Throwback Thursday: Thanksgiving

As hard as it might seem to believe, I was a shy little kid. Looking at pictures of holidays and family celebrations, I was the little wide-eyed deer-in-the-headlights one sitting with the cousins. See, we didn't get together with cousins and aunts and uncles often--mostly just holidays--and I didn't know them well. I knew and loved our grandmothers, but the rest were just not part of our every day life. Plus, I was the youngest in my mother's family with the oldest about the same age as my mother. I was the second youngest in my father's family. Everyone seemed older than me.

Thanksgiving was the holiday of food and family. Some years we'd spend Thanksgiving with my father's family; some years with my mother's. And some years one of the grandmothers would eat dinner with the other's family. The meals were usually at a grandmother's house, but every so often we'd have the dinner at an uncle's or an aunt's house. Once in a while at our own.

Both families were so completely different than the other. At our Nanny's house, they would set up the table in the living room--the big wood table over by the door and the kids' table closer to the kitchen. There was always lots of talking and laughter. The picture in my head is of my Aunt Wilma half-standing as she is passing a dish across the table to my uncle, talking to and looking toward another aunt on her right. Then as she sat down, she was licking her fingers from the food she passed. It was lively and happy. 

At our gramma's house, the meal was more interesting. Not in the liveliness of the conversation because I never actually remember hearing them talking. I'm sure they did and had great conversations and laughter, but the little kids' table was outside! It was really cool. Gramma had a wonderful old two-story house with a wrap-around porch. The window from the dining room was facing the porch and that's where we had the kids' table! So the window was open, a food tray was between the inside table (a gorgeous ebony table that had a white plain table cloth with a lacy one over it) and the window and the outside table. I loved it! So we could eat and be silly and no one had to ask us to be quiet-they-can't-hear.

At Nanny's after dinner, the old cousins and the dads would head out to the side yard for a smoke. My sister and I, being some 15-20 years younger than the cousins, didn't join them. They scared me with their white t-shirts and ciggies rolled up in the sleeve, their hair slicked back in ducktails, talkin and laughin. We little ones just stayed away, peeking at them when we could without being seen. 

At Gramma's, the cousins were generally closer to our own age and we would play games. One game was so fun. We would walk out to the end of the porch steps wall and jump as far as we could. Sometimes we would climb up to the porch wall itself and jump over Gramma's hedge. Robert, the youngest (one year younger than me), couldn't always make it over the hedge, but he was always game to try. 

As we grew up and went on our own, we had our own traditions for Thanksgiving. We lived a thousand miles away from my family. My sons had their own tradition--playing Thanksgiving Day Mudball with the neighbor kids out in our rain-filled side yard. Some might call it "football," but it was too muddy and splashy for us to give it that name. My sons sometimes went to their father's for the holiday. I might be invited to a friend's for dinner at those times. If I was dating someone, perhaps we'd join his family. When I started working at the corner store, I would usually work on the holidays. And we'd always celebrate with a fresh-baked pie :)

The shy deer-in-the-headlight girl

And so it goes
peace~~~

Putting Toes to the Test

 

I've been taller than most all my life. I think I was born tall. I always liked being tall, except when kids called me Jolly Green Giant or asked, "Hey! What the weather like up there?" I always wanted to say, "Grow up and find out!" but I was afraid I would hurt their feelings and just said, "No rain yet!" or something similar. So it wasn’t that I was sad or unhappy I was tall; I just didn't want to be teased too much about it. Like I was a freak or something. It was especially hard when in high school, you know like before the boys got their growth. Seemed like they loved to be the protector over a cute tiny girl. Oh well, I eventually dated and life went on.

Having a tall body meant I had large feet. No two ways about it, my feet were big. No one in our town, while my sister and I were in late elementary and junior high school age, sold shoes the size of our feet; we had to ride into Los Angeles to buy our shoes. Buying shoes was a big deal. The shoes cost a bit, so Dad told us to "take big steps." That was so, he said, the shoes would last twice as long. 

