I came home from school when I was twelve one autumn day and was greeted by the scene of Mom and Dad crying hysterically. Grandmom Hugar had just passed away. I looked for Mary Kay and Barb and we all ran to our shared bedroom and cried. We wished we could have seen her more often,than once or twice a year. We would never have her rhubarb and strawberry pies again. We could never be in her barn again. I could never read in her pine trees again, and come down in time for some homemade biscuits and honey from her own bees. God, why did You let this happen? We drove three hours to Nannie's house, my Mom's mother, and the entire family camped out there. In the morning, we loaded up the car and went to the funeral home. I said I would wait outside, as I did not want to say my goodbyes to Grandmom in THAT PLACE! I guess that was my own way of protecting myself. My sisters came out of the funeral home within a few minutes and said that there was a huge argument going on about her estate. One uncle in particular was being very nasty. As young as we were, we three girls were totally disgusted by such a display of greed at the funeral home, of all places. I ended up and went in and gave a dirty look to the offending uncle. Mary Kay and Barb and I walked up to the casket, knelt down, and saw how horribly much weight Grandmom had lost. Her nose looked like a white bone. Her thumbs were flattened. The dress she had on was way too big for her. My Mother shrieked out loud when she saw Grandmom. We were traumatized by the whole ordeal. Apparently Grandmom was suffering with cancer for several years, and she would wear layers of clothing to hide her incredible weight loss.
After the funeral, there was a big dinner to be held at the Grange Hall, actually a stone's throw from Grandmom's house. It was so surreal to be having a big dinner, across the street from her house, the house of a wonderful loving woman who nurtured anyone and everyone. A house we could no longer enter and ever again, be greeted by her melodious voice and love.
We girls did not want to partake in the dinner. We had seen too much offensive behaviour for our aunts and uncles. We walked in, saw everyone stuffing their face with food and left in disgust. We walked a half mile down the country road to the cemetery Grandmom was just buried in. We got to her grave and the dirt was still piled high and littered with flower baskets. Her headstone had Grandpop's birth and death dates on it but of course her death date was not yet engraved. We sat on an adjacent tomb stone and had our own time with Grandmom. We told her how much we loved her and we were sorry some of our aunts and uncles were such creeps, and that we loved her and would rather spend time with her then to stuff our face with food and be happy at such a time as this. We were there until it started to get dark. We started to walk back when Dad came by with the car to pick us up. No one said a word as he drove us back to the Grange Hall. Across the street we observed her house to be totally dark, shut up with an auctioneer's truck parked in front of it. I begged Dad to let us in the house, as I so wanted to run up her stairs, to go into the sunroom and lay on the bear rug carpet, to smell her house, which to me was the scent of pure, unconditional love....Well, couldn't we see the barn again at least Dad? No, it was all over, he kept saying. I thought he was so mean that day as it would have been no problem for him to let us at least go in the barn. But in retrospect, here was a grieving son, mourning his much beloved Mother, a stoic man in deep pain, and he did not want anyone to find solace that day. Nor was any found.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
more Grandmom Hugar memories
As much as I loved to read at Grandmom's house, and as much as she encouraged me to be a book worm, she also insisted we all got outside to play in the barn, climb trees, pick berries, check on the honey combs, and she knew we got such a kick out of using the ages old outhouse. My favorite place to play was in the three story barn she had. Not used for decades. No one was in it much since Grandpop passed away a few years earlier. There were horse reins, yokes for oxen, saddles, wooden chests and horse pens throughout the barn. The only light was from the cracks in the oaken walls and ceiling. It had a thick pungent smell of aged manure, hay leather and wood. It was mysterious and alluring, and we felt it was haunted by so many ghosts of the past. I utterly loved it.Chris, Barb, Mary Kay and I would run to the barn the way kids run to an amusement park today. We particularly enjoyed jumping from one hay loft to another. These lofts were tiered, the highest being ten feet from the roof. we would climb the oak ladders up to the lofts and jump from one fifteen feet feet down to another across from it. One day I jumped 15 feet into a pile of hay and getting up exuberantly, I noticed the rusty tines of a huge pitchfork, I just missed being impaled upon. What an adrenaline rush! That only encouraged further misdeeds of valor. (I am convinced I shed all the constraints enveloping me from Catholic School during my "barn time.") It was the supreme outlet for all my pent up emotions and need to prove myself TO myself. We also opted to jump from the top window of the barn to the sloping grassy field below. That was double fun because upon landing, we would roll down the grassy slope another twenty feet. The ultimate ride.
We loved our visits with Grandmom the most whenever our cousin Valli would come for a visit. Valli was the only child of Dad's brother Andy and his wife, Betts. Valli was idolized by we three girls, as Valli could have whatever she wanted. She never had to share. Yet, she was totally unspoiled, and certainly the most fun person to hang out with. She was always laughing and carrying on. She was very smart, and she viewed the world through the same lens I did too, but only showed when she was around. One day we were playing in the barn and we had to go to the bathroom. Valli said there was a toilet right in the barn. She took me over to a trap door on the first level of the barn, with a basement underneath. She advised me to open the trap door, squat and do my business. She says she had been doing that for years. And sure enough, looking down the stairs were tattered pieces of book pages strewn all over the stairs. I looked at her really strangely, and she said all I had to do was to rip out a few pages from the old text books on the top step. She said her Dad said the books were a real load of crap and what better use for them than this. My sisters and I laughed our heads off, as we would like to say, as we were brought up in such a pristine, immaculate environment that we would have never, in all our wildest dreams, thought up such a thing. Valli was certainly brought up well too in such respects, but her parents would never squelch her hysterical creativity and joy she constantly radiated. That impressed me very much, so whenever I am feeling a little "zaney" I go with it, as long as it was not quite THAT ZANEY!
