flew through the air she knocked some apple blossoms into the sky. While the petals rained down around her she pondered how the dogs seemed to be moving in and out of a yin yang symbol while chasing each others tails. In the center of the symbol floated a crystal key. She jammed her feet into the earth and bolted off the swing. Black and white spun around so fast that they blurred into gray and the key was there within her reach.


~~~~

Fierce Therapy

A long time ago, when the anger at the witch was at its height, Elle had spoken to a kind woman about her mixed feelings. "I am angry and hurt, yes, but she could not help the way she was, so I feel helpless. I cannot simply hate this witch, yet I cannot forgive her, because I am still so angry."

The kind woman said ... "pretend this pillow is that witch, then hit this pillow as hard as you can." Elle hit the pillow over and over, but it was not enough. Elle asked if she could tear at the pillow with her teeth. The kind woman said, "yes go ahead, destroy the pillow if you need to."

So Elle took the pillow in her hands and tore it apart with her teeth. Then she tore apart another pillow as well. At the end, she felt the anger and hurt ebb away. The inner witch was dead.

From that time onward, Elle could really SEE the outer person who had been the cause of the inner witch. Elle developed a fondness for that person and could see she was a human being like herself. The outer person was deeply flawed, and helpless in her illness.

the crystal key

the youngest is compelled to remind by saying:

Hidden within One's Greatest Challenges,
Lies One's Greatest Gifts---

The Key to Opening these Gifts is FORGIVENESS.

where is the crystal key???

Back to the Old Witchy

Elle turned around, suddenly, with a realization that she had to visit this witch she had overheard saying to #4 "I never wanted you!". Why #4 would WANT to be wanted by a witch, Elle did not know.

Back to the secret door, back to the wall, and finally to the witch's house she went. She knocked on the door of the house and a frighteningly cold voice said, "Yes?" in a very irritable manner. Elle said, "May I come in please?" The witch said, "All right, then, come in." She sounded exasperated at the thought that this child wanted to speak to her. Maybe she had to say yes, because of her manners, thought Elle.

Elle walked up to the witch, who had one eye like a goat's, with a slotted pupil.

Elle asked her straight out, "Why did you say you did not want #4? What is the point of saying something like that to your own child?"

The witch's eyebrows shot up and her hair moved backwards on her head. Her eyes narrowed and she screamed, "Because when YOU were born, you were too big! You nearly KILLED ME! You big lug! Because of YOU I went crazy, because of YOU I did not want to have another baby!"

Elle said, "You are a very immature woman, and you have let these memories ruin your experience of life. You have spoiled the childhood of #4 and she is a very sensitive person. I know you are ignorant, immature and mentally ill, so I will stop telling you what is wrong with you. BUT if you EVER say that to #4 again, I will come back and kill you myself."

#4's continued journey to find reality

~~~~~~~
“Well back again so soon,” the flower chimed.
“Yes, well there’s so much to think about,” said #4 as she edged away.
On her left she saw a path that glittered with blue moon dust. Upon closer inspection the dust was thousands of Luna moths fluttering. I want to be on the path, she thought to herself. She put one foot on the moving carpet of winged creatures and off she went.
“Goodbye and good luck ,” said the flower.
#4 laid back on the moths and fell deep into the sleep of the dead.
~~~~
I fastened my gaze on this woman. Did she know me? Had I seen her face before? Is there a key to fit that eye and if so, where is it and what would it unlock?
“I know you are waiting for your father to come home,” she barked.
What? Do I have a father? My mouth froze shut.
She grew impatient with my silence and turned away.
In her wake tumbled two dogs. One was pure white and the other soot black.
They were having a conversation about the witch.
“Sometimes I wonder,” said tar-baby, who was the black dog.
“Why would you wonder,” yelped white dog.
“There are these men who thrive in witch’s head
they appear when it pleases
dreams they narrate while she’s in bed
there are these men who chat in witch’s head
mumbling under her breath, so much is unsaid
she claims, it is her wheezes
there are these men who control her head
they disappear when it pleases,” recited tar-baby.

the youngest's ending of red wagon...

having dove through the shimmering center it burned away her old self and she felt stripped of all the old ways, cleansed so to speak of the past...her name, where she had lived, her past experiences, her family, even her body had transformed and was restructured. there was a new sense of spaciousness and ease, the mind quiet, the body relaxed, yet she had not felt so completely present as she did now. one could even call it ordinary, in this new way. it was profoundly simple and loving and kind. there was a constant, gentle tingling of energy scourging throughout her body and it loved to swirl inside her feet. it was LIFE ESSENCE itself. this was now her anchor into the beauty of each breath.

she could feel a growing patience with others that were still wrestling with the old ways and found out what compassion looks and feels like. although, she wished others could stop the incessant thought patterns that rule the human experience, she knew also that it is a necessary step, like an initiation, that we all must go through. and if it gets bad enough, and painful enough, maybe, if one is so very uncomfortable, one will be motivated to find another dimension to living this moment fully. she realized that that is all we really ever have anyway: this moment! it was the end of madness. and the beginning of LOVE, real love, nothing syrupy sweet, but profoundly deep.

she looked over and saw the middle one walking happily with the red wagon trailing behind; she saw the eldest untangling the second sister's golden hair as they giggled. and she wondered if the moon still glowed on #4's beautiful face. she was grateful for such amazing sisters that were her teachers in so many ways...and she hummed a lovely melody and lived happily ever after!!

THE END!

Posting page

This is what the posting page looks like on my PC. What does it look like on your mac, Rob?

Red Wagon Conclusion

The rules of the red wagon fantasy collaboration, as set forth by robyndogstar, were these:

"Fantasy Collaboration
The rules of this are simple: - Post the next two or three paragraphs in this story. - Every post has to be coherent with the last post. - Please, no posting anything that is not story - Keep it clean, er...well, you can try. - Remember, the genre is fantasy. I'll start:Once upon a time there was a little red wagon."

SO I guess the red wagon is finished, because robyndogstar posted her picture, then a post about changing her font etc. and Botz responded.

THEREFORE, here is the conclusion of the Red wagon story:

A huge thundercloud appeared over the garden and as the rain splashed onto Elle she woke from her dream. She found her way back out of the garden, realizing it was a distraction from her role in life. She knew that "Forth", the fourth child, child of woe, was confronting her most dramatic memories once again. The baby of the family, was working on her spiritual path. Elle knew that for her, the spiritual was here and now. She took up the handle of the little red wagon and walked onward, as the sun peeked through the clouds outside. People's faces were friendly, she could see, now that she was holding her head high and looking at them in an interested way.

Her family had been obsessed with its own problems, and now she knew this was not the way for her. She looked around at the other people and saw that every family had something serious they had to cope with, and that did not stop them from living and enjoying all the many things life had to offer.

If she had to leave the family to live well, she could do it now.

First Meeting with Witch

child #4
1.
The forth child, filled with woe, drifted into the light.
She bore the weight of pain.
A delicate child, full of sadness:
she moved into the golden hue and only knew the color blue.

2.
#4 followed her sisters into the magical place.
It was night and the garden twinkled with fire flies. Large luminescent moon-flowers shimmered. #4's eyes reflected the hue of a blue moon that floated across the ink black sky.
"Hey, don't step on me."
Startled, she searched the dark underbrush.
"I'm over here...."
"Why, I think it's the moon-flower taking to me," she whispered.
"Yes, that's right," it replied.
#4 put her face into the creamy white flower.
A delicious scent filled her nose making her sleepy.
"Oh how my eyes burn," she said rubbing them.
"Lay down your burden, lay it on down..." the flower's voice began to sing quietly.
#4 let the weight of her body ease down onto the earth. Yawning she curled up and fell deeply asleep.
3.
~~~~~~
In the dream I drifted in deep blue mists for what seemed longer than forever when a tiny pinprick of light appeared and I was magnetically dawn to follow. Suddenly my body felt like a fist crushing me with an unbearable tightness around my head. A hard metal object squeezed my temples and I thought my head would burst.
~~~~~~

“Good morning,” the flower said brightly.
“Gosh, I have such a headache,” #4 replied and fainted.

