Throwback Thursday: She's Not in His League

I grew up in a house that my father built. The great part of the house was it was down a dirt road in the county. Mrs. Cooper's farm was across the street. There weren't many houses on our road and few children. I was quite happy playing in the summer shadows, dancing and singing, playing for the neighboring goats, riding my bike up and down and all around.

I shared a bedroom with my sister until I was in maybe 8th grade. Sharing the room was more difficult for my sister than for me as I was the slob and she was the neat-nic. The fact my bed was closest to the door and she had to walk through my stuff to get to her side made it doubly hard for her, I would think. We had to clean our room once a week. I often swept stuff under my bed to make the process go faster. The best for her in this sharing space is that she got the window over her bed.

I have always felt I was a lucky girl that I lived on this dirt road--the adventures created around the fields and farmland and orange groves. I had friends a bit away from me, but close enough to ride my bike to their houses. I loved there were no sidewalks and few fences, just free land yards.

Our elementary school was built right as I entered first grade. It was a small school built out in the county. Just the right size for our little enclave of baby boomers. We were bused out to Ontario for junior high. Only some of us from Howard School went out there--miles away from our homes. Others went to Montclair. 

But it was high school that we all came together again. We joined all those kids who had been going to school together from the beginning.  We were the "new kids" to their "oh remember that party at Mary's house when we were 10" lives. It ain't no thang to me; I kinda get along with all sorts of friends from all sorts of backgrounds. 

 

But then I fell in love. Junior year. Football player and part of that group. We all fell in together, going to games, dating, the whole teenage thing. I was the Ad Man for the school. We would paint posters before the football games and post them all around the quad, cheering the team on. We would have poster parties at different friends' homes. Only once did we come to my house because it was so far away from the others' homes. But we had a blast at the poster parties.

Understand this: I was always afraid I would never find a husband because I couldn't roller skate. I know. I know. But see, Mom and Dad met at the roller skating rink and I thought that was how you found a husband. Oh sure, of course I didn't believe that by the time I was in high school, but there was always that niggling fear that I would never find a partner. Cause I was very tall. Cause I didn't go to school with all those others. Just cause I was a teenager.

It was not long after the Junior/Senior prom that one of my boyfriend's friends took me aside and told me that I just wasn't in my guy's league. I wasn't good enough for him. That I should just walk away.  I never told anyone what he had said to me, but it kinda fell into place. Country girl. City boy. And truth was it wasn't long after that little conversation that my boyfriend and I stopped going steady. My first heartbreak.

King Willem I,
first King of the Kingdom of the Netherlands

I had never thought about "leagues" before and truth be told, I rarely thought about "leagues" afterwards. Oh yes, one man I dated off-and-on for a few years I considered "out of my league," but he was like hard candy: you should just let it mellow but you have this overwhelming urge to crunch on occasion. Okay, that was a really bad analogy, but I know what I mean.

Looking back, perhaps a prince or king might have been out of my league. I mean the backgrounds were just too different and I never learned how to use 14 different pieces of silverware when eating dinner. And face it; I'd trip over that long cloak. But a statement from a rude teenage boy shouldn't have had much leverage. But it did.

After some years of taking abuse from a husband who thought I was just a simple country girl, I wised up. I started dating better men, good men. And frankly, by now I'm happily in a league of my own :) 

and so it goes
peace~~~

True Confession Tuesday: I Was a Teenage Stripper

When I was the Director of Forensics (Speech and Debate) at my college, I learned that one of my former Speech Team members had become a stripper in Portland. She was making great money, she said, and had more than enough time to finish college. I was amazed.  I asked all the questions that a good feminist should and she said it was a great powerful feeling to be on stage. She was totally in control of her body, her audience, and the situation. I have since learned that many strippers feel this way and are announced feminists. 

Thinking back on my life, I remembered I had been a stripper back in my teens. It was obviously something I have tried to forget.  See, it was like this. My father would do anything to save a few pennies. He would drive a few miles out of the way in order to save pennies a gallon on gas.  Gas was a ripping 23.9/gallon and as he explained, the motor home ate up a ton of gas. It had a fifty gallon gas tank. That was a lot of savings, he said! And then when a bit older and had a tad of education in my life (damn! Should we have educated girls?) I started doing the math...21.9/gallon saved two pennies each gallon. So 50 gallons would save him, ohhhh $1.  Sounds like a lot until you remember that the motor home got like 5 gallons a mile...

He would save money by buying three black rotary non-plastic phones when he only needed maybe one at the Weekend Swap Meet (held at the Mission Drive-In). By buying three, he bought cheap in bunches and then could take parts from all of them to make one working phone.  We always had an old black phone in the hallway on the little phone shelf, with my Grandad's chair under it so we could sit and chat on the phone. When I entered my teens and wanted to speak to anyone PRIVATELY, I stretched that phone cord as far and it would go and shut my door. I had to stand right by the door to talk, but dammit I had my teen angst in private!

