Sunday drive

And here we are again...nearly two weeks since the last posting. Now there's consistency for you.

On this lovely late September Sunday, we picked up everyone we could fit in the Pilot and hauled 'em down to Spring Valley to see Grandpa Charlie, a.k.a. Grandpa C. Reps. While Tanner was flying across the country on a work trip, we were driving across Southern Minnesota with our passengers: Charlie, Angie, Annie, and Miles. Grandpa Charlie was in fine form--he even played on the floor with Miles. He's closing in on his 85th birthday and can lie down on the floor and stand up again with less effort than it takes me to do the same. Amazing.

After lunch, a trip to the cemetery to visit Grandma Bene and a tour of Spring Valley broadened Angie and Miles' SV experience. We skirted the edge of Dogtown, which was a disappointment for those who wanted to drive through. Watching the Vikings lose topped off the afternoon. That's the end of the Sunday report...

Miles, ready for a nap in the car on the trip to SVMiles can do two things at once. Here, he's sticking out
his tongue and also helping GG Charlie clap.

Tongue clicking is a new pastime for Miles.

GGCharlie and Miles: Miles got distracted by the camera almost immediately, dang it. He and Grandpa were clapping and playing, but then Mr. Miley got the wiggles and wanted to get down and stand up!

Airport fun

A short but fun meeting with Evan, Elisabeth, and Hannah at the Mpls/St. Paul airport this morning got the day off to a happy start for Larry/Dad/Paco and me. The Dellon trio met us at the Starbucks cafe near the baggage pick-up carousels for a little over an hour, and we were entertained by Hannah's explorations, giggles, and antics. They were on their way to Seattle, where Elisabeth is attending a conference this week. It was hard to say good-bye, but we'll be seeing them in a few weeks on Hannah's home turf. The only pictures we managed to take today are of Hannah off in the distance as she toddled around looking out the window and investigating patches of sunshine on the carpeting. She's cute, even in miniature!

Hannah ignored Ira, who napped while she explored

How did those squares of sunshine get there?

And there she goes!

First day of school for the 58th (?) time

I sent Dad/Paco/Larry off to the U of MN for his first day of (post-doc) school this morning. He's got new underwear and socks, he remembered to pack his toothbrush, and because Sven says the air can be nippy in the morning even in the big city, Dad grabbed a lightweight jacket to protect himself from potential chill. I hope Sven continues to advise Dad/Paco/Larry in the days ahead as he (Dad) faces the challenge of making grown-up decisions on his own.

Thanks, Evan, for your advice yesterday when we talked to you on Skype. Evan, concerned for the temptations Dad/Paco/Larry may encounter on a university campus, gently reminded him that some seniors might try to offer him beer. Hannah and Miles, if you read this, please understand that Grandpa will do his best to be a good role model for you at school. But, if he falters from time to time, don't judge him too harshly. It's all a part of growing up.

Tanner is a year older

Family photoMiles plays heads

Drugs and a dog

I ventured out this morning to pick up a prescription I'd ordered several days ago, only to find out that my favorite pharmacist, who shall remain nameless, said the drugstore hadn't received the request. It's possible, since I sent it through an online order form, however this is the latest in a string of lost, misplaced, not-received, forgot to contact the doctor for the refill order experiences over the past few years. That's really all I have to say about it.

Next stop on my outing was the bank drive-through. I happened to pull into line behind a huge Ford 4 x 4 truck with a mammoth English mastiff dog riding in the back. It's not much of an exaggeration to say that the dog was the size of a horse. A Clydesdale, even. The dog got his dander up over the sight of a woman who was on foot, in line to go through the drive-through in an adjacent lane. His throaty bark startled her, and she backed up about 20 feet and immediately discontinued eye contact with the beast. Then the dog caught sight of a pickup truck whose driver was holding a little fluffy dog, probably a peek-a-something-or-another, and let out another menacing bark. The pickup driver tightened his grip on the little dog, realizing that one false move could result in a mid-morning snack for the mastiff.

The bank teller witnessed all the fun, and
when I pulled up to get my check cashed, she asked if the dog had licked my windshield clean. I'd actually had a sense of dread while in line, thinking the mastiff might leap onto the hood of the car and dent it, like that insurance commercial on TV in which an elephant sits on a car, much to the delight of the kids inside.

Ward School

Recently I've been thinking about Ward School where I went to first and second grade. It was a two-room schoolhouse, and I have great memories of Jenny Anderson and Helen Koebke, my first and second grade teachers. At the time, kindergarten was taught in the bigger school in town, which housed both elementary and secondary classes. Contact with a townie who is involved in the Spring Valley Historical Society led to getting this picture of Ward School from the 1930's. I hope to get additional photos from closer to the time that I went there when Julie has time to look through more archived photos. The school was turned into a duplex years ago. Amazing that it's still standing!

