His Calling

If a man love the labour of any trade apart from any question of

success or fame, the gods have called him.

~ Robert Louis Stevenson

My husband Ernie began working in the funeral business on January 3, 1968 when he was only 18 years old. (Little did he know that eight years later on that very same date his first child would be born.) For as long as he can remember he was interested in that line of work. He firmly believes that the interest, which became a passion, all started when he was just a child and accompanied his parents to a funeral in his small hometown of Pembroke, Virginia. That experience made a lasting impression on him, giving him the notion that he wanted to be a funeral director when he grew up. That’s all he ever wanted to do and thankfully, he accomplished his dream. How many people are fortunate enough to do that?

With high school graduation just seven months behind him, Ernie became an employee at the Joseph W. Bliley Funeral Home on 3^rd & Marshall St. in Richmond, Virginia. He was hired by Thomas J. Bliley, Jr. and worked under the direction of Les Morgan, the shift leader. In no time at all his application was approved by the state and he became an official apprentice. His salary as employee/apprentice was $65 per week before taxes.

While in Richmond he lived with a distant cousin, Nina Lipes, and her husband Lonnie and their three sons Greg, Mike, and Jimmy. $15 a week got him room and board, not to mention a loving family to watch out for him. When he first moved there their home was on Antler Rd., then about a year and a half later they moved to 6014 Mann Ave., just a couple blocks off Broad Street. Ernie claims he “bought” the house for them – he found it advertised in a newspaper, called the realtor involved and with one look, told him they would take it. True to his word, Nina and Lonnie looked over the property and as the saying goes, it was a done deal!

Two years later in February of 1970 his apprenticeship had been completed. By then his salary had increased to $90 per week and he had been accepted at the Cincinnati College of Mortuary Science, 3200 Redding Road, Cincinnati, Ohio. He bid a fond farewell to the Lipes family and Bliley’s, packed up his worldly goods, and headed north. The program of study would last one full year and he was anxious to get underway.

Once in Cincinnati, he moved into Swifton Village Apartments where he shared a one-bedroom unit with classmate Fred Blair (from Pittsylvania County, Virginia). For whatever reason, Fred didn’t last and returned home. For a few weeks Ernie lived solo, but soon another classmate moved in to take Fred’s place. That was Bill “JR” Shorts from Ravenna, Ohio. His father owned a funeral home and JR was studying to go into the business with his dad. During his year at CCMS Ernie worked part time at the National Shirt Shop, a men’s clothing store. He also participated in the various (and sundry) activities of Pi Sigma Eta, the national morticians’ fraternity.

Ernie’s school year came to a close in March of 1971. With the national boards behind him, he packed his ’67 white mustang and headed back to Virginia and Bliley’s. While back at work he anticipated taking the state board exams in Richmond, a two day affair which involved both written and oral testing. Part I covered funeral directing and Part II covered embalming. With both tests passed, he received his two licenses. As a side note, today funeral directing and embalming are covered with just one license. In April of 1971, at age 21, he was the youngest licensee in the state. With his new salary of $135 per week he got his own apartment off Chamberlain Ave. at a cost of $100 per month.

In no time at all, he received a call from fellow classmate Gary Totman who lived and worked up in Arlington, Virginia at Arlington Funeral Home. “Ernie, you interested in moving? We have a job opening up here and I thought of you.”  “Nope,” Ernie replied. “Not interested.” Gary, however, was persistent and after the fourth phone conversation relented. “Okay. I’m off tomorrow and I’ll drive up to take a look.” He had never spent any time in Northern Virginia so he was ready for a little adventure. He says he remembers driving up I-95, seeing all the buildings near Falls Church and Arlington, and thinking to himself, “Wow, this is the big city for sure!”

He stopped by Arlington Funeral home to see Gary and ended up being interviewed by the manager Mac Morris. He offered him $175 per week and Ernie took the job right on the spot. Wow! $40 more than he made at Bliley’s! As Ernie says, $120 more per month was a big deal back then. True, Ernie, true.

After giving his two week notice at Bliley’s Ernie relocated and moved in with Gary in a small basement apartment off Lee Hwy in Arlington. Needing more room, the two found a larger apartment at Ravenwood Towers off Rt. 7 in Falls Church, in the Seven Corners area. Shortly after I met him, he got his own place but still in the same neck of the woods which was convenient to work.

In 1972 the funeral home’s assistant manager, Ben Rogers, left to manage Lotz Funeral Home in Roanoke, Virginia. Ernie was promoted to co-assistant manager along with Jackie Boggs. Arlington Funeral Home did a lot of business, so it was a great place to gain experience. That served Ernie well, for in 1974 he received a call from James B. Lockwood, Jr., part owner of Colonial Funeral Home in the Seven Corners area. He and another attorney, Robert C. Watson, were looking for a new manager. A casket salesman named Bill Simpson, who Ernie knew from Cincinnati, had recommended him. Ernie was indeed interested in the $15,000 yearly salary they offered. He now had a wife and family of his own, so that was a lucrative move for him. There he stayed until 1982 when he left and returned to Arlington Funeral Home.

Once back there for a while, Mac Morris retired and Ernie was made assistant manager to work alongside the new manager, Richard Fitzgerald. Six years later another offer came knocking. He was approached by Letha Masters Crickenberger, owner of Money & King Funeral Home in Vienna, Virginia. She knew nothing about the business but nevertheless inherited it upon the death of her sister, Edith Masters King. Letha knew of Ernie because of the close association he and his family had at church with her brother and sister in law, Horace and Lois Masters. I’m sure they spoke highly of Ernie which spurred Letha’s interest in him. He was manager there for almost 18 years when he resigned in 2005.

After the long and exhausting time at Money & King, Ernie took a little time off to explore some options, and even considered buying his own business for a time. That did not work out so he began job hunting. He became an employee at Pierce Funeral Home in Manassas, Virginia where he has been until now. For a while he was assistant manager and since March of 2010 has been named manager.

Ernie has served hundreds of people over the years and has quite a faithful following in Northern Virginia that seeks him out. He often receives very kind and sincere thank you notes from people he has served. When he was at Money & King his own family teased that he was the unofficial mayor of Vienna because he knew people everywhere he went. Now that he is in Manassas the same thing is happening and it’s fun to watch. It’s good to know that Bob Pierce, the owner of the funeral home, trusts him explicitly. From where I sit, the employees respect him, his ability to run a successful business, and his personal code of ethics. I know without a doubt he is one of the most honorable men in the funeral business in Northern Virginia. When he leaves his own family vacation to return home and serve bereaved friends, you know he is dedicated. When he plans, organizes and speaks tenderly at a yearly service of remembrance for families the business has served, you know he reaches out into the community. When he agrees to preach at a funeral because a family has no one else, you know he goes the extra mile. When he gives a new employee a couple of his old suits because he has no work clothes, you know he is caring. Indeed, he comforts the sad and weary; his profession is his calling. He has chosen an occupation he would do even if he did not need the money. His family is proud of him.

the little fella that dreamed of being a funeral director

CCMS grad 1971

on the job!

with wife Bonnie

Our History with the Miss Virginia Pageant

For attractive lips, speak words of kindness.
For lovely eyes, seek out the good in people.
For a slim figure, share your food with the hungry.
For beautiful hair, let a child run his or her fingers through it once a day.
For poise, walk with the knowledge that you never walk alone.

