'Go Outside and Play'

Our childhood bedroom faced the southwest and on summer mornings when my sister and I awakened in our double bed, the room was cool and shadowy. For many years there was no door on our bedroom and I could see the sunlight shining on the wooden floors in the hallway.  I can still feel the newness of each summer day and picture my favorite pink striped cotton shorty pajamas.  

The rallying cry of my mother after we dressed and ate breakfast was, “Go outside and play.”  Most of our summer was spent out of doors.  Except for two weeks in the summer when we had to pick cherries, the days were free and unencumbered.  

On hot days my mother would turn the sprinkler on or set galvanized tubs of water out for us to plop into.  It was always special if we could have a popsicle my mother made out of Kool-Aid and froze in ice cube trays.  On Saturday nights we often got a float, our favorite pop poured over vanilla ice cream.  My father liked red pop floats. My brother and mother grape and I always wanted root beer.  My sister probably had orange, as my mother always got a variety pack.  

Sunday afternoons were  spent taking a ride to relatives or swimming at Stony Lake.  My father was a good swimmer and never hesitated if we wanted to go to the lake.  If it got too hot during the week, my mother sometimes took us to Crystal Lake which was not very far from where we lived.  However we always preferred to go to Stony if we could. We knew more of our friends would be there. It is also the lake where we took swimming lessons.  

As we got older my sister and I sold sweet cherries by the side of the road.  It got boring, but I could listen to a radio station from Milwaukee on a transister radio.  My father had some fancy signs painted and we got our share of customers even though we knew another girl was selling cherries on the south side of town.  She accused me once of taking business away from her.  I should have said, “Blame my parents.  It wasn’t my idea to sell cherries by the side of the road.”  

By the time I was 12, I was riding my bike into town to take part in rec activities.  I played softball and had my very own glove.  I loved the game and was either pitching or playing first base.  The games were in the afternoon and we must have just chosen up sides.  However there was always an adult present.  It was before the days when parents came to watch their children’s every move in sports.  No one from my family saw me hit a homerun.  

Because I was in high school in the 60’s, before Title IX, we girls had no organized sports teams.  So it was only at recess when I was in elementary school that I could play sports with both boys and girls.  We often played kick ball which I enjoyed and was good at.  The softball I played at the age of twelve was an all girls’ event.  That was it.  Now I feel like we were cheated during that time. How much luckier girls are today with all the sports they can choose from.  

Summer seemed to stretch on forever when I was a child and by August I was asking my mother when school would start again. If the upstairs of our house got too hot to sleep comfortably, my mother would make a bed for us on the living room floor. Air conditioning was unheard of. Another memory is camping with the neighbor kids between their house and ours and sleeping outside all night.  

On Memorial weekend our five grandkids were told, “Go outside and play.”  It was a beautiful weekend to be out.  Their grandfather got a row boat out of the barn and put it on the pond.  The girls floated and rowed back and forth and even went into the icy water.

Jay and Carter ran remote control boats that were given to Carter for his birthday. The pond was a perfect place to race them and they would run them into the boat the girls were floating in.

As summer comes again I wonder how many children will be told to go outside and play.  We seem to be a nation that has turned being outside and free to roam into a thing to be feared.  There is a name given to the movement of parents who allow their children that freedom….Free Range Parenting and many consider it a negative thing.  

Yet in our little corner of the world, it is still encouraged and allowed.  When our son was around four he disappeared.  We looked everywhere, checking the ponds close to our house first. Since we live on a dead end road, we were not fearful of strangers as we seldom had anyone drive down our road except the mailman.  

Our son had wandered down to our neighbors and they were trying to call us while we were out looking for him.  When they asked him if we knew he was at their house he said, “They don’t need to know where I am all the time.” They gave him potato chips and candy and sent him back home.  

I am not one to wish to go back in time.  I know that every decade has had its negatives.  However there should still be time in children’s lives to lie in the grass and look at the clouds.  They can only discover the pleasure of that if they go outside and play.  

Avery and Bella floating on the pond.

A boat load of kids....Avery, Adrianna, Carter and Bella rowing.

Changing places....

Remote control boat....

A gaggle of girls...

Just Wandering

I just came into the den to get some scissors and tape to wrap a present and I glanced down into the corner and noticed there were children’s books on the floor that needed to be put back on the shelf.  I stopped myself from doing that job because I have been wandering around all day from chore to chore and not getting anything completely done.  Now I am writing about my predicament while I should be wrapping a present.

A few minutes ago I went into the backroom of the basement with an intended purpose  and forgot why I was there.  I looked around at the mess of paint brushes from a project that I needed to complete this winter, but is still awaiting the final coat of paint.  I could have worked on that while I was trying to figure out why I had entered that messy room in the first place.