I wrote a piece about going to Ward School for the second volume of Mark's Hometown Stories collection. I went back through the titles of all of my blog entries, and I can't find the story, so that may mean that I haven't put it out for late-night I-don't-have-anything-else-to-read reading. I'll copy it into this entry, and you can ignore it. I would.

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Going to Ward School

(Cue music)

Good morning to you!
Good morning to you!
We're all in our places
with sunshine-y faces.
Oh this is the way
to start a new day!

Growing up in a small town like Spring Valley offered childhood bonuses that I didn’t recognize until I was a grown-up. One enormous benefit was attending first and second grade at little Ward School, a two-room neighborhood schoolhouse on North Hudson Avenue. The friendly and once-familiar building was converted into apartments long ago. I sometimes wonder if the current tenants know about the learning and play that saturated the property for so many years, and the many lasting friendships that began there.

Living only a few blocks from Ward School, I walked each morning, often meeting friends Merry and Cindy along the route. Cindy’s last name was Ward, creating an unavoidable connection – Cindy Ward School.

Jenny Anderson and Helen Koebke were my teachers the two years I attended Ward School. Each morning they took turns ringing the school bell, a large metal bell with a wooden handle, to signal the start of the school day. We rushed to line up at the front steps in a girls’ line and a boy’s line. I was never quite sure why we had to separate that way, since we all ended up in a classroom together a few minutes later. Mrs. Anderson, tall with regal posture and elegant white hair, dressed in dark rayon dresses festooned with sparkly costume jewelry pins, and emanating a violet-scented fragrance, taught first grade. Mrs. Koebke, whom we affectionately referred to as “Mrs. Cupcake” when she was out of earshot, was our second grade teacher. Mrs. Koebke was short and cushiony with cherubic cheeks and tousled hair, and she often seemed out of breath. I have a vague recollection that she suffered from asthma, which I prefer to believe rather than thinking we were a tough group to handle. On occasion, the principal would make his appearance. There was something a bit intimidating about a visit from Mr. Werner Tesmer, although I have no evidence or memory of him being overly authoritarian or stern. I imagine it was the idea that he was The Man in Charge, and we were little kids.

Wava Snyder, the elementary music teacher, was another presence at Ward School. I’ve never been able to carry a tune, and I’d like to blame it on my early music education, but that would be unfair to Mrs. Snyder. I felt an attachment to her, because my family had lived in an apartment next door to Wava, her husband Bob, and their daughter Barbara when I was a pre-schooler. I’m sure if Wava could have taught me to sing in tune, she would have, but I was a hopeless case. Apparently the music pedagogy of the day was to test our skills individually by a call-response method in which we were match the notes that Wava sang to us. Wava asked each of us to pick a hiding place in the classroom. We didn’t actually hide; we just imagined we were hiding. Then Wava sang questions to each student to check intonation as well as to “find” each of us. The process went something like this:

Mrs. Snyder (in a vibrating, high-pitched singing voice): Ji--ill, where aaaare you?

Jill (in an out-of-tune kid voice): I’m hiiiii--ding.

Mrs. Snyder: Are you in the iiiinkwelllll?

Jill: No, IIIII’m not.

Mrs. Snyder: Jiiiiii—illlllll, are you in the pennnncillll sharrrrrpennnner?

Jill: Yes, I ammmmmmmmmm.

The occasional prankster hid in a place so secluded that Wava was forced to guess six, eight, or more locations. By the time she “found” the student, she was exhausted and the rest of the class was in giggles. To this day I can hear Wava’s warbly voice whenever I think about Ward School.

Bluebirds, Robins, Sparrows, and other Midwestern birds clustered to form the high, middle, and low ability reading groups at Ward School during reading instruction time. Now, as a teacher myself, I know what a mistake it was (and still is) to label students by reading ability so publicly. In the 1950’s, many children who struggled with reading were labeled as poor readers and clustered together without fluent readers their own age as models for good reading. The gap between the strong readers and the struggling readers widened because strong readers saw themselves as capable, and struggling readers did not—a self-fulfilling prophecy. As someone who loved to read, I sped through the charming Dick, Jane, and Sally books, smitten with the stimulating dialogue that went something like…

“Oh! Look, Dick! Look in here. Do you see what is in here?”
“Yes, Sally! I see it. I see what is in here.”

While the basal reader stories lacked in plot, none of us who were at Ward School will ever forget Dick, Jane, Sally, Mother, Father, Spot, Puff, and Tim the Teddy bear!

Lunchtime was either a walk home to 608 North Huron Avenue for a sandwich, soup, and a glass of milk with Mom, Mark, and baby Mary Jo, or cold lunch at school. While a brown bag would have been adequate for cold lunch, a long siege of begging produced a really great red plaid lunch box/bag combination with a drawstring at the top for me to carry to school. There was plenty of room inside for a sandwich wrapped in waxed paper, an apple, some carrot sticks (also wrapped in waxed paper), and milk or hot chocolate in the matching red plaid Thermos bottle. Of course, it didn’t take long to find out that the “country kids”—kids we walkers were in awe of, since they got to ride the school bus every day—had a choice of bringing cold lunch or ordering hot lunch. Hot lunch was delivered late in the morning from the high school kitchen to our lucky classmates. Its mystique remained untarnished until I went to third grade at the bigger elementary school on the hill and discovered that I wasn’t so keen on mashed potatoes and hamburger gravy, a staple of school hot lunches.