We also would spend time dressing up in old gowns from Grandmom's trunk in her attic. I particularly liked to put on the bone corsets and large flowery hats. I also delighted in the old button up tall black shoes. We would spend hours trying on ancient finery that saw its better days well before we were born.
Another favorite past time was to climb the hundred year old pine trres out in the meadow. Some were fifty feet high, very thick trunks, with very large and well spaced branches that would wave majestically in the wind. Perfect for climbing! I would climb up about twenty feet, sit on one branch and use the branch above me as a book rest and read for hours. I would climb up the tree with a Hardy Boys Mystery, or a Nancy Drew book stuffed in my pants and climb until I found a good solid "nesting" branch where I could sit comfortably with my back resting on the trunk and my legs stretched out on a limb. Only when I could no longer read, due to the setting sun, would I come down from my heavenly perch. I would look out and take in the fifty acres around me, feeling the wind rustle through my hair, gently lifting the branch I was sitting on. I would venture far out on the limb because I could better feel the wind lifting me. I will always remember those magical days, cradled in the arms of a tree, being gently lifted by the wind, and hearing the soft sigh of the wind through the branches.
We loved our visits with Grandmom the most whenever our cousin Valli would come for a visit. Valli was the only child of Dad's brother Andy and his wife, Betts. Valli was idolized by we three girls, as Valli could have whatever she wanted. She never had to share. Yet, she was totally unspoiled, and certainly the most fun person to hang out with. She was always laughing and carrying on. She was very smart, and she viewed the world through the same lens I did too, but only showed when she was around. One day we were playing in the barn and we had to go to the bathroom. Valli said there was a toilet right in the barn. She took me over to a trap door on the first level of the barn, with a basement underneath. She advised me to open the trap door, squat and do my business. She says she had been doing that for years. And sure enough, looking down the stairs were tattered pieces of book pages strewn all over the stairs. I looked at her really strangely, and she said all I had to do was to rip out a few pages from the old text books on the top step. She said her Dad said the books were a real load of crap and what better use for them than this. My sisters and I laughed our heads off, as we would like to say, as we were brought up in such a pristine, immaculate environment that we would have never, in all our wildest dreams, thought up such a thing. Valli was certainly brought up well too in such respects, but her parents would never squelch her hysterical creativity and joy she constantly radiated. That impressed me very much, so whenever I am feeling a little "zaney" I go with it, as long as it was not quite THAT ZANEY!
We also would spend time dressing up in old gowns from Grandmom's trunk in her attic. I particularly liked to put on the bone corsets and large flowery hats. I also delighted in the old button up tall black shoes. We would spend hours trying on ancient finery that saw its better days well before we were born.
Another favorite past time was to climb the hundred year old pine trres out in the meadow. Some were fifty feet high, very thick trunks, with very large and well spaced branches that would wave majestically in the wind. Perfect for climbing! I would climb up about twenty feet, sit on one branch and use the branch above me as a book rest and read for hours. I would climb up the tree with a Hardy Boys Mystery, or a Nancy Drew book stuffed in my pants and climb until I found a good solid "nesting" branch where I could sit comfortably with my back resting on the trunk and my legs stretched out on a limb. Only when I could no longer read, due to the setting sun, would I come down from my heavenly perch. I would look out and take in the fifty acres around me, feeling the wind rustle through my hair, gently lifting the branch I was sitting on. I would venture far out on the limb because I could better feel the wind lifting me. I will always remember those magical days, cradled in the arms of a tree, being gently lifted by the wind, and hearing the soft sigh of the wind through the branches.
Catholic school days in the fifties
My older brother Chris thought he was so special because he walked to Catholic school all by himself. St. Patrick School,on Buffalo Street, Franklin, Pa. All of a half block from our house. I thought he was special too, because I was currently only allowed to play between the two trees in front of our house. So Chris was allowed past the infamous alley, had to cross a street even! Meanwhile Mom would be watching him walk up the street every day, standing on the sunporch, and peering out the window nervously. She was holding a baby in one arm and usually a serving spoon in the other. (The usual breakfast fare was oatmeal or maltomeal or ralston. Sometimes my Dad would mix all three together and said this will be tastier.)
My school was down in the other direction, about six blocks away. St. Patrick School did not have a kindergarten then, so I had to go to a public school, hence my friend Sissy up the street was indispensable. My Mom did not particularly care for Sissy,but since Sissy was a few years older than me, bigger, and went to the public school every day, my Mom cultivated the friendship. We had many adventures along the way, none of which I shared with my Mother. The adventures were pretty much the same script: spend my milk money on candy for both of us.Sometimes we would ratch it up a notch and leave school early and play at the playground. Here I was the daughter of a State Police Trooper, getting into trouble already at the tender age of four. I did not turn five until October, but that is how things were done back then. I wouldn't see Sissy much after this year as Sissy continued going to PUBLIC school and I would be going to CATHOLIC school. From the get go,Catholic school kids were inbred with a smug superiority that we were different from other folks and we were glad we were.