Dad's Retirement Clothes

He did the same things with car parts, electronic stuff, overalls, and Diet Pepsi. Good gawd, he bought a ton of diet Pepsi at times, flats of Diet Pepsi when it was on sale--we were a Diet Pepsi household. Before he decided we were a Diet Pepsi household, we had some icky off-brand cola that was on sale. But then again it was soda. So, he bought on-sale Diet Pepsi and then he stored it in the shack that used to be Mr. Curtis' house next door--Dad had bought so he could have more holding space. Did you know that Diet Pepsi went bad after a certain date, especially when stored in a hot shack that used to be an old man's house? Boy howdy! His lovely daughters had to pop open all those bad cans of Diet Pepsi and pour it out onto the coldhardearth. *eyes rolling* It was a gawd awful odor of flat stinky bad cola. But! The saving grace was that the cans brought in a few pennies for Dad.

You can also see the worth of buying Mr. Curtis' property next door, moving our property holdings from a quarter acre along the dirt road to a half an acre. 

We called the backyard and next door "Dad's Junk Yard."  All the neighbor boys loved coming to visit Dad because it was a young boy's paradise, all that stuff. Dad put a chain-link fence around the junk yard, inserted slats for privacy, and called it a refuge yard. Higher class, he said. We got ourselves a couple of Junk Yard Dogs (Dodger, the black fluffy boy, and Wolfer, the baby boy) and life went on :)

What's this all have to do with being a teenaged stripper, you ask? Well, you can see that my dad did anything he could to save and earn money. He even built a little one-bedroom house on the front of Mr. Curtis' property for rental income. He was definitely a child of the 1930s when he delivered newspapers for a few cents to share with his mother. Why not bring his daughters into this money-making scheme?

Yes, it was our father who brought us into the seamy side of life.  Dad was an electrician by trade but his heart was as a machinist. An electrician made more money, so it was his choice as a career. But his garage was a total machine shop. Drill Press. Lathes. Presses. And he happily lived out in the garage when he was home. Somewhere from some crony he had heard there was good money selling wire by the pound. 

Yes, he had the tools to make this happen. He had the wire to make this happen. And he had the daughters to make this happen.

Sooooooo, Dad ran the wire through a machine that flattened the plastic wire covering, breaking it open. 

And then he had his sweet daughters strip the plastic from the wire. He paid us a few bob for our efforts as strippers. It was pretty boring work. And to tell the truth, I never did feel powerful nor in control of anything. Just sayin.

And so it goes
peace~~~

 

Weird Portland Wednesday: Pac-Man Lives

 

I know that every city has at least one arcade. There was one sweet one that my sons would take the bus to visit--nickles and dimes needed. They'd save their pennies and have a fun afternoon playing video games. The question is, does every city have an arcade that is closed to kids after 4:30p? Does every city have an arcade with over 150 games, plus alcohol, plus stage shows, plus karaoke?

No but we do!  

Ground Kontrol!

Nestled in the heart of downtown, Ground Kontrol is taking on the world.  It's website states,

We preserve and celebrate video gaming’s “golden age” by operating over 100 classic video games and 40.5 pinball machines, feature a full-service bar serving from noon until late (usually 2AM), host DJs, comedy shows, high score competitions, game tournaments, and Rock Band karaoke, and are available for public and private event rentals.

Trust me, my kids never had all that at their nickle arcades. They never could get cool t-shirts, either. 

I think the neatest part, you know, apart from just about everything else there, is the bathrooms. Cool cool cool. I can hear Ms Pac-Man wanka-wanka-wanka-ing all the way through the rooms. It don't get no better dan dat!

Unfortunately, due to the pandemic, Ground Kontrol is temporarily closed. But when it opens again, come join me for a fun Modern but Retro Arcade night.  

And that's one of the ways we are Keeping Portland Weird.

And so it goes
peace~~~

Welcome to Another World

Jasper and GG

When I was a little girl, I learned how to lay so quietly among adults that they would think I was asleep. They would talk openly and freely as adults rather than as adults talk when children were present.  I wasn't being sneaky or evil or trying to get some gossip, I just loved listening to adult conversations. I was a very shy little girl--one aunt didn't know I could talk until she walked past my sister's and my bedroom and I was talking to my dolls. I was maybe three. So, I really enjoyed listening to their uncensored conversations.  

I think this desire to be somehow a part of other's worlds is why I love books. I love the way I can find other worlds by getting lost in words and phrases. I can listen in on people's conversations. And it's way better than eavesdropping because I am invited into these discussions. 

As a child we always had books around. When I started first grade, the Bookmobile would come around to the school every other week or maybe it was once a month, but it was on a specific day. Teachers would take their students out to the traveling library and we could select three books. Then Mom would come pick us up--a special treat--so she could check out some books for herself. 

My grandmother Nanny lived in Ontario, California--the next city over. Ontario had the largest most beautiful old library. Brick and wood and a pillar of the community. Oh it was a grand old building. The children's books were in the basement. Heaven. Those large windows and that wonderful scent of old books.  By the way, that scent has been reproduced in candles! I kid you not. A study was conducted in 2009 to look into the smell of old books. Matija Strlic, the lead scientist behind that study, described the smell of an old book:

A combination of grassy notes with a tang of acids and a hint of vanilla over an underlying mustiness, this unmistakable smell is as much a part of the book as its contents. (https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smart-news/that-old-book-smell-is-a-mix-of-grass-and-vanilla-710038/)

Yes, books have always been an important part of my life. They have always been a part of my children's lives and my daughter-in-law's life, as they have been an important part of my grandchild's. 

