Won’t Let the Parade Pass Me By

Posted on May 14, 2012 by jphilo

NPR ran a story about an intriguing concept this morning. The host interviewed Taylor Jones, a 22-year-old who created the website www.dearphotograph.com. Here’s what Jones, in an article at www.npr.org says about how the website came about:

He came up with the idea last year while sitting at his parents’ kitchen table. While flipping though a family photo album, he stumbled across a picture of his younger brother, Landon. “It was his third birthday,” Jones says. “He had a Winnie the Pooh cake, and I was sitting in the same spot my mom was when she took the original photo.” Landon was also sitting in his same birthday seat. So, Jones held up the old picture — taking care to line up kitchen cupboards just so — and snapped a photo. He posted it on his blog, and the rest, he says, is history.

People can go to the website and submit their own photographs, all of which must begin with the words Dear Photograph.

Like I said, an intriguing concept. So intriguing, I started thinking about what picture I would like to rephotograph in the same setting as it was originally taken.

One from our South Dakota days? Too far away.
A wedding shot? Too unoriginal.
A Kodak Instamatic shot of the Badlands from the famous camping trip with my uncle and aunt? Not sure where that one is.
Something from my teaching days? No, they tore the school down.

Undecided, I opened iPhoto, and there was the scan of a newspaper clipping we found when cleaning out Mom’s house 3 years ago. The clipping records one of my earliest clear memories – the day my aunt took her two daughters, my brother, and me (I’m the one closest to the camera) to watch a parade in our home town. I don’t remember the parade as much as the newspaper photographer who shot the picture. I do remember how safe I felt with my aunt, how much help she said I was, what a big girl I’d become. Heady stuff for a middle child whose major talent at the time was tripping over her own feet.

The caption says 8,000 spectators watched the American Legion Parade that day in 1961. It also lists our names, ages, and the address of the corner where Aunt Donna found a quiet, shady spot (Central Avenue and Fourth Street SE) so we could watch the National Guard trucks rumble past.

Mom and I are going to visit Aunt Donna in a couple weeks. Maybe I’ll take the original clipping along, find that street corner, line up the clipping with the present day location, snap a picture, and submit it to www.dearphotograph.com. I know what to write beneath my submission.

Dear Photograph,

Fifty years has taught me it’s more fun to join the parade of life than to sit and watch it go by.

Jolene

The Fairy Ring

Posted on April 9, 2012 by jphilo

Lilacs 300x200 The Fairy Ring

The lilacs are blooming,
Blossoms purple against deep green leaves.
Their scent rises in greeting this morning
As I walk down the lane.

I welcome these old friends,
Who visit briefly each spring,
Then wave good-bye in the wind,
With never a backward glance at the branches that bore them.

My daughter loved their circle of branches,
A fairy ring just big enough
For one small girl and her dolls
To hold a tea party on summer afternoons.

I look for my sweet, shy daughter
And the circle of branches
In the lilacs,
But both are gone.

The fairy ring is overgrown,
Filled with tender, new lilac shoots.
My daughter is grown,
Filled with tender love for her new husband.

Still, the lilacs blossoms
Return each spring.
My daughter and her husband
Return when they can.

When they turn into our lane,
The lonely branches wave
To greet the shy, sweet girl
Who once nestled in the safety
Of a fairy ring.

Where Were You When John Glenn Orbited the Earth?

Posted on February 17, 2012 by jphilo

g6 300x226 Where Were You When John Glenn Orbited the Earth?

February 20, 2012 – this coming Monday – is President’s Day. It is also the 50th anniversary of John Glenn’s space orbit of earth. For those of us who were alive on that momentous occasion the question is this: Where were you when John Glenn orbited the globe? Do you need a minute to think about it? Well, while you do, I’ll report on my February 20, 1962 whereabouts.

I was in kindergarten. I looked kinda like the girl on the left in this picture.
Except wearing winter school clothes, not a summer play outfit.