So, Kindergarten was over and I was entering first grade at St.Patrick School. Chris walked me up the street very courteously and introduced me to my nun teacher, Sr. Rita Marie. He unceremoniously announced loudly, "This is my sister Julie. I got a whole bunch more at home, but if she is bad, send her home. We just live down the street!" Sister Rita Marie looked at me like she was just hand delivered the grand booby prize of a student. Chris winked at me, punched me on the arm, and said"Good for you and good for America!" He ran down the hall to his class of fifty kids.
Sister Rita Marie soon discerned she had nothing to worry about with the likes of me. I sat down at the desk she showed me and was totally quiet and in awe as I saw kid after kid file into the the newly painted and varnished hardwood floored classroom. (That smell makes me queasy to this day!) Each child had that same terrified look on their face, as they gazed at bulletin boards, blackboards festooned with colorful letters and numbers. I was seated next to a girl named Jane. As I recall, she had a dreadfully ungroomed nose which she would snack on from time to time. I gagged out loud and the nun came running over as my eyes were tearing up from the gagging. She asked me why I was crying and I said my eyes were just watery. As luck would have it, three boys started to fight across the room and I was left in peace.
The first order of the day was to learn how to write our names, telephone numbers and addresses. Mercifully for me, my parents taught me all of that. I smugly wrote my information down on my new tablet with my new pencil. Many kids were crying as they had no knowledge of their letters or numbers at all. Too busy watching Howdy Doodie all the time, I shook my head in disgust.I surveyed the vast expanse of the classroom around me and felt like I was in an ocean, safe in a lifeboat, surrounded by a bunch of kids thrashing around who could not swim, and were being pursued by sharks. Sharks were black and white and so were nuns. And just as scary, I might add.I made it through that first day, very thankful to my parents for their hours of teaching me and reading to me, as I saw what happened when the other kids had to start from square one. I made three great friends: Becky, Jane and Val. We were great friends for the next twelve years.
By October, we were well entrenched into Sr. Rita Marie's routine. We sat up straight, shut up, did not "visit with our neighbor" (so why put two desks together if we could not chat?!) We were permitted to go to the bathroom once in the morning and once in the afternoon. God forbid if one had to tinkle before those times. One day, Beverly could not hold it any longer. I had just whispered a "knock knock" joke to her and she laughed so hard she peed herself. I will never forget the horrified look on Sister's face as she ran down the aisle and ordered Beverly home. She ordered a boy to go get a mop and bucket to clean it up. All the day's learning effectively stopped there, as everyone was either terrified or mortified and we sure all had to pee bad. From that day on, Beverly's theme song was "Tinkle Tinkle Little Star" courtesy of several sarcastic boys in the class that followed her right through eighth grade.
In second grade, we had to memorize many many long prayers. Acts of faith, hope and charity. The Apostles Creed. The Act of Contrition. My parents helped me learn these quickly. I don't know when they had time but they did. Mom was the Valedictorian of her High School class, and Dad certainly was an intelligent man, so they both saw to it that our homework was done every night, that it was done well, on clean paper. They would check our work before we put it in our book bags. They would drill math facts with us and drill spelling words with us. It was a good thing too, because my parents knew the teacher I was assigned for second grade
was a very mean nun. I will not mention her name. She had no mercy for any student who did not know their lesson. She would drag whomever did not know their lesson by the ear, to the front of the class, and say: "Class, this is what a loser looks like." Back in those days, if you were disciplined at school, you got it double at home. The teacher was always right. No parent would ever stand up against a nun. Thanks to Mom and Dad, I won the award for highest grade point average that year.
My sister Barb, a year younger than me, and Mary Kay, two years younger than me. were asked to join the children's choir. We three girls and another family up the street with three daughters. We got to get out of school and sing at all the funerals. If we were really lucky, sometimes five people would die in a week and we could blow off every morning. We sang all the hymns in Latin. We had perfect pitch and were told we sang like angels. Between songs we would eat soda crackers and sometimes it was harder to sing, but with Latin, no one understood a word we said anyhow. After we sang at the Funeral Mass, we would go to school and sit in the lunchroom and eat the breakfast Mom made us. We would have a baby food jar full of milk and cinnamon toast wrapped up in wax paper.
I recall singing at an infant's funeral. The casket was tiny, white and covered with gold angels. I would watch, high from the choir loft, the sobbing Mother and Father of the baby, stumbling down the aisle, as the man would help support his grieving wife. It was surreal and made us all cry. After the funeral, the family came up to the choir loft and was amazed there were only six little girls singing, as they said it sounded like a choir of angels. I am convinced to this day that a choir of angels was truly singing with us.
My school was down in the other direction, about six blocks away. St. Patrick School did not have a kindergarten then, so I had to go to a public school, hence my friend Sissy up the street was indispensable. My Mom did not particularly care for Sissy,but since Sissy was a few years older than me, bigger, and went to the public school every day, my Mom cultivated the friendship. We had many adventures along the way, none of which I shared with my Mother. The adventures were pretty much the same script: spend my milk money on candy for both of us.Sometimes we would ratch it up a notch and leave school early and play at the playground. Here I was the daughter of a State Police Trooper, getting into trouble already at the tender age of four. I did not turn five until October, but that is how things were done back then. I wouldn't see Sissy much after this year as Sissy continued going to PUBLIC school and I would be going to CATHOLIC school. From the get go,Catholic school kids were inbred with a smug superiority that we were different from other folks and we were glad we were.