~~~~~
I was inching through a tight undulating space and still intent upon following the light. The head crushing stopped. I inhaled with great difficulty then opened my eyes.
A wiry haired woman glared at me with one keyhole shaped eye.
“what the hell are you doing here? I never wanted you!” she sputtered blue vitriol.

centering

after what seemed an eternity (sorry, i was a t the beach...ahem, ahem) the youngest blinked and blinked yet this beautiful being remained before her. it was shaped like an egg...but was it water or fire? she had seen paintings of mandalas Back Then and spent hours resting her eyes on the colours, shapes and patterns and it was an escape, like taking refuge, from the dark, thorny times.

but this was WAY beyond those two dimensional pictures: this was alive, shimmering, dancing licks of flame folding inward. it looked like sunlight dancing and making patterns at the bottom of the swimming pool but with a rhythmic order, continually merging towards the center. was it liquid or gold leaf? whatever it was, it was mesmerizing, hypnotic. there was a sound so sweet and familiar, it made her cry. it was her secret language...how did this being know her private language? so many questions, so much wonderment.

"enter if you wish but know that you will never be the same again." "what do you mean? who are you? where am i?" "enter and you will know everything...and you will know nothing. you will know the no word place, where there will never be the darkness again. but there will never be the colour paradise either. you will know both, you will know the CENTER." "o, i'm not sure what to do." she had lived in the hell realm at a much to young age and it would be a great pleasure to leave it once and for all. but she hadn't explored this new full colour paradise hardly at all. "is it scary?" "it is the end of fear, it is KNOWING." "is it as beautiful as you?"
"YES...more so."

she looked around wishing her sisters were near to come with her. they were always so brave and daring. no, she would have to grow up and trust her own way. suddenly, there was a flash of white. was that elle, flying on a white horse??? what the...
in the distance was #4 in a blue bubble of mist, sleeping. her face in a gentle smile, shone like moon light.

it was time...time to surrender. she took a deep breath in and dove, like off a swimming board with hands together in prayer pose, right into the CENTER...

The Wall

Elle, the third and middle child, did not know any of her sisters were in the garden with her. She came to a stone wall in the exotic place. Light from the other side of the wall glowed and pulsated, and she was drawn to it. She tried to climb over the wall ... but was repulsed by an invisible force. She tried to go around it ... but she could not find the end of the wall. Finally she found a strange looking, almost invisible key lying in the leaves and moss.

The key was made of crystal! She turned it over in her hand, and it sparkled and glowed. Maybe there was a way to use the key to get to the other side of the wall! She started to examine the wall a bit more closely. Time seemed to drift away as she looked at each stone. Each one was individual of course, and each one seemed to have a story embedded in it.

There were many stories, about kings and queens, fauns, centaurs, gods, fools .... but nothing about a crystal key, and no stone had a place to insert the key. She grew tired and sat down with her back to the wall to rest. Her eyelids drooped and things looked more and more blurry. What was that coming toward her through the garden? A white horse .... she opened her eyes, and it disappeared!

Slowly sleep claimed her consciousness and the white horse came for her again. This time she mounted it, with the key in her hand. The horse circled, in a gentle canter. When he came back to the wall, he leapt over it as if the stone wall were nothing but a twig in his path.

entering

by the time the youngest of the group peered through the gateway, she saw the dare-devil middle child way deep into a most unusual place, with glowing birds perched on her head and shoulders, cobalt blue puffs of light floating in the air as if hoovering to see this new girl-creature that dared to enter. there was a soft golden light illuminating the middle one's way and to this day, the youngest swears she saw her levitate at least two feet above the ground.
the youngest felt immense confusion which way to go. she looked at her beloved other's continuing on the path, but it held the memory of the dark time, such saddness. she saw the middle in full color paradise, but it was unknown, different. looking back and forth, her loyalties were torn: go the wisdom way of the elder or enter the new, exciting world of wonder. then what appeared before her was of such breathtaking beauty that there was no more doubt...enter she must, and the new world now engulfed two out of the five.

Middle Child Syndrome

The middle child, not paying attention to the group at all, stared into the doorway. She saw adventure there! Leaving the group, she plunged into the unknown beyond the door, leaving it open behind her.

The light inside was completely different from the gray skies outside. The sun shone on beautiful exotic plants and shy gentle creatures that peered at her from behind huge glossy dark green leaves. Birds sang songs she had never heard before and coaxed her farther in, moment by moment, farther from the doorway.

red waggin' tail

The oldest, of the five children, was curious and peeked into the deep dark doorway. Quickly she pulled back, successfully freed the wagon wheel, and then trudged on because her job was to get these little ones home. The next in line was the second born. Her bright yellow curly hair caught on the brambles that surrounded the entrance.

red wagon continues...

no one had prepared them for what had occurred and they were to small to know what to do. with eyes down cast, they walked on, not knowing where they were going, not even caring anymore. so deep within sorrow, they almost passed the half hidden entrance altogether! the wheel of the wagon caught in a rut and spilled the ragged toys right there in front of the secret door.