Mom loved the look of saddle oxfords. I hated them. Not only that, but she loved the sparkling look of white bobby socks with all-white oxfords. Her taste wasn't very reliable because she also loved the look of our hair in a ponytail--no bangs--pulled tight on our head. I hated that, too, but that's a whole ‘nother story. I hated bobby socks. First, no one was still wearing bobby socks. Secondly, no one was still wearing saddle oxfords. 

The final straw was that the ugly bobby socks with the super ugly all-white saddle oxfords looked like BOATS on our gigantic feet. We couldn't even have two-toned saddle shoes to break up the walking film-screens! Just white. Big ole white boats. See, we were already big girls; now we had to wear these clodhoppers. I was afraid that people would scream as we approached, worried we would stamp down all buildings and trees, people as we stomped our way through town.

1930s saddle shoes

Here's the thing about saddle shoes. They used to be really popular. They got their name from the saddle-like shape of the piece of leather sewn across the waist of the shoe, usually in a contrasting 2-tone color. They debuted as a woman’s fashion in the 1920s. First they were for male golfers—the black and white went with their golf outfits—back in the 1910s. But by 1920s, women really liked this casual wear and took them over as their own. In the 1930s, Spalding—the company that made the shoe—started making the shoe "depression affordable" By changing the composition of the sole—from rubber to cork—and the style continued. 

1950s Bobbysoxers

By the 1950s, the style hit its full peak of popularity. They were so popular and comfortable that housewives wore them to do their chores. School girls wore them day and night. They wore them with their poodle skirts. They wore them with jeans.  They wore them with white bobby socks. Perfect for dancing and playing and sitting in class. 

And then came the 60s and the style tanked. The 1960s was a decade of rebellion. We were eager to forge our own path and balked at the traditions of our parents. The saddle shoe fell victim to this trend. The iconic black and white shoes were now seen as a symbol of the establishment that we '60s teens were rebelling against. The popularity of the saddle shoe dropped drastically.

Unfortunately, Mom didn't understand this. Unfortunately, Mom loved the look of all-white saddle shoes with turned down white bobby socks. Also unfortunately, I hated them. I would take off my socks on the bus to school so I at least didn't have those stupid bobby socks that no one else wore. My sister says, "Yes, two of us would get on the bus wearing socks and only one of us would get off the bus at school wearing socks." When I could buy my own clothes, I bought some flats with pointy toes and tried to wear those. Never again would people scream in fear that their town would be stamped to the ground! Of course, my feet were still too big for those flats, but dangnabbit I was going to look like everyone else!

And then I went farther than most. I tried to go to school barefooted. Yeppers, I had some cooooool barefooted sandals that really fooled them for a couple of days. And then *sigh* I was once again sent home to change my clothes. But if I actually returned to school, I wasn't wearing any stupid saddle shoes!

I still have big feet. I was told that a tall person needs large feet to hold them up. With little feet they would simply fall over. No base...it's all about the base. But also know I still don’t like the looks of a saddle oxford. Boats can sink; bare feet rule.

And so it goes
peace~~~

Weird Portland Wednesday: The Green Green Parks of Home

I love parks with green grass flowing within banks of paths, with trees spreading their umbrellas of shade. Parks with sounds of children laughing, squealing with delight on swings and slides and fun. I love parks with trails that meander throughout the trees and bushes, leaving me thoughtful and content.

Portland has probably the most parks in the lower 48 with at least 279 parks and natural areas. We have one of the largest parks with Forest Park's nearly 7000 acres as well as the smallest park in the world: Mill Ends Park. Rated the smallest park by the Guinness Book of World Records, Mill Ends is about two feet in circumference. Like many of Portland's parks, there are often protests held there. 

One of the most beautiful parks in Portland is also one of my favorites: Cathedral Park. It sits under the enchanting St Johns Bridge, which is a suspension bridge from the Art Deco era. I was married under this bridge, a barefooted bride with daisies in my hair. My fella and sons and Doug's stepson wore Hawaiian shirts. Along with the sprinklers and the train and other chaos-makers during the ceremony, it was a splendid day.