So, Kindergarten was over and I was entering first grade at St.Patrick School. Chris walked me up the street very courteously and introduced me to my nun teacher, Sr. Rita Marie. He unceremoniously announced loudly, "This is my sister Julie. I got a whole bunch more at home, but if she is bad, send her home. We just live down the street!" Sister Rita Marie looked at me like she was just hand delivered the grand booby prize of a student. Chris winked at me, punched me on the arm, and said"Good for you and good for America!" He ran down the hall to his class of fifty kids.
Sister Rita Marie soon discerned she had nothing to worry about with the likes of me. I sat down at the desk she showed me and was totally quiet and in awe as I saw kid after kid file into the the newly painted and varnished hardwood floored classroom. (That smell makes me queasy to this day!) Each child had that same terrified look on their face, as they gazed at bulletin boards, blackboards festooned with colorful letters and numbers. I was seated next to a girl named Jane. As I recall, she had a dreadfully ungroomed nose which she would snack on from time to time. I gagged out loud and the nun came running over as my eyes were tearing up from the gagging. She asked me why I was crying and I said my eyes were just watery. As luck would have it, three boys started to fight across the room and I was left in peace.
The first order of the day was to learn how to write our names, telephone numbers and addresses. Mercifully for me, my parents taught me all of that. I smugly wrote my information down on my new tablet with my new pencil. Many kids were crying as they had no knowledge of their letters or numbers at all. Too busy watching Howdy Doodie all the time, I shook my head in disgust.I surveyed the vast expanse of the classroom around me and felt like I was in an ocean, safe in a lifeboat, surrounded by a bunch of kids thrashing around who could not swim, and were being pursued by sharks. Sharks were black and white and so were nuns. And just as scary, I might add.I made it through that first day, very thankful to my parents for their hours of teaching me and reading to me, as I saw what happened when the other kids had to start from square one. I made three great friends: Becky, Jane and Val. We were great friends for the next twelve years.
By October, we were well entrenched into Sr. Rita Marie's routine. We sat up straight, shut up, did not "visit with our neighbor" (so why put two desks together if we could not chat?!) We were permitted to go to the bathroom once in the morning and once in the afternoon. God forbid if one had to tinkle before those times. One day, Beverly could not hold it any longer. I had just whispered a "knock knock" joke to her and she laughed so hard she peed herself. I will never forget the horrified look on Sister's face as she ran down the aisle and ordered Beverly home. She ordered a boy to go get a mop and bucket to clean it up. All the day's learning effectively stopped there, as everyone was either terrified or mortified and we sure all had to pee bad. From that day on, Beverly's theme song was "Tinkle Tinkle Little Star" courtesy of several sarcastic boys in the class that followed her right through eighth grade.
In second grade, we had to memorize many many long prayers. Acts of faith, hope and charity. The Apostles Creed. The Act of Contrition. My parents helped me learn these quickly. I don't know when they had time but they did. Mom was the Valedictorian of her High School class, and Dad certainly was an intelligent man, so they both saw to it that our homework was done every night, that it was done well, on clean paper. They would check our work before we put it in our book bags. They would drill math facts with us and drill spelling words with us. It was a good thing too, because my parents knew the teacher I was assigned for second grade
was a very mean nun. I will not mention her name. She had no mercy for any student who did not know their lesson. She would drag whomever did not know their lesson by the ear, to the front of the class, and say: "Class, this is what a loser looks like." Back in those days, if you were disciplined at school, you got it double at home. The teacher was always right. No parent would ever stand up against a nun. Thanks to Mom and Dad, I won the award for highest grade point average that year.
My sister Barb, a year younger than me, and Mary Kay, two years younger than me. were asked to join the children's choir. We three girls and another family up the street with three daughters. We got to get out of school and sing at all the funerals. If we were really lucky, sometimes five people would die in a week and we could blow off every morning. We sang all the hymns in Latin. We had perfect pitch and were told we sang like angels. Between songs we would eat soda crackers and sometimes it was harder to sing, but with Latin, no one understood a word we said anyhow. After we sang at the Funeral Mass, we would go to school and sit in the lunchroom and eat the breakfast Mom made us. We would have a baby food jar full of milk and cinnamon toast wrapped up in wax paper.
I recall singing at an infant's funeral. The casket was tiny, white and covered with gold angels. I would watch, high from the choir loft, the sobbing Mother and Father of the baby, stumbling down the aisle, as the man would help support his grieving wife. It was surreal and made us all cry. After the funeral, the family came up to the choir loft and was amazed there were only six little girls singing, as they said it sounded like a choir of angels. I am convinced to this day that a choir of angels was truly singing with us.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Grandmom Hugar: A Renaissance Woman
"I see Grandmom's house!" One of us kids would scream loudly from the 1954 Cadillac sedan driven by my Dad, a Pennsylvania State Trooper, with Mom and six kids in tow. The youngest, Pam, was sitting on the arm rest dividing the back seat. Lisa and Mary Kay were seated on one side of her and Barb was on the other side. Chris and I sat up front between Mom and Dad, at least some of the time. Dad would be puffing on a Pall Mall cigarette with his side window cracked open. Mom was pregnant with her 7th child. My sister Lisa would always have her nose buried in the crack of the back seat and get car sick. (It was a regular occurrence, so you can understand why I made a point to sit up front.) Us older kids would be sitting at the edge of our seats, trying to see Grandmom's house first. The first one to see it would win. Win What? Nothing. Just that contest for that period of time. The sentence was always sung, however. "I see Grand" was sung on G and "Mom's House" was sung on lower C. We always made up songs about any and everything. The songs would just arise spontaneously. If we all liked it, we kept singing it. If we didn't all like it, we would keep quiet. I think Mom and Dad preferred the silence but they were too kind to tell us to shut up. Chris, nine times out of ten, would sing it out first, as he did on this particular trip. We could see the house about five miles away, as it stood on a hill, overlooking a valley, all land owned by Grandmom. As we followed the country road into Keewadin, we would talk excitedly about Grandmom. (Grandpop had died a few years earlier and none of us kids knew him much at all. We just knew that he died of a heart attack at a Grange Hall meeting.)