And I wasn’t standing outside with my great uncle Phil and my sister. I was sitting cross-legged (or as our teachers said back then “Indian style”) on the gym floor at Franklin School.

But I wasn’t the only one sitting cross-legged on the floor while my feet fell asleep. About 60 other kindergartners and two frazzled teachers (though they sat in folding chairs when they weren’t scolding kids who couldn’t keep their hands and feet to themselves) were sitting with me. We kindergartners stared at an itty, bitty TV on the stage at one end of the gym and tried really hard to keep our hands and feet to ourselves and use inside voices. But, we were pretty pumped about watching TV at school, especially after one of the kids said the teachers were gonna let us watch cartoons. Which I found hard to believe because my mom was a teacher, and she never allowed us to watch cartoons at home.

Still, we were hopeful.

Until one of the frazzled teachers made an announcement. “Boys and girls,” she said, “today the astronaut John Glenn is orbiting the earth.” Then, she used a globe and an orange to demonstrate the word orbit. Once that was done, she continued, “Now, we will watch the historic event.” At which point she turned on the television and we all strained to see the orange in space.

Except there wasn’t one.

All we could see was a fuzzy gray and a grayish-white blob moving across the screen. At least we could sort of see the blob. If the teacher pointed at it with her finger. It was pretty boring. So we all started not keeping our hands and fingers to ourselves and not using inside voices until the teachers gave up and turned off the TV. No doubt, they thought their attempt at imprinting a moment of history in the minds of their students was a bust.

But it wasn’t.

My memories of kindergarten are few. Some vague vignettes of trying to lie still during nap time and being a failure at coloring between the lines. Except for February 20, 1962 when John Glenn orbited the earth. That day, I remember clearly.

I remember watching our teacher point his spaceship’s progress through space.
I can still feel my feet falling asleep.
I can picture the wonder on my teacher’s face.
I can hear the excitement in the television announcer’s voice.

Thanks to 2 frazzled teachers, I remember much about the day John Glenn orbited earth fifty years ago on February 20, 1962. How about you? What do you remember? Leave a comment to share your memory of that day.

Not Just Old. But Ancient.

Posted on January 27, 2012 by jphilo

gs 100th mark2 Not Just Old. But Ancient.

Yesterday morning, my first thought was not, “Today, I’m gonna feel old.” But thanks to the Girl Scouts – yes, those cute little cookie peddlers who sell sugar highs in a box – for the first time ever, I am feeling a wee bit ancient.

Not just old. Ancient.

The realization was gradual, increasing the longer I listened to Talk of Iowa on the radio. The topic was the 100th Anniversary of Girl Scouts, and the host interviewed some Girl Scout leaders and a couple honest-to-goodness present day Girl Scouts. The girls were about the same age I was during my short career as cookie salesgirl and sash wearer.

And they made me feel not just old. But ancient.

It wasn’t their fault. But, while they talked, I thought about how 1912 was a century ago for the little girls. Just like 1865 was a hundred years ago when I attended Girl Scout meetings after school in 1965. So if and when they watch a show like Downton Abbey, the events portrayed there are as long ago and far away to them as the events chronicled in Gone With the Wind were to me.

And that’s when I started feeling not just old. But ancient.

Not because the Civil War seemed like a long time ago when I was a Girl Scout. And not because 1912 is a long time ago to the girls in the radio interview. And not because 1912 didn’t seem like such a long time ago in my GS days. But because the Civil War probably didn’t seem like such a long time ago to fifty-five-year-old adults in my GS days, but I thought those people were old.

But they didn’t seem just old. They seemed ancient.

Which is how today’s Girl Scouts view everybody old enough to tuck an AARP membership card next to the packet of Metamucil in their wallets, old enough to wear sensible shoes, sport age spots, and wear pants with elastic waistbands.

They view us as not just old. But ancient.

Oh my, the depression is coming on thick and fast. I think there’s only one way to fight this thing. I’m gonna find a Girl Scout, buy a box of Thin Mints, and snarf down the whole box. After all, my mom says old people like me have earned the right to eat whatever they want. And she ought to know.