After lunch at Ward School meant recess, so I hurried back on the days I went home to eat. Swings, teeter totters, and monkey bars adorned the playground, with one side of the building designated as the first grade area, and the other side for second graders. Whether this was a rule or an unspoken agreement, I’m not certain, but I remember that being a second grader was a big deal in the world of Big Deals. Second graders ruled the playground and dominated the equipment. One of the more risqué uses of “the bars” involved the girls giving “free shows”, which meant twirling over the bar, head down, and flipping back up again. Since these were the days before girls were allowed to wear slacks or jeans to school, we all wore skirts or dresses, so our athletic moves invariably gave a quick flash of underwear to other kids who happened to be playing nearby. We were so brazen as to advertise for customers, roaming around the school calling out in singsong voices, “Who wants to see a free show? No boys allowed.” When Mrs. Koebke and Mrs. Anderson got wind of the free shows, they put a quick stop to our boldness, letting us know in no uncertain terms that nice girls didn’t show off their underwear. I wish I’d have overheard their private conversations later on to find out if they were amused or shocked by our lack of modesty!

We were lucky to have experienced the familiarity of a small, two-room schoolhouse in a neighborhood where we knew everyone and where everyone knew us. We took for granted that we would be safe and cared for at school and that homemade cookies would be in our lunch boxes. At the end of the day when Mrs. Anderson and Mrs. Koebke dismissed us, we walked home with friends, changed out of our school clothes, ate a quick snack, and then hurried out the door to play until our moms called us home for supper.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Snuggie and Elvis

I'm on the backside of the first week of school...as my friend Mary O. reminds me, it's only a memory now. There's a deep and philosophical meaning to her remark, which I may elaborate on sometime in the future.

Speaking of Mary, she and I got together yesterday to review Margie Nelsen's new picture book about Snuggie, the Nelsens' long-time pet puppy. Beginning tomorrow, Margie's website should be up and running, so those of you in the Potts family who were Snuggie sitters at one time or another may want to take a look. Anyway, Margie asked Mary and me to write a few lines each about the book to include in a letter she is sending to Amazon.com to persuade them to add her book to Amazon for sale. Of course Mary and I are the ultimate literary experts on picture books about family pets, so it's only logical that Margie would want our reviews to influence the Amazon folks. Ha!

A few days ago I wrote to (Aunt) Janet to request a photo or two of Mike and Amber, since I didn't manage to take a picture of them when they were here in August. Thanks, Janet, for sending the pics. Janet included photos from a birthday party she and Uncle ElDonVis attended. Don has worn the costume (yes, it's a costume--not something he wears on a regular basis, at least as far as I know) for Halloween and other Elvis-appropriate occasions. Don or Janet, if you read this entry, you may wish to give us more details about past Elvis sightings.

Today's sky is mostly cloudy with a few spots of blue showing through. I'm shocked to notice that it's almost noon...either I passed out for a couple of hours or time really does go by faster as a person ages. The shock isn't enough to catapault me into action, however. I've got another cup of coffee to drink first. Happy Sunday.

If it weren't for ham, beef, chicken, pork...

For dinner tonight we had Cherman food: German green beans, German cucumber salad, tomatoes, and brats. I took artistic license with the traditional cucumber ingredients by using 10-year-old balsamic vinegar (which we bought at A Southern Season on our last trip to NC) instead of cider vinegar, which gave the cukes a lovely sweetness. Spinach/mozzerella/chicken brats replaced the Schmidt's variety, too, so dinner wasn't truly Grandma Kirsch and Grandma Bene Cherman style, but it was delicious anyway.

The wonderful aromas of vinegar, onion, bacon, green beans, and cukes got us talking about GK and Grandma Bene and how delighted both were with Dad/Larry's praise of their German cooking, which led to more conversation about family gatherings in the past.

If you are a Potts, Grimmius, or Dellon with a direct line to Reps and Kirsch holidays when you were kids, you know the famous line from Grandma Bene, "If it weren't for meat I could be a vegetarian." So this evening after remarking on the yummy vegetables, Dad/Larry/Grampa quoted Grandma Bene, forcing me to to reply that most vegetarians eat their green beens without bacon. Anyway, the best part about the delicious dinner tonight was that the tomatoes, green beans, and cukes were picked by Grandpa Charlie's hands, and grown in his garden in the same soil as vegetables prepared by GK and Grandma Bene all the way back to my childhood. It doesn't get better than that! Thanks, C. Reps.