Grandmom Hugar, however, we grew to know very well and utterly cherished her. She would always be waiting for us with a huge smile and big bear hugs, as she called them.(We figured she knew what bear hugs were all about. On the sunporch was a huge black bear rug Grandpop had made many years ago, from the 10 foot black bear he had shot.) She would often be taking a cherry cobbler out of the oven as we were walking into her house. If it was cold, she would ask Chris or me to go throw some coal into the coal furnace in the basement. We would sit at her table and eat cherry cobbler and biscuits and honey and homemade lemonade. I recall her house to be one of the most warm and welcoming places of my entire life. All because of Grandmom being Grandmom. To this day, one of the greatest compliments we grown children can get (girls!) is "You're just like Grandmom Hugar!" (Usually this is said if we are so determined to do something, we do it, come hell or high water!)
Her name was Jeannette. She always thought herself to be a large homely woman. She would say that many times to me, and I would say,"So what's the matter with being homely? Doesn't that mean you like to stay at home and make pies and cook and make jelly?" She would laugh and say, "I never thought of it that way." I also told her it was good she was tall and strong because my Dad was a policeman, and HE needed to be big and strong. I told her Grandpop looked like a runt next to her in pictures of them together. She got quite a kick out of that too. She told me that my initials and birthday were the same as Grandpop's. JCH, and October 6. So, you were named after him, in a way she said. Grandmom WAS a big woman, six feet tall with gentle brown eyes and a ready, beautiful smile. When she said how ugly she was to us kids, this would always sadden us, and we told her to never ever say that again because she was as beautiful as a fairy godmother to us. When we look at her pictures now, we see a very humble, plain looking woman with well worn hands and a smile that brought instant joy and peace to everyone she encountered. A Renaissance Woman, majestic in every way.
She was a voracious reader and a perpetual learner. She taught herself to drive after Grandpop died, and was frustrated about parking her Packard in the garage. She was so determined she somehow managed to get the Packard in sideways!(much to the chagrin of her grown sons who had to right the wrong, without tearing down the garage.) She was a very determined woman who, once she set her mind to do something, did it well, or not at all. (Except parking and driving the car, as these inabilities plagued her the rest of her life, as she would drive a mile down the country road to visit the grave of Grandpop.) Grandmom made her own rugs and had a rug weaving machine upstairs. She would use old rags to make rugs. She canned all her fruits and vegetables, made her own bread, and even had her own apiary. Her honey was the best. To this day, one of my fondest memories are of her homemade biscuits with butter and honey fresh from the comb. She also oil painted and made dough sculptures of her beloved parakeets. She always had a bird around the house, and she would let it out of its cage to amuse us kids. We all shrieked with delight as the bird would dive bomb us. Grandmom had a real connection with her grandchildren. She saw kids as kids, and gave us the freedom to be spontaneous and cut loose. She would connect with us in such a way that we knew she was really a kid at heart herself.
But Grandmom had a very serious side. She would often sit in her rocker and read from her Bible. She was not Catholic. She was a Lutheran. Year ago, she and her whole family were Catholic. But when the depression came and they had no money, they could not pay their "pew rent" and were asked to leave the church. They immediately joined the Lutheran church down the road. One day as she was reading from her Bible, she showed me her Sunday School lessons, and I read them avidly, lying on her bearskin rug, as the sun streamed in through the windows. When I got a little tired, I would rest my head on the bear's head. After all, he was dead, and actually the rug was quite warm and snuggly. I loved to read those Sunday School lessons. My Mom would tell me in private not to read them, as it was Protestant reading material. Of course, then, it became all the more fascinating to me. Nothing like being told to refrain from something, as it more often then not, becomes all the more beguiling. I could see nothing wrong at all with the lessons and utterly loved reading them. Grandmom told me she would save them for me but she did not want to upset my Mom.
Grandmom also had a huge library. She had a ton of medical books and I would sit behind her reading chair and read the medical books from cover to cover. She also had leather bound books of all the classics. She told me that books were her best friends, tried and true, and were always a pleasure to be around. Grandmom saw how much I loved to read, particularly the medical books, so she told me I could take them home with me. She said I was smart enough to be a doctor some day, so start studying now while I was a kid. Unfortunately, I often imagined I had every disease I read about and would develop symptoms of "non tropical sprue" or think I may have gotten venereal disease from a toilet at a gas station.
Grandmom Hugar, however, we grew to know very well and utterly cherished her. She would always be waiting for us with a huge smile and big bear hugs, as she called them.(We figured she knew what bear hugs were all about. On the sunporch was a huge black bear rug Grandpop had made many years ago, from the 10 foot black bear he had shot.) She would often be taking a cherry cobbler out of the oven as we were walking into her house. If it was cold, she would ask Chris or me to go throw some coal into the coal furnace in the basement. We would sit at her table and eat cherry cobbler and biscuits and honey and homemade lemonade. I recall her house to be one of the most warm and welcoming places of my entire life. All because of Grandmom being Grandmom. To this day, one of the greatest compliments we grown children can get (girls!) is "You're just like Grandmom Hugar!" (Usually this is said if we are so determined to do something, we do it, come hell or high water!)