‘Cause she’s not just old. She’s ancient.

Look Good! Feel Great!

Posted on January 17, 2012 by jphilo

505032 Look Good! Feel Great!

In the mid-1960s, my mom enlisted Debbie Drake, the female counterpart to Jack Lalanne, to make me fit and trim. I was on the chubby side back then, sedentary and clumsy. More inclined to grab a glass of milk and a handful of cookies before curling up with a Little House book than going for a bike ride in the fresh air.

Mom must have been really concerned about her couch potato middle child. Why else did this woman, who never bought anything without much deliberation and angst, purchase a non-necessary item at full price? Especially something as frivolous as a record album.

923567 vinyl record Look Good! Feel Great!

For those of you too young to know, record albums look like this.

641354 record player Look Good! Feel Great!

And the records spun on machines like these to make the music play.

But she bought Feel Good! Look Great! Exercise Along with Debbie Drake, brought it home, and sat down to plan my daily exercise regiment. At first I was pretty gun-ho. Debbie Drake’s leotard with it’s crisp, white collar was a little dated. But it was pink. And secretly, I loved pink. And the title’s liberal use of exclamation points matched the exclamatory level of pre-teen girls everywhere!

Even though our English teachers said to use them sparingly or not at all!
Debbie Drake’s title was proof that the times, they were a-changing!
Unfortunately, the title was a lie!
The exercise routine Mom created, ala Debbie Drake, did not feel good!
Nor did it make me look great!
It just made me sore!
And the music!
Well, let’s just say the tunes Noel Regney and his sappy orchestra played to accompany the stretches and knee bends, and contortions were embarrassingly out of date!
At least for preteen girls in love with pink leotards and exclamation points!

I think I made it through all the exercises once. Then I buried the album at the bottom of a dresser drawer and forgot about Debbie Drake. Until a month or two ago when my knee started hurting and I went for physical therapy.

The therapist was named Katie, not Debbie.
She wore street clothes, not a pink leotard with a crisp, white collar.
No orchestra played sappy background music.
Exclamation points were not lurking in corners or lying on treadmills.

Still, I suspect Katie is a Debbie-Drake-and-my-mother throwback. Why? Because she planned an exercise regime to strengthen my glutes to correct my stride so my knee will feel better. But so far, all it’s done is make me ache in places I didn’t know had muscles. It has not made me feel great or look good.

So much for making me feel great Debbie, Mom, and Katie!
You should be glad I gave up on looking good ages ago!
Though if I had a pink leotard with a crisp, white collar, you could talk me into trying again!

The Lost Art of Caroling

Posted on December 19, 2011 by jphilo

657688 carolers1 The Lost Art of Caroling

The editor of the Boone News-Republican, our local newspaper, wrote an article about our church youth group’s annual caroling party. According to the reporter, the practice of caroling is dwindling away.

If that is true, I mourn the loss because I know how much it meant to Dad. Once he was confined to a wheelchair, he didn’t get out much in winter. While Mom was teaching and we kids were at school, he sat alone in our house, a prisoner to the snow and cold that made navigating his wheelchair outdoors almost impossible. When we came home each afternoon, Dad’s smile couldn’t quite cover the loneliness that made his shoulders slump and his forehead wrinkle.

But in the weeks leading up to Christmas, when we heard car doors slam in the driveway, the thump of boots on the sidewalk, and the doorbell ring, he was a different man. My cold-hating father threw open the front door, parked his wheelchair smack dab in the vortex of the frigid air, and pleasure warmed his body as he listened to the carolers.

That joy is what our youth pastor, Joel Waltz, tried to communicate to his charges before they started caroling last Wednesday night. “It may not seem like a big deal to you, it may seem like fun, but to someone at that doorstep or to someone at the hospital…or homes…it means a big deal to them,” he said. (To read the whole article and hear the kids sing some carols, go to www.newsrepublican.com.)