Red Wagon

A weeping little girl pulled the wagon which was full of her ragged toys. She walked slowly along the street, sighing and occasionally wiping her nose on her sleeve. The others walked along with her, heads down.

Fantasy Collaboration

The rules of this are simple:
- Post the next two or three paragraphs in this story.
- Every post has to be coherent with the last post.
- Please, no posting anything that is not story
- Keep it clean, er...well, you can try.
- Remember, the genre is fantasy.
I'll start:

Once upon a time there was a little red wagon.

Otter Lake slumber

Dad asleep on the porch.

A Second Life for Mom

I guess the blog has brought Mom back to life after all! Here she is at my gallery in Second Life!

Nana in her usual blue and black patterned silk dress, possibly at Otter Lake.

Tribes of Wisconsin

This map is from a site on Wisconsin Indian Tribes that is very informative. There were more tribes in the area, for example the Sauk and Fox in southern Wisconsin. The Menominee were very important in our area, as were the Oneidas and Stockbridge.

For the most part the tribes in Wisconsin lived peacefully side by side with the European newcomers. The Menominee were a very large tribe that are now a sovereign nation within the borders of Wisconsin. Read their history here. The reservation became a county, then went back to being a reservation. The land and waters of the Menominee are beautiful and clean.

natural innocence...

otter lake was a beauty in the land of a thousand lakes. the entire area for miles was untouched forest being perched next to the wisconsin national forest. it had a potent infusion of magic in it's aura, perhaps having been the home of creatures now extinct or nearly so. the first humans were of course Indians. they knew how to listen to the winds, brave the subzero winters, hunt, fish, make clothing from hides, homes from skin and weaving.

nana told us stories about going into the "modernized" kitchen in the log cabin to cook breakfast on the wood burning, cast iron stove to find a seated group of Chippewa and Wabeno tribe's members wanting to trade beaded moccasins and tobacco pouches for ground flour, cornmeal and lard. nana acquired many "toys" from them: miniature birch tee pees and canoes; a ceremonial drum painted blue with images of leaping deer, the parameter of which was rimmed with white spotted red fawn fur (we sang our little girl songs to the beat of this exquisite drum); a buck skin dress for a young woman; a thick birch skin basket or purse with dangling acorns. someone said these things were donated to the Neville Public Museum.

these gifts from a different century held a tactile memory, a gentle power of nature and seeped into one's being. i cannot imagine this coming from someone's cell phone or computer. maybe i'm just sentimental...but even the smallest patch of moss reflected the Mystery...what we call fractal intelligence.

i had a dream of otter lake after it had been sold. the dream showed me where the new cottages were built and how the otter was disturbed. later i told our father this dream and was shocked to hear how exact my night vision was. he brought out the blue print where all the lots had been sold. yup...heartbreakingly true. this is only a small inkling of what the Indians must have felt.

swing at otter lake

one september afternoon in 1956, botz swinging in the soft sunshine with otter lake in the background. dig those shoes.

Otter Lake

This log cabin was built by our great-grandfather, Big Mike Quinlan, if I remember correctly. He was a logger and this was their main logging camp. It was referred to as Camp Comfort. Nana inherited it from him and she added more comfort ... an indoor toilet, for instance. She had a pre-fab bunkhouse built behind the cabin, where I spent some time with my cousin Nina exchanging our knowledge of sex when I was 12 (my knowledge was VERY limited).

Nana willed the cabin and land to her four children, of whom only three were interested in spending the money to keep it up and to pay the taxes on it. Lou-Lou sold her share to the other three. Then I am not entirely sure who dropped out, I think maybe Uncle Bill, and there were two.

However, those two had many children between them. Ten, if memory serves. The property could not be willed to ten children and thence to their heirs, and the costs of upkeep and taxes were high, so finally Mom and Uncle David sold the property.

We, as Mom's children, were given some money each from the sale of the cabin. I remember talking to an Indian (I do not use the term Native American, since technically, I am a native American myself) about the money. I said how ironic it was that this land which had belonged to his people had then been appropriated and utilized and then it became this cash in my hand. I felt a bit odd, like the money should properly belong to the people who had been there originally, but I spent it anyway!

Dad's Birthday

Today Dad would have been 98 years old. As Botz has said, he loved having his birthday next door to the Fourth of July and all the fireworks. His cousin Tom had his birthday on the 4th, I believe, so they were cousin-twins.

Every year, our sister #2 would bring an M-80 (like a cherry bomb, but a little bigger bang) for Dad to light and throw in the back yard. Every year, he held it a little longer, building up the suspense and terrifying everyone in the area. We were always wondering if this was the year we would have to call the ambulance to take him to the emergency room. But he always threw it just in time. He became deaf gradually, year by year, and I wonder if those little exploding fireworks added to it! If they did, I am sure he did not care one bit. Oh the thrill of it all!

Dad loved life and considered every day a gift. He ate every meal with tremendous enjoyment, and savored everything good in life. I think growing up relatively poor made him very appreciative of anything he experienced that was on the good side of the ledger.

being bob

our father's birthday was the third of july, so naturally as a little boy, he assumed that all the fireworks and sparklers were an extension of his celebration. so did we when we were children at otter lake, firing off roman candles and watching their trajectory over the lake. we lit those flat grey disks and watched them grow into thick ash smokey snake squiggles, held sparklers close to our little faces or drew fire line images in the air like an abstract artist painting wildly. then of course we would eat cake (later it had more candles than cake).
this is the time of year we would gather at 918 year after year.
we always made a big deal about his b-day, adoring him. how he loved life. you could feel his goodness inside his being.

na na

our beautiful nana...

stern wheeler

na na's throne was where ever she sat basically, being a commanding figure of a woman. when she was positioned at the dining room table, opposite dad, the power focus shifted to her end. she would be in her perpetual black silk dress with sequined bodice or collar (her drawer was chuck full of removable black sequined collars with barely noticeable changes in pattern). she would pinch the thighs of the child nearest when we were not using victorian etiquette, which resulted in black & blue thighs for rDs and enjah. so we snickered and suppressed giggles when she would mistakenly fork the painted flowers on the spode plates thinking it was a new potato or tasty bits of roast beef or a tiny irritating slippery little pea. her silverware clinking the surface of the plate, lifting an empty fork to mouth...hehehehe. after dinner she would throne herself in the winged back armchair and with ribald humour murmur, "i could blow a hole in this chair!". she looked like she could.