And the park. The park is magnificent. It's not that large, just a bit over 21 acres, but it quietly says, "Peace" at every turn. The opening of the park has some lovely concrete steps out onto a circular platform and the park gently sweeps from there. Standing on the platform (which is where we held our wedding) looking out toward the Willamette River, you have a view of the cathedral pillars holding the bridge.

This park site is quite historical, as well as beautiful.  It is believed to be one of the 14 Lewis and Clark landing sites in the Vancouver-Portland area: William Clark and eight men camped there on April 2, 1806. It has also been a fishing and camping site for local Indian tribes. In 1847 the founder of St. Johns, James John, trapped and hunted on the site and operated a ferry to the fishing town of Linnton across the Willamette River. 

Apparently Cathedral Park is the one number historical landmark of Portland that is most often posted on Instagram.  The TV series, Leverage, was filmed in Portland and would use the park for many outdoor shoots. The television program, The Librarian, used the park as it's headquarters. Their library lair, or annex, was located at the base of the bridge.

The park, which was built in 1980, is home to many festivals and events. The year we were married, the Hood-to-Coast biking event was stopping at the park for a breather that weekend. This is why we were married on Friday rather than the expected Saturday. The Cathedral Park Jazz Festival, which started in 1981, is the oldest and largest free jazz and blues event west of the Mississippi. 

Cathedral Park, sitting beautifully under the St Johns Bridge, is one more way we keep Portland (happily) weird.
peace~~~

The More Things Change...

We are over eight months into the Coronavirus pandemic here in the United States, almost a year worldwide. So far, over one million people have died, with 214,000+ of them within in the United States--the largest number of deaths from one area. Brazil is the second largest group with over 150,000. And the numbers are rising most places daily.

Our lives have changed drastically. In our house, we have been staying-in-place since mid-March. My fella has been working from home. We go out only for essentials, like groceries and fabric (it's an essential, right?).  Fortunately we like to hang around with one another because we are together 24/7.

Faces of some of the 200,000 plus deaths in the US

Oregon does not have high numbers of cases compared to some states like California and New York, but most of our counties are are still under Phase One. Our governor is being very cautious in opening up the state. So far we have had 600 deaths from over 35,000 cases. While we are one of the lowest states in the nation, our numbers are starting to spike again mostly due to Labor Day celebrations and college parties.

Even with Phase One opening up restaurants and hair dressers and other shops, Doug and I are hesitant to jump out into the world too fast. A hair cut for me is not essential, so I am easily living with COVID-hair. Because of my neuropathy, I can't cut my toenails (I end up cutting my toes!). I finally broke down and had a pedicure. 

We make most our meals on the stove at home, with the once-in-a-while dinner brought home from pre-ordered food. We are not interested in trying to eat in a restaurant--not essential. I miss traveling around but I am making it through okay. Grocery shopping is every Friday morning at 7 am (a time originally designated for old people and people with disability). And the big WOW every Friday on the way home: Starbucks. 

The safety measures to get around have changed. I believe in them. I've been to the dentist three times since they have reopened. I'm not adverse to having my temperature taken nor questions asked about my health. I have no problem wearing a mask. I've been making some that are cute and fun. My kids and family are well-stocked in masks.

And today the big return to another universe is that I invited my house cleaner to come into the house and clean. Yes, it became essential. I used to think I kept a pretty good house. Apparently only because she came here and did it :)  She's wearing a mask and gloves and spraying disinfectant everywhere. We were going to be gone for the day but my fella had to work on a last-minute project. So we stayed away and let her do her thing. I sewed. My fella worked. It worked out okay.

While everything is upside down and backwards. While we have to think more to move around in order to fix problems. While we are careful and take care of one another. While all this is going on, we have some normal stuff in there as well. We still brush our teeth and bathe, make the bed, and feed the pets. We still keep the yard up. My fella still plays music. I still sew. But while we are doing these normal things, we are kind of doing them differently. 