~ Audrey Hepburn

When folks discover our little hobby, they often remark, “You’re involved with pageants? Really?!” Yes, really. I kid you not. Let me explain. . .

Back in the 1970’s Ernie was a member of the Arlington Jaycees, a men’s civic organization. The group wanted to do something fun for a money maker and came to the conclusion they would hold the Miss Northern Virginia Pageant in the spring of 1979. Jay Jarvis was appointed the chairman and he, in turn, asked Ernie to be the chairman of the judges’ panel. Without a moment’s hesitation he agreed and asked me if I would like to help out as well. (Smart man, that Ernie!) They invited former Miss America Kylene Barker (who had been Miss Virginia) to be the featured entertainer and emcee for their first pageant which was held in the old Fairfax High School building. Singer/dancer Diane Light of Fairfax became the first Miss Northern Virginia and we had a ball helping out.

Over the next couple of years the Jaycees concluded that their pageants cost them more money than they made and gradually lost interest in said project. In the meantime we became hooked and decided to take a stab at running the pageant ourselves. We contacted the Roanoke, Virginia office of the Miss Virginia Pageant and spoke with Executive Director Margaret Baker who granted us permission to buy the local franchise for a few hundred dollars. We then rounded up a few Jaycees who were still interested, some other friends of ours and set out on our own. That began a long relationship with the Miss Virginia Organization, one which we continue today.

For 23 years Ernie was the Executive Director of the Miss Northern Virginia Pageant and I worked to solicit contestants and procure the proper paperwork before the pageant. After that I directed back stage on pageant night, and then helped prepare the winner for the state pageant. During the last week of June each year I also accompanied our contestant to Roanoke for the state finals, acting as chaperon and traveling companion. I did this for 16 straight years and then began sharing the chaperon duties with Diane and Wendi, two other women on our committee.

All who work on Miss America preliminary pageant committees are strictly volunteers and there are no entry fees for young women who want to enter. However, it takes several thousand dollars to produce a pageant and there are costs associated with sending a local titleholder to the state pageant. As the years passed by and the economy changed, it became increasingly difficult to raise money for our pageant expenses and several of our dearest, most talented committee members moved from the area. After much careful thought and reflection, we decided to give up our franchise and end our pageant. Ernie was then asked to be a Field Director for the state organization and did just that from 2004-2008. In 2009 we were asked to be the Judges Chairmen and have enjoyed that volunteer capacity since that time.

Many outside the world of Miss America ask why we are thus involved. Our reply is that we have met many wonderful, talented young women over the years and have enjoyed watching them grow even more confident, poised, self-motivated and caring. We have made dear and lasting relationships, ones we truly cherish. Just this last week it was our privilege to see yet another Miss Virginia {our 31st} crowned on the stage at the Roanoke Civic Center. With her scholarship award of over $16,000 dollars she will now be able to pay off her college loans. How grand is that?! Now we anxiously wait to see how she will wear the crown in her own, unique way. Congrats to Elizabeth Crot, Miss Arlington.

Miss Virginia 2012, Elizabeth Crot

~photos by Anne Royster~

Flavius Wise Tavenner

~with his children Blanche, George & Edythe~

 

We cannot destroy kindred: our chains stretch a little sometimes, but they never break.

~Marquise de Sévigné

My fraternal great grandfather was named Flavius Wise Tavenner. He was born on August 1, 1859, the illegitimate son of Lucy Amanda Tavenner. My dad says it was rumored that his father’s last name was Plaster but I don’t know any details beyond that fact that he was raised by his single mother.

He was born and grew up in Unison, a tiny town just west of Leesburg, Virginia. The only details I know about him were told to me by my father, his grandson. Here are some of the things I’ve learned about him.

• He lived in Herndon, right across the street from my father when Dad was a young boy. He was a carpenter by trade and built a house with an outbuilding, then rented the house and converted the little building into a shop and home for himself. In that shop he had many hand tools and did work for local folks. He was also a wheelwright in those horse and buggy days which means he made the wooden wheel and then the blacksmith attached an iron rim.

• His house had neither running water, plumbing nor electricity. He never drove a car or used a telephone. I’m certain his schooling was minimal but he could read and write. He liked the little comic books that were popular in the 1920’s and especially loved the antics of what he called “Micey Mouse” [Mickey Mouse].

• He smoked a pipe and used Victory smoking tobacco. In his golden years he lived with his daughter, my grandmother, and used to drive her crazy when he filled his pipe then brushed excess tobacco on the floor.

• His usual attire consisted of blue denim work clothes. My dad remembers that the collars on his shirts always looked too big for his neck.

• In his later years when he lived with my grandmother and dad, he would often get up in the night and use the corner of his bedroom as a urinal. Dad is not sure if he was confused or just ornery. I’m sure my grandmother fussed at her papa over this!

• When Flave was a child he had a pet cat that he would hook up to a wee cart. One day a soldier came through town and shot that cat right off a fence post.

• He married in 1893 at the age of 34 to Virginia Lee Darnes, age 28. They had three children: George Turner, b. Jan. 25, 1895; Blanche Amanda b. May 12, 1896 (my grandmother); Edythe Mary, b. Mar. 6, 1898. His wife died suddenly on Sept. 17, 1898 when their youngest child was only 6 months old. He never remarried and I wish I knew how he cared for his children when his wife passed away, leaving him a widower at age 39.

• Grandpapa Flavius lived all his life in Loudoun, Fairfax or Arlington counties. He died on January 2, 1948 at the age of 88 while living at the home of his younger daughter Edythe Mills, located at 4415 13th St., N., Arlington, Virginia. He was buried two days later in Chestnut Grove Cemetery in Herndon, Virginia.

I Loves Me Some Greens!

 

 

 

 Traditionally, collards are eaten on New Year's Day, along with black-eyed peas or field peas and cornbread, to ensure wealth in the coming year, as the leaves resemble folding money.