I think of Dad, shivering in the cold, grinning from ear to ear, waving to friends and strangers alike, thanking them for coming, wishing them a Merry Christmas as the Boy Scouts, the Girl Scouts, 4-Hers, high school activity clubs, youth groups, and Sunday school classes went back to their cars. If our youth group kids could have seen the sadness leave his shoulders, could have watched the wrinkles leave his forehead as the last strains of We Wish You a Merry Christmas died away, they would know Joel’s words are true. Caroling on someone’s doorstep or in a hospital is a big deal.

May it never be a lost art.

What’s Your Favorite Color?

Posted on November 26, 2011 by jphilo

If you read yesterday’s post which listed three Thanksgiving faves, you might be assuming today’s entry continues the holiday weekend favorites theme. In which case, the color of choice would be black because of Black Friday.

A logical thought, but not quite where this post is going.

This post is going for a memory triggered by this morning’s sunrise. Or more specifically, by my sister’s comment about the lovely Minnesota sunrise visible from their four season porch. “Look,” she said, “it’s sky blue pink with a heavenly border.”

Something stirred deep inside, and I asked, “What did you say?”

“Sky blue pink with a heavenly border. That’s what Dad always said when we asked him to name his favorite color.”

Suddenly, Dad was with us, two little girls hanging on the arms of his wheelchair. Two little girls asking, “What’s your favorite color?’

“Mine’s blue,” my big sister said.

“Mine’s pink,” I added.

“And mine,” Dad winked and grinned, “is a little bit of both. Sky blue pink with a heavenly border.”

The true meaning of his words went over my head and into my heart where it lay dormant for decades. Until this morning, when my sister commented on the sunrise, and I understood that Dad – a man normally more attuned to humor and practicality than to poetic and artistic thought – loved the beauty of sunrise.

From now on – whether my morning walk proceeds under gloomy, grey skies or those streaked blue and pink and orange by the rising sun – if you inquire about my favorite color, the answer will always be the same.

“Sky blue pink with a heavenly border.”

Thank you, Dad, for loving beauty more than you let on.

A Fate Worse than Death

Posted on October 31, 2011 by jphilo

If you watched Bonanza on Sunday evenings in the 1960s, you know this grizzly truth: women who caught the eye of one Pa, Adam, Hoss, or Little Joe suffered a fate worse than death. Not because those hardy Cartwright men were serial killers or members of a weird cult.

Television of that sort wasn’t allowed in the 1960s.

Every one of the little fillies (that’s what Hoss called the girls at Ponderosa hoe downs and barn dances) never lasted long. They either suffered a variety of maladies, like blindness or rabies, that felled them in a show or two. Or they stuck around for three shows, just long enough to reveal a major character flaw.

And break the heart of one of them strappin’ Cartwright fellas.

Well, last night PBS spilled the beans during the TV Westerns installment of their Pioneers in Television series. Apparently, one of the creators of the show, David Dortort, nixed the idea of marrying off the Cartwright men. He didn’t want to make them appear weak or beholden to women.

I guess we know who had issues with his mother, don’t we?

But – and this is purely conjecture on my part, not something stated during the documentary – Mr. Dortort thought it was perfectly okay for the Cartwright men to be beholden to Hop Sing. You remember him? The tiny Chinese cook who ran into the dining room brandishing an enormous butcher knife with frightening regularity.

Hop Sing aside, last night’s documentary finally laid to rest one of the last, unanswered questions from my childhood. Now I understand why Hollywood starlets didn’t hang their hopes on being cast as a Cartwright love interest. And I understand why my cousins and I argued continually about who got to be Little Joe when we played Bonanza together. In the absence of female roles to claim, Michael Landon was the prettiest person on the Ponderosa. So how did they always talk me into being Hoss?

I think I figured it was better than being Hop Sing.

The Equinox – Recycled

Posted on September 27, 2011 by jphilo

The autumnal equinox is a few days past. Which means this recycled post is slightly belated. But when you read this post from September 21 of 2008, perhaps your will agree with my opinion that it’s a perfect antidote to the winter-comes-after-fall blues that strike this time of year. And if anyone knows where Ruth Monroe now lives, please leave a comment. I’d love to catch up with her!