where ever nana sat, that spot became the commanding post. as stern wheeler, she had a chair nailed onto the row boat and would sit like royalty quietly reading as her sons, mostly david, rowed her on our beloved otter lake, donning a fedora.

to be fair, nana had a very soft and lovable side. giving birth to eight children and being married to a much to dapper irishman, she had to get tough. but in her later years she was endearing, poking roasted chickens, making us sugar sandwiches: take single slice of white bread, pour white sugar onto thick layer of wisconsin butter, fold over and eat like you are grinding sweet ocean sand...goosebumps!

i loved to stroke her black seal skin winter coat while we were in church or slip my hands into the mink muff with silk lining (it had a secret zippered pocket inside to put...what? lipstick?) that was probably used when she was young while ice skating or taking a romantic walk on a chilly northern night.

nana's later years were relaxed as she was in decompressing mode, enjoying the queenly service she had earned. she anchored in an entirely different century for us, with stories of the Chippewa Indians, the otter, the whippoorwill and fireflies. she gave us otter lake. and THAT is another story.

na na died one hot summer night in 1962. the air was heavy as rDs and i sat on the front lawn from where we could see the hospital a few blocks away. we counted the number of lights on the 6th floor, four from the right and stared at that little white square, knowing we would never see our na na again. and as we all know, all nana's must return to nature.

Nana (pronounced NAH-nah)

Nana, our maternal grandmother, lived on Monroe Street the earliest I remember, in a long narrow Victorian house that was split into an upper and lower duplex. The upstairs apartment was occupied by a burly cheerful nurse who had auburn hair (or maybe I am making that up). The house was painted blue grey with white trim and was on a corner.

Auntie Ed lived on that same street, but in her own house. She had never married. On Sundays she and Nana would come to our house for Sunday dinner sometimes.

Nana loved sugar ... she even sugared her "orange drink", a concoction that was delivered by the milkman, manufactured from orange juice, water and sugar. It was delicious, but not nearly sweet enough for Nana, apparently. She would sugar her apple pie! She also loved her mashed potatoes.

After that Monroe duplex, I believe Nana moved into an apartment over near Astor Park, in a dim place I barely recall. She had a different exchange from us! She went from having a HEmlock number to having an EDison number (oh what an exotic exchange!). After that, she moved to a very large square (and very unattractive) house on Monroe, but closer to our house.

Finally she moved to Jackson Street, just a block away from our house. Once again, she was in a narrow tall Victorian, white this time. She grew tomatoes along the picket fence. She had her Mogen David and Maryknoll magazines on her round table, and a portrait of some unidentified woman on the wall, who looked vaguely like Aunt Lou-Lou.

Although with us she was very gentle and kind, Nana was a force to be reckoned with. I heard the stories of how she never spoke to this one or that one, ever since they ....

She was round and soft, like a potato roll, with twinkling blue eyes. Her hair had been very long, and she wore it in a coronet of braid around the crown of her head. Then some year or other, she had it cut off and wore her hair in a soft white halo around her head. She wore silk dresses that all blur into one in my memory, mid-calf length, belted loosely, with those old lady shoes ... Enna Jetticks, I think they were called, black laced-up oxfords with thick high heels. When she sat she crossed her ankles, and we could see how swollen they always were.

At our house she would request a "Pink Lady", which was a pretty soft pink drink with gin in it.

918 Haiku

oceans of penguin's
scatter like black tea leaves: my
grandma reads future

***
nightly childhood walk
neighbors seemed happy through my
blue eyes-now I am

A Grand Floating Ship

it seems like we learn how to relate to one another from many seemingly invisible influences. like the spot one's home occupies in relationship to it's neighbors and how it holds up next to each other. a sort of spacial intelligence emerges, a neighborhood arranges itself. and this sense of space and place probably shows up in our lives in many small and creative ways. homes take on personalities and characters in a neighborhood play. we grew up learning about our place in the world in this primordial way.

918 has such a warmth and dignity, plenty of room yet comfortable. it stands out and graces the block with a unique look. mother turned on every light in the entire house every night, curtains wide open. one neighbor loved to walk by and commented that our house looked like a grand floating ship.

my best friend, living next door, and i once stretched a long line of twine from our bedroom windows all the way across the shared driveway to play telephone with two tin cans as an ear receiver...bridging the gap. it really worked!

i can only imagine what the view was like from across the street, like in this picture, watching five little girls grow into five beauties. what a show that must have been. imagine all those possible suitors visiting incessantly, the door opening and closing year after year. if walls could speak...

we don't need bodies, they whisper

918
goose bumps stand straight up;
a door opens and no one
is there- but ghostie

Mom's Mums

It seemed like Mom always had chrysanthemums in the house, usually white or yellow ones, growing in pots. She also had Christmas cactus and ... what was that plant with the spherical red-orange fruits on it? I have googled it, but no hits :(

Mom could get a bunch of flowers from the florist, greenhouse, or out of the garden, and arrange them into something that looked professional. She had skills that would have made any florist proud. Later on in life, she mostly bought flowering plants and cut flower arrangements ... I guess her illness and age were taking their toll, plus her vision was slowly failing.

knock---knock---knock

Happy Birthday, Mom

This painting was done from a photo I took at Mom's 80th birthday. Today would have been Mom's 90th birthday. She lived to be 87.

Mom loved parties of all kinds, and felt terrible if there were no special event practically every day. This frantic pace was more than I would ever want in my life, but she loved it.

The only thing better than parties every day, for Mom, would have been to live in a hotel.

Lou-Lou

Our Aunt Lou-Lou lived in a nearby town that was full of German families. Her husband had a German name too, so I guess they fit in. They had a charming house that I remember as being kinda pointed and brown, with steps up from the street, and steps in the back yard from one level of the lawn to another.

She and Mom were really close. Mom loved to tell the story that one day she said to Lou-Lou, "Am I as tan as I think I am?" and Lou-Lou said, "TANNER!" at which they both roared with laughter.

Lou-Lou's husband was a football player with the early Chicago Bears. We called him Pops, and he had diabetes. He used a cane, but it was hollow and inside was a plastic tube filled with martinis! He used to tell jokes really well. One of my favorites of his was:

The Man With A Banana In His Ear
A man got on a train, and when he sat down he noticed the man opposite him had a banana in his ear. He thought it was really odd, but he felt a bit shy about saying anything. The miles went by, and his curiosity grew with every mile. Finally he could not stand it any more, so he asked, "Sir, why do you have a banana in your ear?"
The man replied, "You will have to speak up, I have a banana in my ear."