~ from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Collard_greens

 

Maybe it's my southern heritage but I can't help it -- I love greens!!When I was a youngun my grandmother Nanny, born in 1900 and raised on a farm in North Carolina, was my role model collard cooker. I can still hear the valve shaking on my mother's pressure cooker while her pot of greens simmered to a delectable tenderness. Kale is my favorite followed by a good, down home mess of collards as pictured above in my recent plate from Dixie Bones Restaurant in Woodbridge, VA. Top off a well cooked and seasoned pot o' greens with a little dash of vinegar and I've died and gone to heaven. Eating greens in the presence of non-greens eaters can stir up comments like "Oh, gross. Please tell me you're NOT going to eat that! They stink and look nasty. Oooooo greeeeens...." Nothing deters me and heck, I recently read that kale is one of THE healthiest veggies you can eat, chucked full of antioxidants, vitamins and even considered to anti-inflamatory. Yummy and nutritious, too? A winning combination, I'd say! My husband enjoys greens along with me but our daughter Shannon is the only child that inherited the greens gene. I've discovered that adding a pinch of baking soda to the water in the cooking pot the secret to making greens tender. The addition of a few other ingredients help season them up just fine. (HINT: ham hocks) For a while my son Todd and I got on the green shakes bandwagon. You Tube is full of demonstrations for this, but these shakes are a blenderized concoction of bananas, frozen berries, a little sweetener and any kind of green leafy veggies. This packs a powerful glass of raw nutrition and as my two year old granddaughter might say, "Try it. You like it!"

Nanny's Peanut Butter Glasses

If I really begged her, Nanny would take her false teeth out and smile at me.

I never saw anything so funny in my life.

~ Carol Burnett

During the late 1950's my grandmother Nanny purchased Big Top Peanut Butter (which later became Jif) that was contained in reusable drinking [ice tea] glasses instead of the classic jar. When one became empty she washed it out and added another one to her growing collection. I clearly recall just how they looked sitting in her glass front cupboard.  As time wore on and both grandfolks passed away, the day came to clean out the cupboards and divide up all the kitchenware. My mom took the peanut butter glasses home with her but has since given them to me. One random day I even discovered additional ones for sale at a local thrift store, so now the count is up to 12. After doing a little googling, I discovered a website which sells discontinued/vintage glassware and this particular style sells for $5.99 each.
 
When I recently had a couple of girlfriends over for lunch, I climbed up to a high shelf in my own cupboard got those down for us to use. I felt like we were having a tea party! Drinking from those vintage Nanny glasses always takes me back in time just a tad.
 

The pressed glass is decorated with a diamond and fan motif on the sides of the goblet, and on the stem.

The bottom has a starburst motif.

The Telephone

Mr. Watson, come here. I want to see you.

~ Alexander Graham Bell's notebook entry of 10 March 1876 describes his successful experiment with the telephone. Speaking through the instrument to his assistant, Thomas A. Watson, in the next room, Bell utters these famous first words.

first black telephone



During my lifetime I’ve certainly seen many changes with telephones. In my youth I could have never ever imagined one day having a small, portable phone I would carry around in my pocket.

The telephone in the first house my parents lived in sat on a small table at the bottom of the stairs in the living room. One of the dining room chairs sat next to it for comfort when having a conversation. At that time my folks rented out a couple bedrooms and the placement of the phone was for everyone’s convenience. Of course, there was only one phone, a black rotary style. Most folks had that basic style and it was owned by the phone company. One of their renters was a mechanic who worked on cars down at the corner gas station. When he used the phone he would stand up, leaning against the wall with his greasy hand that, to my mother’s annoyance, left black hand prints.



updated rotary phone


When my family moved from Arlington to Oakton in 1955, we still had a similar black phone and a few years down the road we got a somewhat updated model in beige. In that house the phone line was in a corner of the dining room which provided some sense of privacy for those conversing. At my mother’s insistence many years later a sleeker princess style phone was added to the master bedroom. Mom says if the phone happened to ring at night, she was the only one who seemed to hear it and for convenience she wanted one on her bedside table.

Princess phone

For a few years we were on a party line with another person and had to listen for our special ring to determine if the call was for us or the other people. (Ernie recollects the ring in his rural childhood home was two shorts and a long…) Down in the boonies of North Carolina where some of my relatives lived, they always joked that you better be careful what you said during a phone call because with party lines, everyone in the countryside was listening. When Herndon was a tiny town where my grandfather lived for a while, he joked that a black man on his party line used to say, “Who’s dat say who dat when I say who dat?”

Long distance calling was expensive and only done out of necessity. When I was in college from 1969-1973 I actually wrote letters to home and rarely called. When I was a senior and had a car, I would always beat the system to let my mother know I got back on campus safely after being home for the weekend. I would call home collect or person to person to myself, then mom would answer and say I wasn’t home. In an underhanded way she got the message all was well. Sorry to cheat you, Ma Bell!

Sometime during the late 1970s or early 80s the telephone company decided homeowners should own their phones. Electronics stores began selling phones -- quite a new concept! Push button phones also came into vogue and seemed very modern.

The first phone Ernie and I had in our newly wed apartment was indeed a red a red push button model which sat in the living room. We also had an extension in the bedroom, a princess model. At our first townhouse we had a beige wall phone in the kitchen and a second extension upstairs in the master bedroom with a light blue princess phone. New houses in the 1970s began to be pre-wired for phone lines which did away with those old fashioned phone lines that previously lined the baseboards. Both of our successive homes were prewired and we had several extensions in each. What a far cry from my mother’s childhood when people maybe had one phone and those who had two were considered to be the well-to-do folks. As a matter of fact, my grandparents didn’t even have a phone until Mom was in her mid teens, about 1945.

Phones eventually became cordless. Gone are the days of long, twisty cords that we would stretch to their capacity while chatting. The handsets on those first cordless ones were heavy with an antenna. With time and modification they became more light weight and slender. When the internet came into being many folks had two separate phone lines so one could be dedicated to computer dial up. And what did we do without caller ID? What a great invention that has been and now I can’t imagine doing without it. In the old days we never knew who tried to call us when we were away from home but now with answering machines and services, we can have our callers leave messages if they so desire. That can be both a blessing and a curse!

Cell phones have made phone calling possible any time, any place. In fact, public pay phones have just about ceased to exist. The first cell phone Ernie had for work purposes came in a big, bulky zip bag. With time those, too, have become streamlined and smaller so that they can be carried around in purse, pocket or clipped to a belt. Even kids have phones which can create quite a problem in the classroom. And then there’s the bigger issue of people talking on their phones while driving which has, in fact, been outlawed in some locales. Cell phone etiquette is quite a hot topic in society since their use is so pervasive (almost non-stop and annoying...) Technology has advanced so much that our cell phones now have more memory and function than our first home computers! Cell phone functions include (but are not limited to) accessing the internet, sending text messages, snapping photos, recording movies, and downloading music.



pay phone -- a relic!