Stay safe
Take care of yourself and your neighbors
peace~~~

Throwback Thursday: Turn Around Bright Eyes

When you are in a pandemic and have lots of extra time that is not being taken up with lunches with friends and running errands, you have lots of open time to think about things. You know, things like how to raise goats, why people won't wear masks, what's it like to walk on the moss in Ireland. You know. Thinking things. In that, I was thinking about the few times I have actually had a broken heart. 

A wonderful friend of mine's marriage just broke up. He and I have been talking for long periods of time about his relationship and his feelings. His fears and his depression. He has been very hard on himself. I remember that behavior.

In my 70 years, 25 of them between marriages, I've had many loves and lots of break-ups. I was recently reading my past diaries--I kept a diary from a year following my divorce in 1976 through the 1990s when I met my partner. As I was reading, I'd come across a name of someone I dated and wonder who the hell was that person. Mostly I'd smile at the antics--25-30 years gives you perspective. But I was also reminded of the few who left me with a broken heart.

Heartbreak really really sucks. I know it is a part of being human, experiencing life, but it really sucks. There is a wonderful article from Queensland Health, The Science Behind a Broken Heart that takes you behind the scenes of heartbreak (March, 2019-https://www.health.qld.gov.au/news-events/news/science-behind-a-broken-heart). It says, "Studies show that your brain registers the emotional pain of heartbreak in the same way as physical pain, which is why you might feel like your heartbreak is causing actual physical hurt." Some of the natural hormones your body produces can be lowered, which causes stress hormones to increase that bring on your fight-or-flight response. Unbalanced hormones can then contribute to anxiety, nausea, acne and weight gain. Heartbreak stuff.

So yeah. I've experienced heartbreak. We all have. Once in high school I had my heart broken. At 16, it is a forever angst sentence, isn't it? But, also at 16, it is a bit easier to get over. I fell in love again in my late 20s, early 30s. That heartbreak took me much longer to recover. I didn't date for a couple years following that break up. It brought on a depression that nearly wiped me out. But it didn't :) And then I had my heart broken again in my 40s. Those Internet loves can be intense.

Break up songs. So many break up songs. Songs that seem written just for you. I was long past the acute heartache and pain of my 20s heartbreak when I heard piano keys and then Bonnie Tyler sing "Turn around" (https://youtu.be/lcOxhH8N3Bo). It knocked the wind out of me and zoomed me once again into a total eclipse of my heart. I have always loved a solid blues beat but at that time came to really understand how the blues can fill you up. Music is comfort to your soul.

Obviously my style is to write about it. I use writing as something to get things out in the open, out of my head. When I was working on my relationship with my mom, I would write her letters that poured out every teeny tiny hurt she had ever caused me. Then I would read them the next day and shred them. When I quilt smoking, I wrote about it. It really helped me pull things out of my head and toss them away. In my diary, I once wrote, "I must be really sick. I reread these words to remember this pain. The pain is better than feeling nothing."

Funny that my divorce didn't cause me heartbreak. Perhaps because I was so glad to not be married to that man any longer. Unfortunately, he can still cause me heartache, but not for me; heartache for my sons. He keeps hurting them and in their own ways, they still keep trying to make some connection to him. So, never heartbreak. Mostly still, after 43 years, anger at this uncaring man.

So yeah it's a heart ache. It is physical and emotional pain. Mostly you gotta mourn through it. Don't try to avoid it, but take your blanket over to the corner and curl up, suck your thumb, and eat ice cream. Write about how you feel. Listen to sad and loving songs. Try the blues. Make some changes. As a woman, I cut my hair :) The one thing I had control over. And when you've given yourself some time to mourn, think about what it was that attracted you to the other. They are undoubtedly traits and aspects that others have. Then look for those qualities in others.