Lou-Lou moved to Boston after he died, and after some years she had a Boston accent of sorts. She said "to-mah-to" for instance. She also used her fork in a Continental fashion, left hand, tines down, not switching hands after cutting, as we had been taught. Mom was outraged that she had these mannerisms. I guess Mom thought these were affectations done for the sake of seeming more cultured or something.

Lou-Lou lost her vision but insisted on living alone until she died. She fell out of bed one night, and lay on the floor and waited till morning, rather than use her emergency button, which was around her neck. I don't really know why she did that, except she may not have realized that she was in a serious situation.

Later that day, she was lying on a gurney in the hallway of the hospital. Mom was with her, holding her hand. Lou-Lou asked what time it was. Mom said 1PM (or something), and Lou-Lou replied, "the Army-Navy game is just starting", and died.

The Peter Hunt Phase

Sometime during the 1950s Mom and Aunt Betty (and probably millions of other crafty women) went on a Peter Hunt binge, decorating everything they could get their hands on. There were so many hearts and leaves on things it was hard to realize we were not in Sweden or something.

Lake Michigan

Late in the summer we would go to Lake Michigan to swim in the cold green water and play in the rollers. In this picture Robyn and I were lying at the edge of the water, letting the waves wash over us and push our bodies up, then pull them back toward the lake.

We used to do this for hours on end. I almost always got a terrible sunburn with huge blisters on my back and shoulders. There was no sense of the strength of the sun because the air was always cool and the water was so cold that no one would swim except in late summer when the sun had warmed the surface water enough to be tolerable.

We would ride back to town in the station wagon, lying in the "way back" of the car, on our backs, looking up at the trees and power lines. Our view made them appear upside down through the windows. We were on heaps of pillows and quilts.

When we finally got to bed, as I grew quiet I would realize that my blood and nervous system was still in the rhythm of the surf. The feeling would sweep up my body, then back down, over and over, as I faded into sleep.

Starlight, Star Bright

Star Light, Star Bright, First Star I See Tonight; I Wish I May, I Wish I Might, Have the Wish I Wish Tonight. I wish for .... A DOG!

If only this were the story of a really GOOD little girl ...

Gypsy was the ugliest dog anyone had ever seen. She was a stray, with a mixture of black, brown and white fur, medium length, and curly, with flop ears and a heavy long body on short legs; large head, just not what anyone would call a beautiful dog. Somehow her ancestors had mixed too many variables or something.

She appeared in the neighborhood and ended up on Larry's porch steps. I saw her there and coaxed her home, foot by foot, inch by inch, and fed her. Larry was FURIOUS. Mom and Dad were HORRIFIED. My sisters were ... well, I don't know how they felt at first.

THEN .... it turned out Gypsy was in the family way. In fact, in a BIG family way. Within a few weeks of her arrival in our house she gave birth in the back hall, to eleven puppies! Three were born dead. Dad buried them in the back yard, but Gypsy dug them up. Dad buried them deeper; Gypsy dug deeper. I do not know the final resting place, but it was somewhere away from our yard.

It was summertime, and we were scheduled to spend two weeks at Point Comfort, at our rented cottage. Gypsy got "boarded" at The Pound, where stray dogs were kept in captivity and probably murdered. When we came back from the cottage, Gypsy had been spayed, and there were only two puppies left. Mom and Dad said that the puppies had died. I bet they had! The puppies were then named Tarbaby and Cinderella. We found homes for them eventually and they left.

In the picture above I was one one side of Gypsy in the back yard and Robyn was on the other side. I was SO possessive of Gypsy, I cut Robyn off the photo.

Gypsy became a neighborhood icon. My parents did not think dogs needed to be restrained, so she roamed free. Every day she followed the mailman on his route. People whom I have never met fed Gypsy treats all day long, and when she got home to her meal of canned dog food, she really was not terribly interested.

Gypsy was frequently infested with fleas, and we bathed her in the basement in a galvanized wash tub, with flea shampoo. During the bath, fleas would leap off her in cascades. At one time, she got some horrible skin thing, possibly mange, and her skin and fur came off easily in smallish patches. Under the skin were squirmy things EEEUW.

One evening when we were sitting on the front porch, Gypsy came up the steps and someone said maybe she would look better with her ears standing up. I held her ears up and everyone laughed. Gypsy was hurt and humiliated, and left immediately. I felt terrible.

I told Gypsy everything. I would sit with her and tell her of my hopes and dreams, my fears and hurts. She never told my secrets. She was a very affectionate and easy-going dog, and would put up with a lot of silliness from us children.

When I left home, Gypsy stayed with the family. Years later, she was napping in the middle of the street, as was her habit, and a neighbor ran her over with their car. Mom used to tell the story that when the sheriff brought her body home, the men present removed their caps in reverence. Gypsy had gone.

Garages with Attics

One of the features of our (later called historic) neighborhood was that some of the garages had attics. On the northwest corner of our block was a very large house with a VERY large garage, owned by several families while I lived at 918. The garage was a "carriage house" along the lines of the one in the movie Sabrina. In that film, Audrey Hepburn portrays a young girl, daughter of the chauffeur for a wealthy family. She lives above the garage and observes the rich people from there. Sabrina even tries to kill herself in that garage. The carriage-house-style garage on our block did not, to my knowledge, have a chauffeur living above it, but it had a suite of rooms up there, and there were at LEAST four garage doors.

Sadly, one of Mom's friends, Mrs. C_____, who lived in the large house on the corner, later committed suicide in the house, the tragic death of a dear shy woman.

The other memorable garage attic was the G________'s family garage, down near Monroe Street. It was also a corner house (what IS that about?), and above the garage was a dusty attic with mysterious trunks. It had a window, so we could see all the wonderful things inside. One glimpse was enough to burn it into my brain. Trunks and old fashioned furniture and clothing! How magical these things are to a child!

The Attic and the Basement

918 had four stories, if you include the basement and the attic. At the top on the front of the house there was a gable with two small square windows (see the photo here). Behind that gable was a "servant's" room. Actually, someone did live there for a time. I was very young, but I understand that a "D.P." lived there, named Julia, and she did work for us. D.P.s were Displaced Persons, refugees from World War II. Poet could tell you more about Julia, but I know only her name and the face that one sister used to make to imitate her.