Last but not least, phone numbers have changed over the years. Mom says their first phone number in Washington, D.C. was DI (meaning District) + 4 numbers. In Oakton our first phone number was DU (for Dunkirk) 5-8932 which was then changed to all numbers 385-8932. My aunt and uncle’s number in Falls Church was JE (for Jefferson) 2-5984. Then 3-digit area codes were added to make the numbers here in Northern Virginia prefaced with 703. Our favorite home phone number of all times was in Fairfax on Ellenwood Drive -- 703-280-2222. Our friend Aubrey Minyard worked for the phone company and helped us acquire that number when we moved into that home in 1977. Fast forward to 2010 and give us a call at 703-938-6364. Hi, you've reached the Myers. We can't answer your call right now, so please leave a message and we'll get back to you as soon as possible. Have a great day! (If you can't reach us at home, give us a call on our cell phones -- Ernie 703-655-1198, Bonnie 703-655-1200.)



evolution of the cell phone





Boy, Was My Face Red!

Man is the only animal that blushes – or needs to.

-Mark Twain

I grew up attending Oakton Methodist Church, situated on Chain Bridge Road in the heart of Oakton, Virginia. Each Sunday during the preaching service the velvet lined brass plates were passed pew by pew to collect tithes and offerings. Some people threw in a little anonymous cash while others contributed their carefully prepared donation envelopes with a pre-determined pledged amount. My mother annually received a new box of envelopes and to this day contributes her offerings in that manner.

When there was a need to raise funds for a particular cause or project, the minister would plea for additional money from the pulpit. Perhaps there was need to refurbish some Sunday school classrooms or support a missionary in country far, far away. On one such occasion, I must have gotten annoyed at the repeated requests for money. The preacher was just doing his job the best way he knew how, but as a young teen I had heard enough. I removed one of the offering envelopes from its little holder on the back of the pew, inserted a nickel, and penciled on the front, “Here. This is all I have. Please take it.” When the plate was passed, I threw it in. As my Nanny would have said, “I had my way!”

But, no, no. That wasn’t the end of it. During the sermon the next week, the dear preacher commented to the congregation how wonderful it was that some dear soul who had but little had generously given all he or she had. Remember the story of the widow’s mite, found in the Bible in the gospel according to St. Mark? I’m sure our minister referred to that story about how the widow’s contribution of two mites was more than the rich folks who gave to the treasury in abundance, for she gave “…even all her living.”

I was mortified, prayed for death, and wished the floor beneath me would open up and let me slide in. I’m sure my face flamed bright red, like I was having a heat stroke. My little, innocent joke was taken seriously. Did I apologize? Hopefully I did, but time has dimmed that portion of the memory. To this day that embarrassing story provides my mother and me with a good chuckle, but I can feel the blush creep up my neck when I think back to that childish prank.

A Scentsitive Subject

A woman’s perfume tells more about her than her handwriting.

~Christian Dior

Have you ever stepped into a crowded elevator and suddenly been assaulted by someone’s cologne, aftershave or perfume? Have you ever hugged someone who has been a bit over zealous with their scent application? I’ve done that several times only to step away and find their unwanted scent clinging to my clothes. For sure one of my pet peeves involves those who wear too much perfume and leave an aromatic wake wherever they go.

I try to be careful and sure hope I haven’t offended anyone else who might be as scensitive as I am. I prefer light colognes over heavy perfumes any day and love a fresh, clean scent more than anything. Perhaps I should recount my personal history with scent to set the record straight.

I love the fresh scent of Johnson’s Baby Powder. Moms in the 1950’s used this after each diaper change but now the use of baby talcum is a no no. Oh, it’s okay for adults, but not for babies. I don’t think my 11 month old grandbaby has ever had her behind powdered. But I’d like to thank my mother for using it on me because I still love it. Let’s call that my first introduction to smelling good.

Other first memories of scent include bath soaps such as Ivory, Cameo, Sweetheart and Dove. My mother was a talcum powder user herself and always kept powder and a puff on hand to use after she bathed. I don’t recall the name of the scent, but it was light and flowery. When I was a youngster she also sold Avon products for a while and had lots of samples of cologne and perfume which were always fun to try out. One of my grandmothers, Mom Mom, used Evening in Paris perfume and I was always fascinated with the little cobalt blue vial it came in. One time she even gave me an empty bottle and that was a treasure to a young girl like me

When I was a freshman in high school a couple of kids in my study hall used to primp instead of study. They always intrigued me when they produced their bottles of Canoe or English Leather and gave each other a spritz. Since these two were the “popular” kids it seemed appropriate that they use two of the popular colognes at the time.

When I was a teenager someone gave me a bottle of Chanel No. 5 perfume for a gift. I tried to like it but it just wasn’t for me. The lovely bottle looked nice sitting on my dresser scarf, but I’m sure I finally threw it out. Another gift was a bottle a spray cologne bottle of Estee Lauder. That was nice, tolerable, but a bit strong so a little dab went a long way. I used that off and on for a few years. When I was in college a roommate introduced me to the light fresh scent of Love’s Lemon cologne. I used a couple bottles of that before I came to the conclusion that I didn’t like smelling like lemons. I’m still not fond of fruity or spicey colognes. I don’t want to smell like vanilla either.

At some point I stumbled upon a cologne made by Coty called Musk. There are many variations of musk available, but the one by Coty is the best for me and my own body chemistry. That one has remained a favorite for a long time and I have used several bottles of that. I try to buy it when the Christmas gift sets go on sale at the end of the season, even though the regular retail price is not very expensive.

Another favorite I like to use especially in the winter months is the signature perfume from Tiffany’s. In 1992 I first set foot in a Tiffany’s store in New York City and came away with a sample fragrance card of that scent. For Christmas that year my husband gifted me the first of several bottles. Today I’m longing for fall and cooler weather so I can bring out my Tiffany’s. It does cost many cents, but my sensational husband knows it makes a scentsational gift for his scensitive wife!

Secret Ambition

Sometimes creativity is a compulsion, not an ambition.

-- Ed Norton

About a year ago I was waiting for my appointment in a nail salon and happened to pick up the January issue of the brand new Hallmark magazine that had just come out on the newsstands. As I skimmed through it I found a lovely article written about the joy of a perfect snow day – everyone at home, safe and warm, a fire crackling in the fireplace, lots of soft, cuddly blankets for snuggling, a book to read in a comfy chair overlooking a window to the outside world of white, and last but not least, an abundance of everyone’s favorite snack foods lining the pantry shelves. The article got me thinking about snow days I’ve experienced, and that prompted me to ask two of my children how they would define such a day. One thing led to another and before I knew it Todd and I were brainstorming about how we should write the Perfect Book Series of children’s books.

We reminisced at length about his childhood and days gone by and these memories surfaced.