Her name was Jeannette. She always thought herself to be a large homely woman. She would say that many times to me, and I would say,"So what's the matter with being homely? Doesn't that mean you like to stay at home and make pies and cook and make jelly?" She would laugh and say, "I never thought of it that way." I also told her it was good she was tall and strong because my Dad was a policeman, and HE needed to be big and strong. I told her Grandpop looked like a runt next to her in pictures of them together. She got quite a kick out of that too. She told me that my initials and birthday were the same as Grandpop's. JCH, and October 6. So, you were named after him, in a way she said. Grandmom WAS a big woman, six feet tall with gentle brown eyes and a ready, beautiful smile. When she said how ugly she was to us kids, this would always sadden us, and we told her to never ever say that again because she was as beautiful as a fairy godmother to us. When we look at her pictures now, we see a very humble, plain looking woman with well worn hands and a smile that brought instant joy and peace to everyone she encountered. A Renaissance Woman, majestic in every way.
She was a voracious reader and a perpetual learner. She taught herself to drive after Grandpop died, and was frustrated about parking her Packard in the garage. She was so determined she somehow managed to get the Packard in sideways!(much to the chagrin of her grown sons who had to right the wrong, without tearing down the garage.) She was a very determined woman who, once she set her mind to do something, did it well, or not at all. (Except parking and driving the car, as these inabilities plagued her the rest of her life, as she would drive a mile down the country road to visit the grave of Grandpop.) Grandmom made her own rugs and had a rug weaving machine upstairs. She would use old rags to make rugs. She canned all her fruits and vegetables, made her own bread, and even had her own apiary. Her honey was the best. To this day, one of my fondest memories are of her homemade biscuits with butter and honey fresh from the comb. She also oil painted and made dough sculptures of her beloved parakeets. She always had a bird around the house, and she would let it out of its cage to amuse us kids. We all shrieked with delight as the bird would dive bomb us. Grandmom had a real connection with her grandchildren. She saw kids as kids, and gave us the freedom to be spontaneous and cut loose. She would connect with us in such a way that we knew she was really a kid at heart herself.
But Grandmom had a very serious side. She would often sit in her rocker and read from her Bible. She was not Catholic. She was a Lutheran. Year ago, she and her whole family were Catholic. But when the depression came and they had no money, they could not pay their "pew rent" and were asked to leave the church. They immediately joined the Lutheran church down the road. One day as she was reading from her Bible, she showed me her Sunday School lessons, and I read them avidly, lying on her bearskin rug, as the sun streamed in through the windows. When I got a little tired, I would rest my head on the bear's head. After all, he was dead, and actually the rug was quite warm and snuggly. I loved to read those Sunday School lessons. My Mom would tell me in private not to read them, as it was Protestant reading material. Of course, then, it became all the more fascinating to me. Nothing like being told to refrain from something, as it more often then not, becomes all the more beguiling. I could see nothing wrong at all with the lessons and utterly loved reading them. Grandmom told me she would save them for me but she did not want to upset my Mom.
Grandmom also had a huge library. She had a ton of medical books and I would sit behind her reading chair and read the medical books from cover to cover. She also had leather bound books of all the classics. She told me that books were her best friends, tried and true, and were always a pleasure to be around. Grandmom saw how much I loved to read, particularly the medical books, so she told me I could take them home with me. She said I was smart enough to be a doctor some day, so start studying now while I was a kid. Unfortunately, I often imagined I had every disease I read about and would develop symptoms of "non tropical sprue" or think I may have gotten venereal disease from a toilet at a gas station.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
milk money, penny candy, a nickel bag and donuts
Kindergarten was going quite nicely. Operative word" Going. I couldn't, for the life of me, know what I was learning. It just seemed like we cut and pasted and ate a whole lot of white paste! No wonder Mom told me I looked a bit pasty. I asked her how she knew? "Knew about what?" she asked. "Knew about me eating paste!" "What?" "You eat white paste?" "Sure Mom" "Everyone does!" "If everyone jumped off a cliff would you?" Just then Chris calls out from the living room: "If I was a lemming, I probably would." Chris was an avid reader and knew about everything. "Chris, we will talk about that later" said Mom. Back to me, she demanded I never eat paste again. I told her "But I loooove it!" She said : "Absolutely not!" "I raised you for better things than eating white paste!" So, on that note, I went to school with a chip on my shoulder. When Sissy asked if I had any money, so we could spend it on penny candy. I said as a matter of fact, I do! And I showed her my milk money. Her eyes about popped out of her head. "Gosh Julie, do you know what we can get with that?" She proceeded to regal me with tales of watermelon slices, gumdrops,pixie stix,soft chewy red coin money, root beer barrels and Klein lunch bars. As I started to drool, off we went to the little corner dairy store. It smelled like ancient kitty litter. I breathed through my mouth, as I always did when I went there. A huge cat strolled over to me and started to entwine its legs around my ankles. I shook it off with fright and it deftly leaped to the top of the candy counter. So that's what all those tiny paw prints are about, I mused. I asked for a nickel bag of candy and specified what I wanted. Sissy yelled out, "Make that a double!" "A nickel bag and make that a double!" Should have been an omen of trouble over the horizon...We ran out of the store with our treasures. Sissy suggested that we walk around the block enough times so we could eat all of our candy and have it out of our teeth before getting home, I agreed that would be the prudent thing to do. After all, at OUR house, we had our rules. If anyone brought candy into the house, there had to be enough to share with everyone. Nuthin' doing, I thought to myself. It was my milk money, hence, it is my candy. I may be nice, but I am not THAT nice. Besides, I shared with Sissy. We ate our entire bag of candy, except two root beer barrels I had for my sisters. Sissy said she wanted donuts for dessert, and said we could run to Limbers Bakery and get ten for ten. Boy, I sure was glad Sissy was my friend as she sure knew what to say and do out in public. She held her hand out to me to get the money. Oh yeah, it was my treat. We got the donuts and crammed one into our mouths before we left the door.We had two down in a few steps. After three, I looked at Sissy and told her I wasn't feeling very well. She assured that I would get over it. She said just to walk real fast and we would wear it off. I suggested that we use our "propellers" and run. (our arms whirling like helicopters) So we ran with our arms out in front of us like propellers. The rest of the donuts fell out of the bag and rolled down the street. "Oh poop!" I yelled out loud. Sissy looked at me like I was a Martian and said, "Oh Shit!" I started to cry and she said she was sorry for teaching me bad words, and said we better get home quick or Mom would call Big Lee, my Dad who was a State Police Trooper, to come look for us.