Those are the types of things that I did. According to my diary, I eventually moved on. Dated some guys names Alan and Doug, both of whom I don't remember. While I still have a difficult time to moving on, I can work through it. Just yesterday my fella put the winter quilt on the bed. THE WINTER QUILT! I had to breathe deeply a few times, smile and walk away in order to realize it didn't matter. It's just a quilt and he likes this one best. I know...that I had to breathe, smile and walk away to get over it makes me laugh, too.

And that's what I did, too :)
peace~~~

Throwback Thursday: All for a Nickle and a Dime

I grew up outside of town in the county. Our house was on a dirt road that ended at the orange groves down aways. It really was the greatest place to live, with fields all around, Mr. Cooper's barn across the road, and orange groves. But when you live down in the boondocks, a trip to the grocery store is a big deal. But a trip to the five and dime...magic!

In the 1950s, they built a Sears and Roebucks up a few streets from us. That became the cornerstone for the Pomona Valley Center, the mall we always called "Sears." "Hey, I'm going up to Sears!" meant going to any store in the open-air mall. The mall had a drug store, a fabric store, and a clothing store. And J. J. Newberry's.

Sears was Dad's store. The fabric store and Long's Drugs was Mom's stores. And my store was J. J. Newberry's. What kid doesn't like a five and dime? I remember shopping at Christmas time for gifts. My sister and I both must have at least five dollars by Christmas, to spend at least one dollar on five people: Mom and Dad, Sister, and Gramma and Nanny.

Newberry's was the perfect store to find affordable cool gifts! My sister and I would walk up and down the aisles, Mom watching over us, as we searched for exactly the right gift for our five people. We'd finger all the little stuff in the center bins. We'd check out the toys. In the basement, we'd check out even more stuff. Newberry's was a child's dream come true.

As I grew older, Sears would become even more important. By the summer I was almost 13 years old, I could walk to the mall with a friend. To get there, we had to cross Mission Blvd (which was Route 60, a major road through the Inland Valley), walk aways to East End Ave, cross over the railroad tracks, and on up to Holt Blvd, another major route from Los Angeles-to-San Bernardino.  Actually we avoided going all the way to East End by crossing the fields to First Street, then over the railroad tracks. The lower mall parking entrance was well before Holt Blvd. So it was a great walk for your pre- and teen girls. We would laugh and giggle and wave and flirt with the drivers as we walked.

Newberry's had a record section. It is where I bought my first album, Teenage Triangle, with Jimmy Darren, Shelly Fabares, and Paul Peterson (on whom I had a massive celebrity crush). I bought tons of 45s--much more affordable than albums. Newberry's had lipstick and other make-up. I remember buying lipstick and keeping it in my purse because I wasn't old enough to wear make-up. Looking back, Mom had to know. I mean, my lips were pink :)

But the best part of Newberry's was the lunch counter. I mean c'mon! A lunch counter! You could buy stuff and then eat lunch! Amazing! 

So when my friend and I would walk to the mall, we each had to have at least 50 cents. This was needed because one of us would buy the cokes at the lunch counter (25 cents each) and the other would buy the pictures at the photo booth (50 cents for four pictures), which was conveniently located right there at the end of the lunch counter! A win-win situation! 

And then, after we looked through all the records, drank our cokes, and took our pictures, we would walk through to the mall itself and wander a bit. And then, we'd head home, retracing our steps back to East End, Mission, down Pipeline to my house. 

Ahhh life was good.  Lunch counters, photo machines, five and dimes, all together in one place. My own kids had malls to wander. Big under-cover malls that had bunches and bunches of stores to peek into. But, poor thangs, they didn't have a J. J. Newberry's with a lunch counter and a photo machine. I think their lives were a bit deprived. 

And so it goes
peace~~~

TILT!

When I was a child, I loved spinning and then stopping to feel the dizziness. I loved rolling down grassy slopes. I loved merry-go-rounds. I really enjoyed the feeling of being a bit off-kilter.

Now let's spin forward to my forties and fifties. I would occasionally get vertigo and I still enjoyed the feeling of dizziness. I would hold onto something and move my head just to enjoy that feeling. I remember once when I was at school and vertigo came on. It was near time to head home and I was laughing and tipping my head while I held onto a colleagues wall. He wasn't amused and wanted to drive me home. Oh no! If I hold my head still, I'm fine. And drove home safely.