Jay and Ann were two of Todd’s favorite neighbors who lived a couple doors down the row of our townhouse complex when he was little. They were a kind and loving older couple who handed out small bags of goodies to trick-or-treaters on Halloween and loved it when little children would stop over to visit their pets Muffin, Gypsy and Smokey. Always ready to lend a hand with some minor home repair project, Jay would stop over with just the right tool. Back in the blizzard of 1982 the snow was deep with huge wind swept drifts and Todd vividly recalls his dad telling him and his sister to be careful while playing outside because there were snow piles higher than their heads. Just about every Christmas season our family made the 5 hour car trip to see Ernie’s family down in SW Virginia. That holiday scene was filled with many cousins, aunts and uncles as well as mounds of gifts and food galore ---ham, casseroles, biscuits and peanut butter balls. The Christmas Eve tradition of getting together with my parents in northern Virginia continues today and we all eagerly anticipate the goodies in the Christmas stockings my mother gave us 35 years ago. The childhood memories go on and on!

We came to the conclusion that even though every child has unique experiences, most have memories of a special, perfect neighbor, snow day, or holiday they’ve experienced. Circumstances may vary, but childhood memories last forever. So, based on our collective memories here is a list of people or events that could each be the basis for an individual perfect children’s story: Halloween, Christmas, Easter, neighbor, teacher, friend, big sister/brother, grandpa/grandma, vacation, snow day or last but not least, pet.

Our ambition is to write these books. We’re not sure how we’ll accomplish the task, but the seed of desire is firmly planted in our minds and I hope that one we can make it grow.

Books

A room without books is like a body without a soul. -- Cicero

“Look, Dick! See Jane!”

“See Jane run! Run, Jane, run!”

. . .and so my introduction to reading began in Miss Lorraine Russell’s first grade class. We were students of phonics back in the 1950’s and learned to sound out words. This system of reading instruction catapulted me into a lifetime of reading and loving books. When I was in a second/third grade combination class, Mrs. Ruby Buser, our teacher, would read aloud to her pupils after lunch. To this day I vividly remember the book, Boxcar Children by Gertrude Chandler, the story of Henry, Jessie, Violet and Benny Alden who lived in a train boxcar and all their wonderful adventures. I feel like this was the first book I really loved. As I look back I wish I had held on to my collection of Nancy Drew Mystery books that provided me with endless hours of entertainment during my youth.

In the fall of every year my elementary school’s book fair would be held in the library. Each class would take a turn browsing at all the books on display and jotting the prices and titles to take home so we would know which books to ask our parents to buy. Every few weeks we received an order form for Scholastic Books which was a wonderful way of purchasing inexpensive paperback books. All during my elementary years each student subscribed to The Weekly Reader, a type of forerunner to the Washington Post Kid’s Page that children have today. At the beginning of each school year our parents paid a nominal fee so that we could receive this publication once a week all year long.

Many children of my era also subscribed to Highlights, a fun magazine full of stories, puzzles, brain teasers and word finds. That magazine is still published and I admit to looking at a copy when I wait in the lobby of a doctor’s office! I even used those as a resource when I had my first teaching job and had a subscription for my own children for a time.

In my teenage years I began reading and collecting all the gothic romance mysteries written by Victoria Holt, like House of a Thousand Lanterns or Shivering Sands. I have kept all 29 of these paperbacks and wherever I’ve moved, they’ve come right along. I also have a small collection of old books which include an English textbook that belonged to my father, my very first copy of the Bible given to me in 1959, a children’s book from the school book fair when I was in first or second grade, and a volume entitled Personal Beauty and Charm from a set of books my mother had called the Homemaker’s Encyclopedia, published in 1950. Several years ago I began collecting Christmas books and Santa manages to bring me a new volume to add to it just about every year. When my children were little I found a book at the library which they dearly loved entitled Nicholas and Pamela. It was a charming, sweet story about a wee mouse family that lived in a mailbox and their many mousey adventures. I have searched and searched to find a copy of this but to no avail.

I love reading all types of books, both fiction and non-fiction. I took a serious look at my bookshelves so I could find some of my all-time favorites. Among the fiction books are Follow the River by James Alex Thorn, Pocahontas by Susan Donnell, Two from Galilee by Marjorie Holmes and Christie by Catherine Marshall. In the non-fiction category are Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus, Fun Facts about the Bible You Never Knew, God’s Little Devotional Book for Women, and 838 Ways to Amuse a Child. There is always some book on my bedside table and my current favorite read is by a new LDS author, Stephenie Meyer, entitled Twilight. It is book one in a series of three about a modern day vampire named Edward Cullen and his human girlfriend. What a suspenseful page turner this is! As soon as my daughter Shellie finishes book two, New Moon, I will have my nose buried in it.

I could wax on and on about my love of books and memorable ones I’ve read through the years. My mother, daughters and I trade books back and forth quite often. We give books as gifts and love a good chat about what we are currently reading. What a blessing to be able to read and to love it! I will borrow my daughter’s philosophy that books are our friends, and thanks to me, our family book shelves are crammed full of dear ones with whom I cannot bear to part.

Our Cape Cod House

Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home.

~Traditional

     The 1950’s was still in the era where neighbors knew neighbors and kids roamed the neighborhood for hours on end whether playing Tag, Mother May I, Red Light, Green Light in someone’s yard, or riding bikes and sleigh riding on the quiet streets. Such was my life as a child when my family moved to Gray’s Subdivision in Oakton VA in 1955. This was even before zip codes came into existence. When we first moved there we had a two-party phone line and our number was DU 5-8932. (DU for Dunkirk)

     The white clapboard house was small with only two bedrooms and one bath for the four of us. The house had been built in 1941 and the original owners paid $4,200. The price then to my parents 14 years later was $12,500 which included a construction fee for raising the roof, adding dormer windows and a stairway. That new space upstairs was to be used to build out bedrooms for my brother and me at a later date. And later it was! By the time I was 12 I finally had my own bedroom in that upstairs area. Somehow my brother and I had survived many years sharing one of the small bedrooms on the main level. Clearly, he had his side and I had mine! Today I can’t imagine two children sharing the tiny closet we had, but we made it work.

      My new bedroom was painted sky blue and my parents bought me a bed, night stand and dresser from Sears, Roebuck & Co. that were finished in white. My bedspread was one that Nanny crocheted. The pattern was white squares with blue roses and green leaves in the middle. A blue sheet underneath always looked very pretty. My Uncle Jimmy was a skilled carpenter and not only helped my dad build the bedroom, but also constructed a study desk for me that was also painted white. I loooved my room and was so happy to have my own space. To this day I can still recollect learning how tape, spackle and sand drywall when the carpenters let me “help”.

     The house was basic in design. To look at the house, it was pretty symmetrical with a yellow front door in the middle and a window on either side. The small kitchen was on the left end of the house and over the years managed to get re-done twice. My mom was happy when the day finally arrived and she got a portable dishwasher. The floors were hardwood except for the kitchen but for most of those years there was wall to wall carpet in the living room and dining room. The first round of carpet was gray wool with green flecks. Sometime in the 1960’s my parents bought new Danish modern furniture for the living room and decided that medium blue sculptured carpet would compliment the décor.