My grandboy had a whole slew of books at his house and at ours. Many he had outgrown; so, when there was a book drive to help less fortunate kids get books, he and I went through all these books to donate to the drive. 

When I first explained to him that many many children didn't have any books, he didn't understand. He just shook his head with the thought of, "I mean, books were, you know, BOOKS." I went on and explained that many families didn't have extra money that would give them the luxury of buying books. With great incredulousness, he said, "Books cost money?!" With that new understanding, he dove into his bookcase here and at home, giving others two boxes of gently used books. Then we went to the bookstore and I allowed him to buy two books to donate and one for himself. He happily helped me carry his boxes to the donation station. And being pleased with himself, they took a picture of him and his boxes. Dang he was cute.

March is National Reading Month. What made me think of all this today is that I received an email from the Toys for Tots Literacy Program. They are asking for donations so that kids can get the books they need, "...so that children have a fun way to close the reading gap and help improve their academic success, while also sparking their imagination, exposing them to new worlds, and setting them on a path to a lifetime of learning—a critical way to help break the cycle of poverty."

Author Beverly Cleary

With life in general, and especially during this year of sheltering-in-place, we often get wound up in our own issues and worlds, forgetting something small like a child's book can make a huge difference in someone else's life. With the recent death of children's author, Beverly Cleary, we can remember our own love of children's books, our own love of becoming involved with other children--those next door kids and those other world kids. I urge you to take some time, grab a book, and listen in on those amazing conversations.

And so it goes
peace~~~

Throwback Thursday: Those Wacky 70s

I was a beach hippie girl in the 60s. And then I accomplished something I always wanted: I became a mother. My adorable two children were my world until the mid-70s when we then became a statistic. I was now a single mother with no working skills. 

I searched for a government program that could help me gain skills, thus income, and found one that helped me become a Special Education aide with Portland Public Schools.

The late-spring of 1975 when my divorce was final. I had met a nice man while I was taking the city bus and we started dating. Well, mostly we hung around my living room during the break he had between his morning shift and afternoon shift while my sons were gone, listening to music and talking. I was a pretty naive young woman--married at 18 with not that much dating during high school, mother at 19, divorced at 25. But even this naive young woman wondered why we never we out to a movie or dinner or something. I suspected he was married...but he said no when I asked.  

He did take me out on a real date a couple of times. The biggest date was when we went to dinner and saw Gorden Lightfoot in concert. I've seen Lightfoot a couple of times since, but this time was very special. My first concert on one of my first dates since I was divorced.

The two of us spent lots of nice time together but interests waned and we started seeing less of one another. My kids were home from school on summer break and I started dating a few others.

Out of the blue I received a phone call from him. He said that he and his wife were back together but they were into swinging. I believe I said, "And?" I mean what did I care? Why was he calling me? I said, "It might be better if you called a priest rather than me if you have a confession to make." He laughed and said that the Swingers in his group were almost always couples but a few trusted singles are invited.  Was I interested?  Hmmmmmm....no.

And life moved on. I would still giggle with my neighbor, Nellie, about how trusted I was. But other than that, I didn't give him much thought. Oh, I'd run into him when I was out and about and we'd chat a bit. We remained that kind of friend--friends that were pleased to see one another but had no interest beyond that--for quite a while.

Forty years later...I recently looked him up on Facebook out of curiosity. And there he was! Turned out to be a real right wing political guy, angry at people like me. You know, bleeding heart liberals heh heh heh. But I left him a message anyway, asking if he was the same man who worked at a specific place in the mid-70s.  Heard nothing for months. *shrug*

And then today he replied that he was who I had asked about and why did I ask? Seemed to me that he didn't know who I was. So I explained. I said that he was the first man I dated after my divorce in the 70s and I just wanted to thank him for being such a nice transition into a new part of my life. I appreciated his role.

"I'm sorry. You must have me confused with someone else. It happens all the time.*"

"You think maybe there is another person with your name that was working at your place of business in the 70s?"

"No, there is no one else who worked there with the same name."

"Hmmm...we went to a Gordon Lightfoot concert and often listened to his music at my house."

"Look, I was married in the 70s and I haven't been to a concert since Woodstock."

"Hmmm...okay sure whatever."

I really did think I was more memorable than that LOL but I guess when you are a cheater, you have to keep the story of your life simple. *Especially when you often get mistaken for someone else.

Yessiree, those 70s were wacky. Between fading psychedelic rock, punk rock, funk, and disco...between swinging and AIDS and notsofreelove...between the killings at Kent State and Watergate and the Women's Movement and Black Power....  And the changes to the American Way Of Life from the spillover from the 1960s revolution....  Yeppers, way more going on than my first dating experience *wink*

And so it goes
peace~~~