Now I am 70. Trust me, it doesn't feel as old as it sounds. But I woke in the night with vertigo. Still there in the morning. Walking through the bedroom was an exciting...no, it was disturbing...no no, it was a bit unsettling! Yeah, that's it. It was a bit unsettling. I needed to hold onto the dresser and then the wall and then the doorway, touching the wall all the way to the shower. As I showered, I needed to hold my elbow against the shower wall. I have to admit, it was a little bit fun, but balance is always an issue as I am aging, so not as fun as rolling down a grassy slope.

Okay while I'm having a bit of fun with myself during my ancient years, I understand that some people suffer a great deal from vertigo. The spinning causes vomiting, headaches, disables them severely. I'm not making light of those who suffer greatly. I know that I am fortunate that this isn't me. Living Magazine describes the feeling well:

Imagine opening your eyes and the room appearing to be whirling around you like a tornado. Turning your head ever so slightly sends your world spinning, and even when lying still, there’s a moving sensation. Standing up and trying to walk sends you lurching to and fro as you attempt to maintain your balance. You feel nauseous, like you have motion sickness or the flu.

So, what is causing this? According to WebMed, "Vertigo is often caused by an inner ear problem."  There are a few common types of inner ear problems. There could be a build up of tiny calcium particles (canaliths) that clump up in your ear canals. It can occur for no known reason and it is thought it may be associated with age.  Yay.

There can be a buildup of fluid and changing pressure in the ear. It can cause episodes of vertigo along with ringing in the ears (tinnitus). Or, also more common, it can be an inner ear problem usually related to infection (usually viral). And then there's the less common reasons, like head injuries, stroke, migraines, medications. 

Sooooo, how do we tend to it? I mean if you are not like me and don't like this "tiltilating" experience, what do you do? That depends. In general, it usually goes away all by itself. This is because your brain is able to adapt, at least in part, to the inner ear changes, relying on other mechanisms to maintain balance. There is physical therapy that can help adjust. There are medications that can help. It all just depends.

 

 

Meanwhile, I am going to attempt walking downstairs to have some breakfast. See ya down below...

 

And so it goes
peace~~~

I Am

It's been less than two days since Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg has died and I am still trying to process her death. She so deserves to rest in peace after fighting for her life against cancer, fighting for her life as a woman, for her country.  And I am glad for her. But I am so very sad for myself and for women, for the LBGTQ peoples, the peoples of color, for marginal people. So much she stood for, fought for, did for America.

I remember in the late 1970s I was standing near the train stop at Saturday Market, my clipboard in hand, asking for signatures to get the Equal Rights Amendment on the ballot. One man stopped to ask me what I was doing. I explained what I was trying to do and he said, "What do these women want? (did he not notice me, a woman, standing in front of him?) My gawd, we gave them the vote! What more do they want?" and he stomped away. He left me no opportunity to thank him for his "gift."

I remember sitting on the lawn in the Park Blocks in the early '80s in protest against the possible removal of Roe v Wade. Hundreds of us were listening to speakers. Those around me were cheering and chanting. A few others booing. And I was crying, sometimes great sobs caught in my throat, crying for the fight, crying that we have to continue to fight those things that have already been fought. And then something boiled up in me. I stood up and began cheering. I was ready! I was ready to fight the fight, ready to continue to fight as long and often as needed.

And I am, still am. But I am tired and spent. I'm tired of living with a horrific pandemic. I'm tired of world-wide wildfires out of control, killing koalas and kangaroos and people, evacuating from homes and safety, blowing smoke around the world. I'm tired of "Me, Too!" no longer meaning as strongly as it did. I'm tired of weird pills from China. I'm tired of murderous hornets. I'm tired of riots in Portland, riots that no longer have meaning. I'm tired of hearing "All Lives Matter" when some moron reads that "Black Lives Matter."  