The Equinox – Recycled

The radio announcer said today is the equinox. While he explained the day’s significance, I thought of my college theater professor, Dr. Ruth Monroe. She directed a story theater show when I was a freshman. She chose one of Rudyard Kipling’s Just So tales, maybe “How the Elephant Got It’s Trunk” for us to turn into a children’s scene. For over thirty years, I’ve been able to remember only one sentence fragment from the story: One fine morning in the middle of the procession of the equinox.

Least you think I’m a total kook, I can remember the fragment because Doc Monroe jazzed it up into a chant that opened the show. We started out with:

One fine morning in the middle of the procession of the equinox,
I say the equinox,
I say the equi-equi-equi-equi-equinox…

and went on from there to I don’t remember what, except that it was pretty cute and kids laughed a lot.

But every September and March, when the equinox rolls around, I do remember what a wonderful teacher and director Doctor Monroe was. I remember Thoren Hall, now torn down, where we rehearsed. I remember Alpha Psi Omega initiations at midnight on the stage and cast parties at her house after shows and trips to Minneapolis to visit the Guthrie.

I don’t know where Doctor Monroe lives. I don’t know if she’s still alive. But each fall, when the sumac turns and each spring when the crocuses bloom, suddenly she snaps her fingers and jives to the beat. So I join her in the chant:

One fine morning in the middle of the procession of the equinox,
I say the equinox,
I say the equi-equi-equi-equi-equinox…

…as I prance down the road.
Out of breath and still dancing, we laugh.

Gut Reaction – Recycled

Posted on August 24, 2011 by jphilo

The kids around here went back to school on Monday. The teachers officially started work the middle of last week, but most of them have been preparing their rooms and doing some work from home since August began. Last year, I wrote this post about my annual August gut reaction. This summer, the yearly tummy twist has me thinking about how to encourage the teachers in our town. They are ever and always my heroes!

Gut Reaction – Recycled

Ever since 1961, when I set foot in Franklin School as a kindergarten, the same its-almost-time-for-school-to-start-pit-in-the-stomach-reaction occurs at summer’s end.

It doesn’t matter that I graduated from high school in 1974 and college in 1978. It doesn’t matter that I’ve been out of teaching since 2003. It doesn’t matter that my kids’ public school days are a thing of the past. One rustle of the calendar page turning from July to August, one glance at the back-to-school ads in the paper, and my stomach ties up in knots. I can take deep cleansing breathes, engage in positive self-talk, and count my blessings until the cows come home, and my gut still feels queasy.

I tell myself it’s a conditioned response. You know, my personal version of Pavlov’s dogs. Only instead of salivating at the thought of food, my intestines go all grumbly at the thought of entering a classroom. Why is that? I loved reading and learning as a kid. As an adult, I loved teaching and developing relationships with students.

I attribute my annual August gut reaction to one thing. Teaching is hard work physically, emotionally, and mentally. It’s harder than any job I ever did. Detassling corn, working in the Hy-Vee Deli, washing dishes and cooking at a nursing home, being a nurse’s aid at the same home. All of those were child’s play compared to teaching. The same can be said of my present career which involves writing books and speaking to large groups of people.

Here’s why. Every day teachers must be organizational whizzes, entertainers, mind readers, communicators, multi-taskers, disciplinarians, record keepers, clock-watchers, counselors, comforters, problem-solvers, and tough guys in the classroom. But that’s only half the job. The other half involves trying to keep up with the legislative requirements that change and grow more demanding every year.

So say a prayer for teachers this month. Then put your prayers into action by doing something special to. Bake cookies. Send an encouraging email or card. Take them supper. Mow their lawn. Pick a bouquet of flowers. Say thank you.

This August, do something to untwist their tummies.
They’ll be glad you did.

Down the Gravel Road www.jolenephilo.com

Category Archives: Reflections on the Past