Sure enough, we got home late. I wondered how I could get out of what I knew was coming. After all, I spent my milk money on candy, crossed busy Liberty street without Mom or Dad, and got home late from school. Mom looked very worried when I walked in. But just at that moment, Barb started to choke on her peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Mom whacked her hard on the back and half a sandwich flew out of her mouth. I was surprised that Barb coughed up ANY sandwich, as she would usually throw her sandwiches, bit by bit, behind the refrigerator. She would GAG on her sandwiches if they were made of Wonder Bread. You know, the kind that helps to build strong bodies twelve ways. I suppose it would, should one actually EAT the stuff. I wonder why she would gag... The bread was only about a week old by the time we ate it as Dad would always buy the bread from the Thrift Bakery. I would always toast mine, so it didn't matter. I called it "Toasted Peanut Butter" and that's what I asked for as I nonchalantly sat down at the table and winked at Barb, showing her a root beer barrel I saved for her. Mary Kay looked at me with admiring eyes, like I was her hero. I guess I was for that shining moment and I savored that along with my lunch.
Sure enough, we got home late. I wondered how I could get out of what I knew was coming. After all, I spent my milk money on candy, crossed busy Liberty street without Mom or Dad, and got home late from school. Mom looked very worried when I walked in. But just at that moment, Barb started to choke on her peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Mom whacked her hard on the back and half a sandwich flew out of her mouth. I was surprised that Barb coughed up ANY sandwich, as she would usually throw her sandwiches, bit by bit, behind the refrigerator. She would GAG on her sandwiches if they were made of Wonder Bread. You know, the kind that helps to build strong bodies twelve ways. I suppose it would, should one actually EAT the stuff. I wonder why she would gag... The bread was only about a week old by the time we ate it as Dad would always buy the bread from the Thrift Bakery. I would always toast mine, so it didn't matter. I called it "Toasted Peanut Butter" and that's what I asked for as I nonchalantly sat down at the table and winked at Barb, showing her a root beer barrel I saved for her. Mary Kay looked at me with admiring eyes, like I was her hero. I guess I was for that shining moment and I savored that along with my lunch.
Friday, September 2, 2011
My Fifth Birthday: Red Velvet Hat, Round Black Purse and a Nun Doll
The first month of school went by fast. Soon, it was October, my favorite month of the year, as it was my birthday month. Soon the hallowed day appeared. It was on a school day. Mom woke me with a kiss and a promise that we would have a party after supper. My Mom made me cupcakes to bring in. Sissy helped carry them. I recall thinking how stupid it was that the Birthday Boy or Girl had to bring in the treat, but that's the way it was. Everyone made a fuss over me. At snack time, I passed out my cupcakes proudly. Mom made some nice cupcakes and filled the wrappers high with cake and icing. They were not store bought nor did they taste like smoke like when Sally's mom made cupcakes. After I sat down, I was presented with the grievously coveted PIXIE CAKE, a tiny two layer cake of chocolate cake with white icing, about three inches across and two inches high. There were five candles on it. I blew out the lit candles and took each one out, one by one, and licked the cake and icing off. Other kids wanted to put them back into the cake to get a taste too. I found no reason why my friends should be denied this simple pleasure. Five more kids poked into the cake to get a taste. Mrs. Hostetter finally intervened and said that that was enough, as there would be no cake left for the birthday girl.
I took the cake home with me and bragged to my sisters about how I got a birthday cake at school. I offered them all a bite and my Mom looked at the cake with a nervous eye. She said to put the cake over on the counter which was right above an open garbage can. It seemed to have disappeared when I looked for it later. Mom made me a huge double layer white cake with coconut icing and red and yellow flowers she made with a special icing gun. I soon forgot about the pixie cake. I opened a package from my Grandmom Hugar who sent me a red velvet hat. I loved it and wore it every day for a month. I also get a round black patin leather purse with a mirror inside from Nannie, my Mother's mom. I was named after her.My parents got me a nun doll, that when you moved the legs to walk, the head went from side to side, just like the real nuns do, and they never miss a thing going on in a classroom. She was wearing lime green underpants. I recall thinking how nice the underwear was, because the dress she wore sure was ugly. She also had a very large bib. I thought that was because nuns must be sloppy eaters. The nun doll was ok for a day, but I couldn't play with her. Her dress was stapled on her. No wonder nuns were crabby and mean.