"Face it," as Lili Von Shtupp once said, "I'm pooped."

My friend Pauline wrote this on a FaceBook post: "I’m so tired...tired of being sad, depressed, angry; tired of the uncertainty and anxiety; so tired of one gut punch after another. I’m tired of the raging virus with no end in sight. So tired of all the lies, hypocrisy and hatred, of a rudderless administration with no solutions! I’m so so tired. And sad!"

The sun is shining today in Portland, sunshine with blue skies. I believe this helps us all feel more energized. No longer are we living in the weird Mars-like orange-yellow world where we lived for two weeks. And hopefully I can soon stand again and shout, fight the fights needed to be fought. For America is great and all we need to do is allow the people to feel the earth, the love, the care. To feel empowered once again.

 

 

Thank you Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg. You have truly been the notorious R.B.G. I vow to stand with others so we can continue our fight.

And so it goes
peace~~~

 

 

Throwback Thursday: Fly Like the Wind

As a little kid, there wasn't much we could do that felt like freedom. Oh yes, little kids can run and play and laugh and chase one another, but it is always contained somehow. "Stay out of the street!" "Watch for cars!" "Stay in the yard!" School had fences. Oh! but I remember when I was in sixth grade and we were enshrined in a heavy fog. At recess, Georgia and Sue and Diane and I would go out to the far corner of the play ground and draw houses in the dirt. Then we'd play neighbors. Well, this one day the fog was so thick that you couldn't see one another at times in our little "neighborhood." It was so thick that it softened the school bell. We never heard it; thus, we never came in from recess. All the adults came out, calling our names, searching for us. We still didn't hear them until they were almost beside us. I guess that was a way we ignored the fences LOL Anyway, it was difficult to be totally free as a little kid. 

But kids still found ways to fly. Yeah I mean FLY! Swings! Swing sets were the best thing ever! 

Back in the 1950s, when I was a little kid, most people bought their swing sets. Sears and Roebuck catalog had a great swing set for the hefty price of $24.95. But wait! There's more! For five dollars more, you could get the slide. 

We lived with the Sears and Roebuck catalog. Montgomery Wards was a cheap knock-off. Dad loved to looking through Sears' catalog, finding tools and appliances and good stuff.  "Good stuff" is usually stuff you don't have. For Dad, it also included stuff he already had but could get more. Yet, except for Craftsman tools, he rarely bought things new. New was a waste of money. Why buy something new when you can buy multiples used and put one together? Yeah Dad was like that. So we would peruse the catalog and add it to a wish list.

One of the problems with the store-bought swing sets is that when you really got to flying, the poles would lift up off the ground. Dad didn't want his little girls to get hurt, so he built our swing set himself. Our set had sturdy steel pipes set into the ground like a fence pole. It wasn't going to move. It had two swings and I think we had a slider thing on one side. It was built right outside the living room window so Mom could watch us. It was on the grass, under the elm tree.

My sister was always braver than me. I was a real wuss. I mean, when Dad taught us to roller skate, I stayed near the frame for his pick up truck while Pat skated like the wind with Dad up and down the driveway. It was the same with the swings. Sister would pump and pump and fly like the wind! I would sit and twirl. You know, twist the chains together and let go. Twirl! I always did like the dizzy feeling you got from doing that. Maybe that is why Dad always called me his Dingy Daughter. I was "My Darling Dingy Daughter Dori," which later shortened to "Four-D."

As I aged a bit, I fell in love with pumping high and flying. The contest (of course! Everything was a contest, wasn't it?) was who could touch the leaves on the elm tree with their feet the most. It only worked during spring and summer. Now that I am old and smarter, I know why my sister always won. I mean she was older and had longer legs. But the competition was REAL! 

Sadly, my sons didn't have a swing set as they grew up. We did have the school and a park near-by, but never could they just go out and fly. If we could visit the park, they were more interested in other gymnastics. They did have an open field connected to our house where they would play football and other muddy games, but no swings. My grandboy never had a swing set either, but we have a huge park only one block away. He and I would go play at the park all summer when he stayed with me. And I would push him as high as he could go, holding onto the seat and running with it, me under it, letting go and still running. And he would squeal and laugh. Flying.