Then it came to me.  I needed wrapping paper.  I found that in a sack on the floor.  I came back up to the kitchen to wrap the present and saw the small bottles of wine on the table that needed to be put away.  So I did that.

That’s when I got back to the gift that needed to be wrapped and came into the den. I saw that my desk was a mess and needed to be cleaned off, but I’m writing all this down so can’t do it now.  After I finish writing I’m going to wrap the present, and then go upstairs and look for vintage linens I want to sell.  Oops...I have to find the tags I use to mark the linens.  I think those are down in my craft room.  I’ll go get those before I wrap the present so I’ll be ready to go upstairs to find my linens.  

Have to say I really don’t feel like doing the linen thing right now so maybe I’ll clean off my desk. Or maybe I’ll open a small bottle of wine and read a book.  On a cold gray day in Michigan that sounds like the best plan to me.  A day of wandering tires me out.  

Sometimes I Feel Like A Motherless Child

My grandson Carter and I made a rhubarb pie this afternoon and while we were working I started singing the song, Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child. Carter said, “You aren’t a motherless child.  You have a son down the road who bought you a present for Mother’s Day and you get it after dinner “

I told him that although I was his father’s mother, my mother was gone so I was a motherless child.  Carter started to contemplate what had happened to my mother and remarked that she must have gotten ill and not been able to live. I have never told my grandchildren about my mother’s passing but I said to Carter, “My mother didn’t want to live anymore, so she didn’t.” Then I changed the subject.

This morning as I was perusing all the Mother’s Day greetings, pictures and love effusing on Face book I felt weepy. I am now 17 years older than my mother was when she died. Yet I still feel like a child when I think of her.  

I decided to go for a walk in the rain to lift my spirits.  I took the camera and discovered that a cool rainy spring day brings out countless shades of green. Water droplets emphasize blossoms and violets are a soft purple in the wet grass.  

We now having stepping stones in the pond where a bridge used to be and I marveled at the beauty of the large field stones my husband and son put into place because I thought it would be a good idea and reminded me of some we crossed in England.  

Groupings of trillium stood out on this rainy day as large white reminders of what it means to live for a short time and bring complete happiness for those who can see their beauty.  

I went back home knowing it is alright to still miss my mother after all these years.  It is alright to feel the emotions that a day like this can bring no matter what the circumstances.  

As Carter and I finished up making the pie I felt that having the little guy by my side was a gift I would always treasure and maybe in turn I was giving him a gift as well. The other day, out of nowhere, Carter kissed me on top of the head while I was playing the piano and Avery was singing.  It was an unexpected joy that lasted for a second.  What more could I ask for? 

If I wasn’t a mother or grandmother I would find a child to mother. There is nothing better than caring for someone who might miss you when you’re gone.  

My mother Ellen holding my sister Nancy
along with my older brother Jerry
and me ca. 1949.

If you do not know the song Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child there is a very soulful rendition by Odetta on You Tube.  You might also like her singing This Little Light of Mine.  

  

Beauty Beyond Repair

I was struck by the old porcelain door knob, the bay windows, the corbels near the roof line, and the stone work close by.  Yet I was saddened by this house in a tiny berg where there was once an elementary school and a thriving community.  The house had to have been a magnificent structure at one time.

The dilapidated house had caught my eye when two friends and I were coming back from a road trip to Fremont and we decided to drive down what was once and probably still is the main street of this town - to see what was left. Two churches, a sawmill, a park, the old school and a few houses and trailers are what remains. Oh yes, and the old house.

I returned on a warm spring day to photograph what seems to be a symbol in our country of all the old beautiful buildings going to wrack and ruin.

I was curious about the story behind this structure.  Who built this dwelling and in what year?  And why was it left to rot?  Who owns it now? Unless someone has money to burn, the old dwelling seems beyond repair.

I love old buildings and barns.  I realize not everything can be restored, so in this case, wouldn’t it be better to tear the building down?  Broken windows and wood siding that has separated to show the inside bones are a sad thing.    

Yet I must admit, there is a forlorn beauty to the place.  The gray weathered wood contrasted with a small group of jonquils along a side door.  

Next week I am heading to the County Historical Society because I want to know more.  I will return to the house when the lilacs are blooming because I think they are the bushes covering one side of the house.  With some background knowledge, maybe the walls will whisper to me.  

If I knew I wasn’t breaking and entering, I would try to get inside. However I might fall through broken floorboards into a cellar I couldn’t get out of. Best to admire what it once was from the outside.  Still…..