I took the cake home with me and bragged to my sisters about how I got a birthday cake at school. I offered them all a bite and my Mom looked at the cake with a nervous eye. She said to put the cake over on the counter which was right above an open garbage can. It seemed to have disappeared when I looked for it later. Mom made me a huge double layer white cake with coconut icing and red and yellow flowers she made with a special icing gun. I soon forgot about the pixie cake. I opened a package from my Grandmom Hugar who sent me a red velvet hat. I loved it and wore it every day for a month. I also get a round black patin leather purse with a mirror inside from Nannie, my Mother's mom. I was named after her.My parents got me a nun doll, that when you moved the legs to walk, the head went from side to side, just like the real nuns do, and they never miss a thing going on in a classroom. She was wearing lime green underpants. I recall thinking how nice the underwear was, because the dress she wore sure was ugly. She also had a very large bib. I thought that was because nuns must be sloppy eaters. The nun doll was ok for a day, but I couldn't play with her. Her dress was stapled on her. No wonder nuns were crabby and mean.
chocolate milk, lorna dunes and an order of white paste on the side
Snack time was probably the reason I continued to go to school every day. Chocolate milk and lorna dunes! We never had either at home. My Mother was ahead of her time as she did not give us sugary snacks. How I loved chocolate milk! It was so thick and creamy! I took a couple long drags with my straw and hurried over to the sink with Robbie, Petey and Nellie. I said, "You go first" as I wanted to savor the moment. The sink was a large white utility sink at our level. Robbie poured her milk all over the bottom of the sink, on the sides and rims of the sink. I liked the way the brown creamy color contrasted with the white and how it streaked here and there, and then, with a huge blast, the faucet washed it clean. We all clapped and laughed excitedly. Where Mrs. Hostetter was at this time, I don't know. Probably in the bathroom after the kid flushing theirs down the toilet.
Our joy was rudely interrupted by Mrs. Hostetter's shouting for everyone to sit down. She then said to bring our chairs over to the center of the room and form a large circle. We all hopped on our chairs and rode them like horses as fast as we could to get to the center of the room. We did like as if in a trance like humans did in the movie, "Time Machine", when the siren blasted its mournful summons. No one wanted to be left outside the circle. If you were the last one there, and the circle closed in, you had to sit on Mrs. Hostetter's lap. As I recall, her breath smelled like our garbage cans did at home. I made it to the circle just in the nick of time. Robbie, poor thing, did not. Mrs. Hostetter told Robbie she was not fast enough, as her large arms swooped down like a hawk and picked her up, high over the heads of the other seated children. She sat down on her chair triumphantly and held Robbie tight. Robbie was all red in the face as her classmates viewed her piteously, much as one would view a mouse in the mouth of a cat. Mrs. Hostetter announced that today's circle game would be "Button Button, Who"s Got The Button?" This game consisted of a button of course. One child would have the button inside their two pressed palms and would go one by one in front of each child. With their hands pressed in a prayer position, the child with the button would insert their hands into the clasped hands of another child, leaving the button with someone else. No one could actually see who received the button, but you could usually tell by the kid's expression on their face. No poker faces here! If you got the button, you would get up immediately and chase the other child
around the circle and get to your seat before they did. Kids always picked their friends, so if Matty got the button you could be sure as poop that Davey would get it. But we would all feign surprise. One day, Robbie got sick of Mattie and Davey always being the buttoner and buttonee so she would put out her foot "accidentally" and Davey went flying across the hardwood floor. Robbie was put in the broom closet for that offense. When she came out, she smelled like the janitor.
Our joy was rudely interrupted by Mrs. Hostetter's shouting for everyone to sit down. She then said to bring our chairs over to the center of the room and form a large circle. We all hopped on our chairs and rode them like horses as fast as we could to get to the center of the room. We did like as if in a trance like humans did in the movie, "Time Machine", when the siren blasted its mournful summons. No one wanted to be left outside the circle. If you were the last one there, and the circle closed in, you had to sit on Mrs. Hostetter's lap. As I recall, her breath smelled like our garbage cans did at home. I made it to the circle just in the nick of time. Robbie, poor thing, did not. Mrs. Hostetter told Robbie she was not fast enough, as her large arms swooped down like a hawk and picked her up, high over the heads of the other seated children. She sat down on her chair triumphantly and held Robbie tight. Robbie was all red in the face as her classmates viewed her piteously, much as one would view a mouse in the mouth of a cat. Mrs. Hostetter announced that today's circle game would be "Button Button, Who"s Got The Button?" This game consisted of a button of course. One child would have the button inside their two pressed palms and would go one by one in front of each child. With their hands pressed in a prayer position, the child with the button would insert their hands into the clasped hands of another child, leaving the button with someone else. No one could actually see who received the button, but you could usually tell by the kid's expression on their face. No poker faces here! If you got the button, you would get up immediately and chase the other child
around the circle and get to your seat before they did. Kids always picked their friends, so if Matty got the button you could be sure as poop that Davey would get it. But we would all feign surprise. One day, Robbie got sick of Mattie and Davey always being the buttoner and buttonee so she would put out her foot "accidentally" and Davey went flying across the hardwood floor. Robbie was put in the broom closet for that offense. When she came out, she smelled like the janitor.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)