And that's what it's all about. Feeling that freedom when you are contained. Hmmm...maybe I need some sort of swing in the house while we are staying-in-place from the smoke and pandemic. Let's see. I could somehow attach wires and ropes to the ceiling in the living room...

And so it goes
peace~~~

Weird Portland Wednesday: Brothels, Opium Dens and Shanghai'd Sailors

Portland is known in the nation for its hipster and extremely liberal and environmentally-friendly behavior. We think of ourselves as the good guys out to save the world. Even though our reputation is a bit tarnished as of late (those nastily boring riots), Portland is seen as a green city with caring people, We look upon ourselves as being nothing more than a humble Victorian settlement that grew into a respectful, liberal, weird city. How sweet.

Somehow we forget--or perhaps many just never knew--that Portland was once considered the most dangerous port in the world. According to Wikipedia (I know. I know):

Portland developed a reputation early in its history as a hard-edged and gritty port town. Some historians have described the city's early establishment as being a "scion of New England; an ends-of-the-earth home for the exiled spawn of the eastern established elite." In 1889, The Oregonian called Portland "the most filthy city in the Northern States", due to the unsanitary sewers and gutters, and, at the turn of the 20th century, it was considered one of the most dangerous port cities in the world. The city housed a large number of saloons, bordellos, gambling dens, and boardinghouses which were populated with miners after the California Gold Rush, as well as the multitude of sailors passing through the port. By the early 20th century, the city had lost its reputation as a "sober frontier city" and garnered a reputation for being violent and dangerous. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Portland,_Oregon

Portland had a large population of Chinese immigrants. Our Chinatown dates back to the 1870s, making it one of the oldest in the country. Chinese immigrants began arriving in Oregon in the 1850s, with many working as miners in the southern and eastern parts of the growing territory. By 1900, Oregon had more than 10,000 Chinese residents, and Portland's Chinatown was flourishing. Unfortunately, so was xenophobia.

"In Oregon," The Oregonian wrote in 2016, "Chinese residents were prohibited from voting, holding public  office, attending public schools, serving on juries, entering professions and becoming naturalized citizens."

Around the late 1800s, terrifying stories circulated of drunken men getting conked on the head at saloons, dropped through trapdoors and dragged through secret tunnels to the river. They woke to find themselves serving as oceangoing slave crew. This was called "Shanghaiing." Underneath Old Town Chinatown is a labyrinthine of these tunnels. 

n 1933, journalist Stewart Holbrook broadcast stories of shanghaiing and bawdy times on the Portland waterfront in a series of romanticized articles in the Sunday Oregonian. While his stories were undocumented, they grew in reputation as authentic. Portland historian, Barney Blalock says a few men probably did get Shanghai'd in Portland back in the day, but that it surely didn't involve the tunnels under Old Town Chinatown. Those were busy being used for other, more profitable purposes.

So here it goes: Blalock wrote, "They were built by Chinese back in the days when Chinatown was the center of gang activity related to the different tongs. The gambling dens, brothels, and opium parlors of Chinatown were connected to separate labyrinths, with steel doors, trapdoors leading to secret stairways, and tunnels for escape into far alleyways. These were security measures designed for dealing with both rival tongs and police raids." And yeah, they were also used to bring through goods to and from the ships, both imported and exported.

Ahhhh so we had no real shanghaiing in our tunnels, but we had brothels and opium parlors and gambling dens and gangs! And the occasional citizen was shanghai'd.  Dang, Portland was busy! 

But the tales.... It’s the stuff of terrifying legend, filled with stories of forced prostitution, murder, ruined lives and an underground catacomb that facilitated it all. While how much of the tales are true is hotly debated, we in Portland grab onto this as part of our history and give guided tours through the Shanghai Tunnels. It's just one more way we keep Portland weird.

And so it goes
peace~~