     When the house was first built it had oil heat that was eventually converted to natural gas. There were radiators in each room and they were fun to snuggle up against on chilly nights. Our dog Skipper enjoyed lying beside the one in the living room to take the chill off his old bones.

The basement was unfinished and housed an assortment of junk—lots and lots of junk—like old boards, spare tires, car parts, cleansers, solvents, paints and canning jars. My dad had a workbench at the far end with all his tools and accessories and he spent many hours down there putzing around, fixing or repairing this and that. The small laundry room as at the opposite end and housed the washer and dryer. When it rained really hard, water usually leaked into a corner and we would scoop up the puddle with a dustpan and dump it in an old galvanized bucket. In the summertime my dad ran a dehumidifier and we had to be vigilant about emptying that.

     As kids my brother and I enjoyed playing on the metal swing set. The backyard had a chain link fence which kept Skipper from running off. A beautiful, fragrant climbing red rose adorned a front portion of that fence in the summer. There were several trees in our yard—pine, maple, dogwood, oak, hickory and some messy wild cherry trees that the birds loved to feast off of in the summer. In the front yard there were two bright pink azalea bushes that were gorgeous in the spring. They grew to be quite large and became a distinctive landmark on our corner half acre lot.

     My mother never was particularly fond of their house on the corner of Hibbard Street and Chain Bridge Road. Much to her delight they moved to a larger, newer house in Fairfax in 1990. After living in that house for 35 years, they sold it for approx. $150,000. It is interesting to note that the 2006 Fairfax County tax assessment on that property was $487,610. Wow!

     I recently had the chance to reminisce with both my parents about the old neighborhood. We could easily name all the neighbors we had in “those days” when we knew everyone up and down Hibbard Street, Palmer Drive, Pine Street and Gray Street.

     My childhood was a happy one in that house. I cherish the fond memories I have of holiday gatherings, a game of badminton on a summer night, walking in drifts of snow in the blizzard of ’58 or listening to the radio up in my bedroom. And it was in the dining room of that house over a spaghetti dinner that my boyfriend Ernie nervously announced the news that we wanted to get married.

What Might Have Been

I try not to think about what might have been,

'Cause that was then and we have taken different roads.

We can’t go back again, there’s no use giving in.

And there’s no way to know, what might have been.

- Popular song lyrics

     I’m proud that I am a Virginia Native. Even though my birthplace was Columbia Hospital for Women in Washington, DC my parents lived in an apartment in Arlington VA. Not long after my birth they moved to a single family house, still in Arlington, where my brother attempted to enter this world. When I was four years old, my parents bought a small cape cod farther out in the suburbs in rural Oakton. There I resided until my marriage in 1973 at age 22. Even now when I’m out and about, I sometimes drive through the streets of the old neighborhood where I spent my formative years. There were countless hours circling the block of Hibbard Street, Palmer Drive, Gray Street and Pine Street on my blue bicycle. On dark summer nights the neighborhood kids would play a game or two of flashlight tag. It was always fun to rustle up some spare change and walk to Zook’s Market to buy penny candy. This was long before the days of slurpees! We used to cut across an old, wooded path where Chester, the harmless local “bum” as we called him, used to sit on a fallen log and down a beer or two. By the age of 12 I was a seasoned babysitter for many neighbors’ children for the lofty sum of fifty cents per hour.

     I consider myself fortunate to have attended Fairfax County Schools: Oakton Elementary, Thoreau Intermediate, and both James Madison and Oakton High Schools. It was such a thrill to be a senior in the class of ’69, the very first graduating class of Oakton High School. From there I opted to stay in Virginia and attended Longwood College in Farmville. There I earned a Bachelor of Science degree in elementary education in 1973. And, you might have guessed, my first teaching job was in Annandale.

     What fond memories I have of living in close proximity to an aunt, uncle, cousins and both sets of grandparents. It’s fun to look back at those old black and white photos of family gathered around the Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner table at one house or the other. Major holidays and birthdays were always a cause for some sort of celebration. I fondly recollect spending the night with my cousin Faith who was my same age. We’d lie in her double bed at night, holding hands because I was scared of a freaky clown doll that stood in one corner of her bedroom. We’d play with our Ginny dolls in the fabulous doll house my Uncle Jimmy had built for her. Spending the night with Nanny in her tiny house in Alexandria was fun, too, because we’d catch a bus to Woolworth’s five and dime and grab a bite to eat at the lunch counter.

     Many Sunday afternoons were spent in Winchester at Mom-Mom and Pop-Pop’s house. Their big , white, stucco house was old and intriguing with a wonderful glider in the side yard. Pop-Pop often took my brother Steve and I for rides in the back of his old Ford pick up truck across their hilly pasture land. What a cook Mom-Mom was! Thoughts of her homemade bread and butter pickles, fresh peaches over ice cream or creamed peas still make my mouth water. She could stick her hands in the hottest dishwater and would always hang her damp dish towels out to dry on the back porch clothesline.

     I met my future husband on the steps of the Oakton Methodist Church. It is through knowing him that I found out about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, took the missionary discussions and was baptized into it. All 33 of our married years have been in northern VA, very close to where I grew up. All three of our children have partaken of their mother’s legacy and attended school in Fairfax County, even graduating from Oakton High School.

     At the ripe old age of 55, I think about how my life has been thus far. And I can’t help but consider one pivotal moment when the course of my life might have taken an entirely different path.My father worked as an aircraft mechanic for Capital Airlines at National Airport. When that company merged with United Airlines in the early 1960’s there was a lot of talk about having to transfer to San Francisco where the aircraft mechanics were based. My mother says that I was very adamant about NOT moving across the county—they could go but I would certainly find a way to stay in Virginia! Fortunately for me, my dad became certified as a grounds equipment mechanic and could remain based at National Airport. I can’t help but think what my life would have been like if we had moved to California, away from family. I know that many people move lots of times while they are children, but I feel like I have been really blessed to put down such deep roots in my native Virginia!

First Grade: I Can't Wait, But Please Don't Make Me Go!

Me, first grade

Education would be so much more effective if its purpose were to ensure that by the time they leave school every boy and girl should know how much they don't know, and be imbued with a lifelong desire to know it.

 - Sir William Haley

     Kindergarten was not part of the Fairfax County school system in the 1950’s. Some children were sent to private kindergarten but these were few and far between and definitely not in the budget for my parents. Having no pre-school experience and little time away from my mother, it’s no wonder my separation anxiety was flying high when first grade began in the fall of 1957.