The room was floored in linoleum, as were all the bedrooms. there was an iron bedstead with one of those simple springs and a thin cotton-stuffed mattress with blue and white striped ticking. I adored that room and spent many hours playing that I was grownup and living on my own up there.

Outside the room was a dim mostly empty attic. The wood of the high roof was visible, kind of reddish brown. It was very airy up there, especially compared to present-day attics. In the center were the stairs. They were very narrow and steep, each stair covered with thin rubber with ridges for safety; but for some reason our parents stored things on the stairs, even though just at the top was a lot of room.

Facing the front of the house, there were extra dining room chairs stored to the right, in the very darkest part of the attic. That part was scary. To the left of the room there was some storage that was in use. That is where the wicker baby bassinet sat for many years.

On the back side of the attic were two very large cisterns, rusty and empty, which had been used to capture rainwater. I always thought that was an excellent idea, and wondered why they had stopped doing that, and why those giant tubs were left embedded in the floor of the attic. Our parents did not do much with things that were not in their way, so I guess they did not see the point of removing the things. They were invisible to daily life. We were warned to stay out of the cisterns, and we did. They looked fragile. Maybe we would have fallen through to the bathroom! Looking back, I think we could have fallen into one of them and not been able to get out.

The basement was built of granite stones, and in the center was an enormous oil-burning furnace with large round ducts reaching out of the top in all directions. I think it had been coal-burning at one time. There was a coal storage area and what had been a coal chute.

There was a particular smell to the basement, of earth and stone and concrete and water and mold. For a long time, Mom did laundry down there, using a wringer washer. There was a hole in the concrete that served as a drain. How depressing that must have been! It was dark, grey dank and grim down there. During the Great Remodeling a washer AND DRYER were put in up in the kitchen, where there was light and air. It was quite a change for Mom, and I am sure she was very pleased.

There were old photographs of unknown dead relatives down in the basement, which we finally took away after Mom and Dad moved to a retirement home. Neither Mom nor Dad could remember who some of them were!

Mom used to make currant jelly up in the kitchen (from currants we picked from our bushes in the back yard), but after she poured the wax on the top of the clear red jelly, she stored the little jelly glasses in the basement on shelves.

In one corner was the "rec" (recreation) room, also known as a rumpus room. It had the old benches from the breakfast nook and a corner cupboard in it. When Poet was a teenager, it became the spot for a lot of parties. We younger ones liked to race around the house, down into the basement, into the rec room, and climb out the high window onto the grass beside the lilacs, only to race around once again.

The May Procession

Every year the sisters would organize a festival for the entire month of May in honor of the Virgin Mary. There was always a May Queen ... I have no idea how she was chosen, but she and a boy (the May King??) got to head up the procession to a large outdoor statue of Mary, and we sang devotional songs all the way.

Each of us was encouraged to make a May Altar, with a statue of the Virgin and flowers, and of course to pray to her especially often. I can't recall when during the month we had the procession. The boys wore suits or sports jackets, and the girls wore white, ruffly, layered sheer dresses, and all the girls wore circlets of flowers in their hair.

My mother said I was too tall to wear frilly dresses, and she had me wear a plain white dress that had"tailored" lines. She also insisted that I did not need florist's flowers for my May headdress, so she picked lilies of the valley from our garden and wove them into a dainty wreath. They grew on the north side of the house, and I loved them, but I was mortified to wear a "homemade" wreath on my head!

St. John's and Capelle's

From the time I was 6 years old I attended St. John the Evangelist grade school, with the exception of 7th grade (another story altogether).

St. John's was built along the lines of Spanish missions, with red clay tile roofs and ochre stone walls on the school, possibly limestone. The church itself had grey stone walls though. We were taught by Sisters of St. Joseph of Carondolet. Our sisters lived behind the school. In between the school and the church was a square house where Monsignor lived. Looking back it seems odd that they chose Spanish style architecture, since this was the "French" parish. The Irish Parish was across the river, St. Patrick's, and Sts. Peter and Paul was for some other ethnic group.

Each classroom had ceilings that may have been more than 12 feet in height. When I gazed out the tall windows I could watch the trees, the birds and the sky. The interior hallway was dim, and faced with glazed tilework. the four lower grades were on the first floor as I recall, and the four upper grades upstairs.

Boys and girls were segregated. The boys sat on one side of the classrooms and the girls on another. We girls were sent to the back of the school for recess, to a blacktop space where we could play "Red Rover Come Over", or "Dodge Ball" or jump rope.

The boys had an entire small block to play in, across the street from the school. They could play football or softball, and their play space had grass and dirt to run around on. It was four times the size of the girls' space.

Every morning, we attended 8:00 AM Mass with the sisters. We had fasted from midnight on, as was the rule in Catholicism at that time, so that we could take communion. Naturally, after Mass, we ran over to Capelle's store, which was across the street to the side of the church, to buy "Long Johns". Long Johns were rectangular raised doughnuts with white or chocolate frosting on top. They frequently had bubbles on the top of the crust, and they were delectable. Capelle's also had bearclaws, doughnuts, cinnamon rolls, and if I remember correctly, caramel rolls.

Alongside the baked goods, they offered candy. Square Pan pipes made of orange wax, wax lips, wax buck teeth, candy dots on long strips of white paper, stick candy in many flavors, licorice whips and other delights. One of my favorites was the "flapjack", which was a huge sucker with swirled colors that would look good on a tie-dyed tee shirt. It was flavored with lemon, and had a texture that was in between hard candy and chewy candy. mmmmmmmmmmmmm

Of course they had candy cigarettes, tootsie rolls, bit-o-honeys and rootbeer barrels. With this sort of breakfast, I do not know how we made it to lunch without low blood sugar and depression.

The Garage

Our neighborhood was composed of older houses. Ours had been built around 1900 or so, and several of the surrounding houses were of that age or maybe even a little older. There of course were no houses older than the Wisconsin, which became a state in 1848 (if I remember correctly), but compared to some of the houses, ours was considered old.

Although later Mom and Dad put in an overhead door which operated by a rope, early on our garage had enormous wooden doors on two sides. The doors slid open sideways on metal wheels that ran on tracks above the doors. I asked Dad why there were doors on both sides, and he said it was because the garage had been a stable for horses and for storing carriages. I did not really know how that would necessitate doors on both sides, but ok.

As soon as he told me that, I wanted to get a horse. We had only one car, and therefore, room for a horse! Dad was clearly horrified at the prospect, but I swore I would take care of it. I did not really take care of Gypsy, so I guess I was deceiving myself. At any rate, we never did get a horse.

