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~~~