    I wanted to go! I was ready to go! But during the first six weeks of first grade in Oakton Elementary School I just cried and cried. My mother would send me to the bus stop right by our house at the corner of Hibbard Street and Chain Bridge Road. Off I’d go with all the neighborhood kids—Susan, Buddy, Barbara, Gary, Lorna--but soon after stepping off that big yellow bus my anxiety would have me heaving my breakfast in Miss Loraine Russell’s classroom. The office would summon my mother to come pick me up and take me back home. All my crying had my mother crying, too. I was the first child to go off to school and she was a mere 26. She sought the advice of our older and wiser neighbor, Dorothy Totman, who lived across the street. “Where did I go wrong? What on earth can I do?” Mom pleaded. Wisely, Mrs. Totman told her not to worry. The phase would pass.

     My mother tried a little tough love and told me that if I was indeed sick, I needed to go rest in bed. She comforted me with the gentle reminder that God was always with me and would watch over me. Time after time, after an hour or two of “resting” I assured her I was much better and could return to school. Good thing we lived just a hop, skip and a jump away! After a few weeks of this barfing anxiety, I confessed that something that was bothering me. It seems my teacher had whacked a classmate on the behind with a wooden paddle back in the cloakroom one day and I feared she would come after me. There’s no way I would even dream of getting out of line! Even though unfounded, the fear stayed with me for a time. As I gradually got into the daily school routine, my fear subsided. Miss Russell wasn’t a mean ogre but only expected order and respect from her class.

     I look back now at my yellowed report card from that year and see that there were 180 days on roll. My absences added up to 22. Those had little to do with my self-induced illness but rather chicken pox, mumps and measles. I smile as I read the positive remarks Miss Russell typed for each of the six grading periods. “Bonnie is attentive and follows directions well. She has so much fun attacking new words phonetically.” (See Dick and Jane run. Run, Dick and Jane!) Or finally, “Bonnie is promoted to second grade. She is well prepared for next year’s work.” She never ever wrote one disparaging remark about my adjustment during those first six weeks. I guess she, too, knew the phase would pass.

Supper Time 'Round the Table at 2873 Hibbard St., Oakton, Virginia

Family dinners are coming back into style.

At least, that's what a recent New York Times/CBS News survey reported. 

~ http://recipestoday.com

     My mother says she’s never been a fancy cook, but rather an adequate cook. As I look back, I recollect that her meals were tasty and scrumptious; she liked to try new recipes she clipped out of the Washington Post or Daily News. She was always budget conscious and tried to prepare hearty, economical meals to nourish her two growing children and her husband that had a physically demanding job as a mechanic. We recently reminisced about supper foods she served the family and here are some of the dishes we recalled: corned beef hash with peas, baked Spam with a brown sugar mustard glaze, hot dogs with sauerkraut and lima beans, spaghetti, fish sticks or the favorite Sunday dinner of roast beef, mashed potatoes, carrots and onions. I loved the crusty end slices. Yum! Since we had our big meal in the middle of the day on Sundays, we just ate a light supper in the evening and without a doubt one of my favorites was Campbell’s tomato soup with a grilled cheese or fried egg sandwich.

     There was always a basket of white loaf bread and margarine (never butter) on the dinner table and frequently a tub of cottage cheese, large curd being my particular favorite. My dad and I were the only fresh tomato or tossed salad eaters in our family of four, so in season Mom usually served us a little side salad of iceberg lettuce, cucumbers and tomatoes topped with French dressing. A variety of fresh, canned or frozen vegetables balanced out a meal and to this day I love kale, Brussels sprouts, cauliflower and beets. Peas and carrots still top my list as all time my favorite veggies.

     I’m not certain when I began trying my hand at cooking, but I remember baking cakes or stirring up a batch of stove-top cookies. Thankfully, Mom let me bustle around the kitchen and I’m sure that gave me a good start to cooking for my own family. One afternoon when I was about ten or eleven years old, it was my chore to start the evening meal. As I unwrapped a brand new stick of margarine to put on the serving dish I accidentally dropped it on the floor. Instead of just picking it up and scraping off the crumbs, I panicked and headed outside to bury it in the dirt by the old aluminum garbage cans in the backyard. I will never know what possessed me to do that, but years later when I confessed the secret dirty deed to Mom, she laughed and laughed and thought that was the silliest thing she ever heard. I’ve decided that one day when I compile a cookbook full of my tried and true recipes, I shall title it, Hey! Don’t Bury the Butter! and dedicate it to little girls everywhere who are just learning to cook and their mothers who are brave enough to let them try.

Skipper

I guess you could call my parents “pet friendly” because during my childhood several cycled through out household. There were the cats named Sambo, Spunky and Callie; a chameleon named Herkimer and a hamster named Sneakers. But the pet that was nearest and dearest to my heart was our dog named Skipper, a daschund-terrier mix. He was big and long with hind legs longer than his front legs which gave him the appearance of always walking downhill. My dad says he got better gas mileage that way, too.

When my brother and I were young Daddy carpooled to work at National Airport with a man by the name of Bill Sterling. He lived in Oakton like we did and was Skipper’s original owner. As the story goes, one day Bill and his family decided to leave Oakton and move to a brand new $25,000 house near Mantua in Fairfax. Along with that decision to move up in the world they also came to the conclusion that it was time for Skipper, a mutt, to also move on. After their move, in fact, the Sterlings purchased a pure-bred daschund.

Skipper needed to find a new home and came to live with our family on Christmas Day 1957 when I was six and my brother not yet four. While we were busily checking out what Santa had delivered, Daddy quietly left the house and went to fetch the dog. When he returned a short while later, he let Skipper enter by the back door off the kitchen. As he ambled through the house on his way to the living room, my brother Steve looked up and asked, “What’s Bill Sterling’s dog doing over here?”

Skipper was black with a few brown markings and to this day I recall him fondly as a good ol’ dog. He lived outside much of the time and had a very cool doghouse with white aluminum siding and shingles to match our house. His little house was very comfy for him and unless the outdoor temperature was extremely hot or cold, he slept in it. He would run away if he escaped the fenced backyard and on a couple of occasions he trotted back to the Sterling’s old house about a mile away. Although generally mild mannered he absolutely did NOT like cats that teased him outside the fence. When the milkman made a delivery Skipper barked like he was going to tear him up. Little children were in danger of a nip if they grabbed him around the neck and Willie Lent, the local paperboy, even lost a little bit of skin off his finger when he opened the storm door to deliver the newspaper one evening.

Skipper was prone to sniffing the air and baying at the moon some nights. My mother attributes this to his raging doggie hormones, for he never was neutered. He would not play ball or fetch but we often observed him all alone, tossing a stick up into the air and catching it. He ran around the yard so much that he wore away the grass, making dirt paths along the fence and from the backdoor to the doghouse. His absolute favorite treat was a graham cracker and would sit upon his hind legs to beg for one. The slightest rattle of the aluminum cookie jar would rouse him from a deep sleep and send him flying to the kitchen hoping for a treat.