Our driveway was shared with the next-door neighbors. When I was very young the driveway was composed of gravel. When it rained, there were nice puddles in the ruts. I would make islands of gravel and popsicle-stick houses on the islands. In the summer, those puddles were warm and grey.

Between the two garages was a narrow alleyway, about the width of a grownup. There was a metal pipe that stuck up from the ground at one end. If a child were not careful, he or she could be running full tilt through that alleyway and trip on that pipe, to crash on the ground. It happened to me many times. There was gravel between the garages and the space between the roofs dripped so that there was a little V shape in the gravel. It was always cool, dim and moist in that area.

Inside the garage were all sorts of rusting objects. There were glass jars of rusting nails, usually bent, which we could straighten with hammers and use for various projects. There were old flowerpots with spiderwebs on them, a tool bench that was never used in my memory, and the iron lawn furniture. Later Mom and Dad had the backyard landscaped, and they got rid of that old furniture and replaced it with some that had nylon mesh seating, which then rested in the garage during the winters also.

The Field

Behind Foth's house, next to our backyard, was "the field". There the grass got really tall in the summertime, and we would create tunnels through it, with the grass bending above us to form a sort of roof. We had a whole maze going through it. I enjoyed being a jungle cat there. It was a meeting place for all the children on the block. We played all sorts of imaginative games; Tarzan, cowboys and lots of hide and seek. When the grass was finally cut at the end of each summer, we were terribly disappointed. Then we would play softball there, so it was not too bad that way either. It was surrounded by backyards, and felt like our own territory.

One evening when I was about 12 or so, I was down by the railroad tracks in my pink striped blouse and bermuda shorts with my friend Carol. An older boy appeared and started to talk with us. He seemed nice. He let me ride on his shoulders for a while. It started to get dark, and I said I was going home. He said he would walk me home. On the way, I asked him what his last name was. He had told me his first name already. He said his last name was Anheuser. I knew that had to be a lie, it was the name of the brewers of Budweiser beer.

I became really alert then. We got to a point where I could cross Porlier Street and cut through the field, or go around the corner and down the sidewalk to the front of our house. I decided to cut through. He offered to walk me the rest of the way, but I said no. I ran across and into the darkness of the field. I hid under the lilac bush and watched in case he had followed me. No one came, so I went home, relieved.

The Magdalene Laundries

http://www.lyricsdepot.com/joni-mitchell/magdalene-laundries.html

The Magdalene Laundries
by Joni Mitchell

I was an unmarried girl
I'd just turned twenty-seven
When they sent me to the sisters
For the way men looked at me
Branded as a jezebel
I knew I was not bound for Heaven
I'd be cast in shame
Into the Magdalene laundries

Most girls come here pregnant
Some by their own fathers
Bridget got that belly
By her parish priest
We're trying to get things white as snow
All of us woe-begotten-daughters
In the steaming stains
Of the Magdalene laundries

Prostitutes and destitutes
And temptresses like me--
Fallen women--
Sentenced into dreamless drudgery ...
Why do they call this heartless place
Our Lady of Charity?
Oh charity!

These bloodless brides of Jesus
If they had just once glimpsed their groom
Then they'd know, and they'd drop the stones
Concealed behind their rosaries
They wilt the grass they walk upon
They leech the light out of a room
They'd like to drive us down the drain
At the Magdalene laundries

Peg O'Connell died today
She was a cheeky girl
A flirt
They just stuffed her in a hole!
Surely to God you'd think at least some bells should ring!
One day I'm going to die here too
And they'll plant me in the dirt
Like some lame bulb
That never blooms come any spring
Not any spring
No, not any spring
Not any spring

Good Shepards home for unwed mothers

when I was naughty at 918 mom & dad would threaten to send me there...

little did I know what was coming!

Fondant!!!

Last night I bought some pastel sparkling sweets in a candy store in Nice; they reminded me of the candies that our Grandmother Gigi used to bring us. I had always wondered what they were. Now I know they were fondant. They had that same crystalline sugar sparkle on the surface; they came in assorted flavors and colors, each with its own decorative addition on the top. They were in only one shape, round with flat bottoms. The lavender ones had candied violets on top; the orange, candied peel caught in a loop of fondant. On the inside they were white. Another mystery of Kaap's Candy solved. Am I going to make them myself? Get a grip!

Creases

Robyn unfolded the brittle photo. A crack ran right down the center of her mother's face. Robyn wondered if opening and shutting this photo had created the crack or if she had folded only once, long ago, to hide from her mother's cunning smile.



The photo was taken in the living room at Christmas time. The black wool skirt her mother wore was expensive. She was seated with her legs crossed suggestively, her right eyebrow cocked. In her left hand was nested the ever-present Winston cigarette, while in the other hand a second or third cocktail.
“Smoking is a filthy habit,” her mother would sneer stubbing out one then lighting another.

Robyn refolded along the crease and a flake of her mother’s face chipped off. Provoked by the disfigurement Robyn ripped a little along the crease. She felt a momentary exhilaration then ripped a little more. She waited a second then taped it back together and tucked it into a photo album.

Ellen & Robyn

918 sunny day

918 in living color

918

... And MORE Boulanger's

Several items:

The Boulangers used to greet me with "Comment allez-vous?" each day. I thought it must be spelled "Come on tolly voo", which is a pretty good phonetic spelling. They were from Belgium. They had two daughters, Avis and Ardis. Ardis and I made our own Katy Keen paper dolls together for a while, upstairs from the store. Katy Keen was very fashionable.

Also, in front of the store on the pavement were blobs of ... ABC GUM! Already Been Chewed ... I do not know who among the many children of the block suggested we peel those flattened, gritty pieces of gum from the pavement and chew them, but I did it. Yes, very gritty. Children are not deterred by the concept of germs.

Boulanger's

As I remember Boulnager's front steps up to the store had a metal pipe for a handrail. On a frosty winter day I bent over and licked the pole. My tears and saliva didn't loosen the icy grip. Betsy said she was going to get someone to help me. I burned with embarrassment and begged her not to get anyone. She started to walk away and I ripped lose. The memory fades. Today as I pulled away from the mirror and tucked my tongue back into my mouth I saw no scars or sign of damage.



Cornell University
Issue Date: 10-Jan-2000
Abstract: In an attempt to verify the age-old claim that your tongue will freeze to a metal pole and become stuck if you decide to lick it in the midst of winter, we have modeled tongue contact with a cold metal surface using finite-element analysis techniques. After varying ambient temperatures, we have concluded that accidental tongue-freezing is not a myth, and below -5 deg. C the tongue will freeze before it can be removed. An accompanying sensitivity analysis showed that variations in contact area, metal properties, and the convection coefficients do not significantly change this conclusion. Our simulation has opened the possibility for further study of the accidental freezing process, including the modeling of methods to remove the tongue once it is stuck.

The Corner Store

On the corner of Jackson and Porlier sat a two-story longish building. The bottom front of the building, facing Jackson Street, was Boulanger's store. They had cookies and the sorts of things that we now get at convenience stores, emergency supplies so to speak, sugar and flour and canned vegetables. They also carried candy, Kool-aid and POPSICLES and FUDGSICLES and CREAMSICLES. mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

I used to be a regular visitor to the store. Mrs. Boulanger hated me after a while I am sure. I would come in and window shop for popsicles. I loved orange and still do. Sometimes they had root beer, banana flavor or those icky blue popsicles.

The freezer case was one that opened from above, with a sliding glass cover. Inside, the galvanized metal sides were crusted with frost, and you could get your finger stuck on the side if you were not careful in pulling out the frozen treats.

When I visited too frequently Mrs. Boulanger would tell me to come back in five minutes. I would go home and sit in the kitchen staring at the clock, the dark green clock above the table, and watch the five minutes go by. Then I would hurry back to the store, where Mrs. Boulanger was horrified to see me reappear so quickly.

We used to have Kool-aid stands, and that involved a lot of Kool-aid packets and tons of sugar. I think we had it all figured out so that we could afford some sort of treat from selling our Kool-aid. We did sell a lot!

Ecological Footprint

This link takes you to a quiz that will calculate your "ecological footprint".

http://www.earthday.net/Footprint/index.asp

have fun
love

LOVE MY SISTERS SO MUCH

I have been feeling so much love, like my chest can't hold it all in and it's bursting out.
Can I slop some you my dear sisters?
love you all so much!
your #4

"All These Children I Never Wanted"

Our mother was a charming, beautiful, intelligent, crazy woman. She suffered from manic-depression [The illness is now termed bipolar disorder in an attempt to make it less stigmatizing to the patients and their families. Most of these terminologies gradually take on the same meanings as the old terms, but never mind].

We had a family reunion, I am not sure which one, maybe for her 80th birthday, and I heard her say, "Ah, here I am surrounded by all these children I never wanted." Rude, but true. She would have been better off not being coerced by the CHURCH to have so many children. In fact, she may have been better off with no children at all. The stresses of family life may have contributed to the onset of her illness.

POET and BOTZ what is up?

Both Poet and Botz keep talking about needing to give passwords, so I asked you both to give me your passwords so I could try to get in using them, but neither one of you has done that. I am confused. Once you get in you can change your passwords, so why not give the password to me via my email??? Also, you have never even commented, which anyone can do without logging in as an administrator. I do not get it.

918 is calling hemlock

Posting is as easy as blowing heart shaped bubbles.

918's looking pretty lonesome

hey, cmoe on Bstey & Anne pelsae psot.
oaky tihs isn't wroknig...
I tohuhgt if you kpet the frist and lsat letter in a wrod tehn aynone cuold raed it.
so waht I'm tyring to say...

918 is waiting...

Rainbows on the Carpet

The beveled, leaded glass at the tops of the picture windows used to make rainbows all over the carpeting during the day. *sigh*

Conversations with Dad

1.
Dad had soft broad hands with the end of his nails filled smooth and smiling. When he concentrated and listened to what I had to say, he would lightly rap these nails on the top of the desk in a gentle cascading movement. As a teenager I repeatedly asked him about the meaning of life. I especially wondered after I had gone out on a rotten date with my boyfriend. I watched his nails as he pondered my question.
“Well...” he said as the nails went tap, tap, tap, tap, “I just don’t know?”
He did his best.
He always tried.



2.
“Hi Dad,” I said into the phone.
“What, what did you say,” he barked.
“I love you,” I said louder. I could hear the piercing tone of his hearing aid.

“Gull-darn-it! You'll have to wait till Peg’s back,” he said.
“Dad please don’t hang.....,” I heard the dial tone.
That night I dreamed that he could hear me. We sat quietly in the in the backyard under the apple trees and talked about the meaning of life.
The next morning I woke up to such a feeling of love and loss. He wasn’t dead like other peoples fathers but sometimes it felt like it.

"The Block"

While the voice of Petula Clark sang through my turquoise & white tran-sister radio...

"When you're alone and life is making you lonely
You can always go...downtown
When you've got worries, all the noise and the hurry
Seems to help, I know...downtown
Just listen to the music of the traffic in the city
Linger on the sidewalk where the neon signs are pretty
How can you lose?"

I was yearning to be on this block.
So much happened.



That song always made Mom sad.
She would heave a sigh, "Oh, Berta..."
As I'd start off in my mod clothes- looking so smart and sexy.
I expected a lot from that block!

Kaap's Restaurant

Sadly, I could not find a photo of Kaaps Restaurant online. It was a Green Bay landmark. Inside the narrow downtown building was a luscious German bakery, with mile-high breads, candies that were INCREDIBLY good (still available by phone order and they have a catalog). Kaap's Old World Chocolates (920) 430-9041.

They also had Steiff stuffed animals. I recall a stuffed hippo that had wooden teeth sewed into its red felt open mouth. I think that was Anne's.

Farther in was the restaurant, with dark wood booths and black marble-topped tables. [The tables and booths have been installed in a West DePere restaurant in case you happen to be in Green Bay and want to sit in one.] I usually got a hot fudge sundae there. It was served in a small pewter dish, one good-sized scoop of their HOME MADE ice cream, and a dark green ceramic gravy boat filled with dark, delicious hot fudge . . . it was not too thick, not too thin. When it poured over the vanilla ice cream, it ran down the sides and formed a moat of brown around the lovely white sphere. I can still taste it, which is a good thing, since the ice cream and the hot fudge are no longer available. mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

They had VERY large geisha lamps with fringed shades at certain spots.

Legend has it that Otto Kaap, the owner, once climbed on top of a refrigerator (one of those huge stainless steel jobs), screamed and jumped up and down, to reprimand his staff. He was very thin with a bald head that was shaped like a light bulb. He had bulging veins all over his head, and he wore rimless glasses. He looked like the man in Edvard Munch's famous painting "The Scream", crossed with Mister Burns in The Simpsons.

There was also a VERY dark bar, where we were not allowed to go.

More on the bar later.