Back in the 1950’s and ‘60’s it was the custom to buy kids baby chicks for Easter. One time we had gotten a couple of purple chicks from the Peter Pan Variety Store in Vienna that we kept in a box in the basement. Skipper could hear their peeps and for long stretches of time would sit staring at a crack in the floor, drooling and listening, hoping for a tasty chicky morsel.

One summer Steve and I entered Skipper in a local dog show for kids sponsored by Kennel Ration Dog Food. The afternoon event was held in the Giant Food Store parking lot in Vienna. Beforehand we bathed and brushed Skipper up on the backyard picnic table. He wasn’t trained in any way at all, but when it came time to be judged he stood perfectly still, pointed his tail and looked straight ahead as if he were a grand champion. To our surprise he won a ribbon for Best Cared For Dog by a Boy which was, in fact, Skipper’s solitary achievement.

At the age of sixteen Skipper developed a tumor in his throat that wrapped itself around his doggie vocal chords. During an operation the vet could only remove a portion of the growth and in time the remaining part led to an infection in his brain. My mother was the unfortunate one who witnessed his last breath in this world. My dad wrapped him in an old plastic shower curtain and buried him in a grave under our neighbor’s tree which bordered Flint Hill Cemetery. It was indeed sad to loose a good friend who loved unconditionally.

Perhaps having a dog for those ten years of my formative life turned me into the dog friendly person I am today. When my own children were very young and we lived in our townhouse on Ellenwood Drive in Fairfax, we surprised them with their very own Bob Barker, a feisty four month old Cairn terrier who truly lived up to her name.

My Birth

My parents, George and Vilma Hanes, were married on September 29, 1950 at Kendall Baptist Church in Washington, D.C. They honeymooned in Niagara Falls, NY then settled into their daily lives while living in a one bedroom, one bath apartment in Walter Reed Gardens in Arlington, VA. She would turn 20 on October 17th and he had just celebrated his 28th birthday on September 25th.

While my dad worked as a mechanic for Capital Airlines at National Airport, my mother worked as a clerk-typist in the False and Misleading Advertising Division of the Federal Trade Commission. (For example, Scott bathroom tissue advertised 1,000 sheets on every roll. Somebody with a lot of time on their hands counted and submitted a complaint that there were only 985! Her duty was to channel this written complaint to the proper attorney.) Her plan was to work a couple of years and then start having babies. As luck would have it (or, as I like to think, the Lord willed it!), by the end of that first October she realized she was in the family way. “No, no! This can’t be! It’s not supposed to happen like this!” was her cry. Yes, I was on the way and due to arrive on or about July 5, 1951.

Maternity fashions were quite blousy back in the 1950’s. Maybe you can recall an old I Love Lucy TV show and the pretty smocks Lucy wore while pregnant with Little Ricky. Bows, collars, polka dots or box pleats accented the tops which were usually worn with skirts that had an expandable waist. Ladies hardly ever wore slacks back then-- maybe dungarees around the house--but not out in public.

My mother’s obstetrician was Dr. J. Earl Kaden who practiced in Washington, DC. Women who suspected they were pregnant were advised not to even see a doctor until they had missed three monthly cycles. My due date was determined by the first time my mother felt movement plus five months. How scientific!

On Monday, June 19th, my mother went for her regular doctor’s appointment and was told that her baby was still high and probably wouldn’t arrive that week. Of course, on Tuesday her water broke and began a slight trickle. Her immediate thought was, “No! Not yet! I have to wait until June 29th for our 9 month anniversary!” Dr. Kaden was called but he said to wait until she had pains before leaving for the hospital. With that advice, she packed her suitcase with clean gowns and undies and went on to bed.

About 1 a.m. on the 20th she felt some discomfort and a few little pains. Within the hour the doctor was called again and he instructed her to go to the hospital. Out the door they went, off to Columbia Hospital in DC. By the time my parents arrived, her pains had stopped, but since her water had broken she was admitted, and my dad was sent home to wait. Around 6 a.m. her labor had not progressed so she was taken to the maternity ward and put to bed. Her orders were to stay off her feet and get up only to use the bathroom.

Well, she lay there all day, bored, lonely, with only a little sip of water now and then. No food was allowed because she would eventually be given anesthetic to be totally “knocked out” for the delivery. As night began to fall, lower back labor began in earnest, for she can recall how she felt like she was bending backward. She says she gripped the bed covers so fiercely that the nurse had to pry her fingers off the sheets. Even when the nurse checked her progress she told my mother she needed to hurt worse! At some point, she was wheeled to the labor room where the doctor checked her and ordered a shot in the hip of some mysterious medication. She remembered nothing, even the delivery, until she woke up back in her bed in the ward the next morning. In the meantime, my dad, still anxiously waiting at home, had received a call to inform him of my birth but was told not to return to the hospital until the next morning. He must have needed his rest after waiting all that time!

The doctor came to my mother’s bedside on his morning rounds and she anxiously inquired about her new baby. He said that yes, indeed, she had given birth to a beautiful baby girl at 11:25 p.m., weighing in at 7 lb. 1 oz., 20” long, and born breech.

“Breech? What? Did you know my baby was coming breech?” she asked. “Yes, I knew,” (and certainly at this point he patted her hand in a fatherly fashion) “but I didn’t want you to worry [dear].”

Post partum recovery in the early 1950’s consisted of a lengthy hospital stay. Mom remained in bed, day and night, for three days, having to use a bedpan for bathroom necessities; on day four she was permitted to dangle her feet off the side of the bed; on day five she could walk to the bathroom; on day six she went home. Her instructions were to rest for two weeks and do as little as possible except care for her baby--and no stairs and no lifting!

I was given the name Bonnie Lee for no particular reason other than the fact that my mother liked it and didn’t want me named after any relatives. After the fact, though, it was discovered that I shared my middle name with a great grandmother on my father’s side of the family, Virginia Lee Darne(s). I was the first and only granddaughter on that same side of the family and the third grandchild on my mother’s side. My mother became a stay at home mother which is something I have always appreciated and strived for myself when I became a mother.

I was bottle fed on a formula made, in large part, with Carnation canned milk plus some powdered nutritional additive. When the Jewel Tea salesman came knocking at the front door, my mother purchased a six-glass bottle sterilizer. (To this day my mother uses that big aluminum pot to make soup.) All diapers were cloth and secured with safety pins, with plastic pants or diaper covers on top.

Mom brushed my hair into a little curly top-knot. I laughed out loud at two months, cut my first tooth at five months, and walked alone on my first birthday. It’s a wonder I lived through measles, mumps and chicken pox considering all the aspirin and penicillin injections I was given. My pediatrician, Dr. John Sherburn, had a basement office in his home on Hillwood Ave. in Falls Church VA and even made house calls.

I was the sole object of my parent’s attention until my brother Steve was born two years and nine months later. His birth is another story as he began his venture into this world, feet first, in the living room, at home. . .