On a daily basis, days of past that seemed so challenging yet inevitable flow into my thoughts and ideas for writing. I often get asked, “How can you remember so much? Did this really happen?  I wish I had your memory.” Well, my kind and engaged readers, I firmly believe this memory and writing is a gift of living for me. Because of these experiences, my life is rich, doable, and yes, comical. Enjoy yet another titter of challenge and traversing my crazy path called forward.

It was late spring of 1972. Love was in the air as this college sophomore had fallen deeply in like with a most handsome chap readying for a degree in education. Soon to graduate and secure a teaching position, Brian began the application and interview frenzy. Being a most supportive friend, I too, shared in his excitement. 

Initial interviews held on campus seemed promising. Greenville, Fruitport, Midland, and Davison just to name a few. Being a male with stellar experiences, Brian appeared a solid prospect for an upper elementary position. It wasn’t long before he secured a second interview with Davison Schools. Openings in fifth and sixth grade were available. Pressed suit and tie, resume in hand, and a Michigan map further prepared Brian for his most promising opportunity. 

Between the two of us, I had the only running vehicle, a 1962 cherry red, Chevrolet Corvair. Complete with bucket seats and a “four on the floor” (stick shift) we took to the road with giddy anxiousness. A tank full of gas and $20, secured our unknown fears. Regardless of its many imperfections, this treasured auto became our ride into a promising future. 

Ahhhhh, the spring air was fresh with new life and color as we headed to a most unfamiliar city. Easily navigating the highways and small towns, we approached Davison with anxious confidence. We rehearsed numerous scenarios for Brian’s interview.  Arriving 30 minutes early, we quickly we hugged for the final sendoff. I would remain in the car with study materials at hand. 

Entering the administration offices was comfortable and easy. Genuine handshakes were exchanged and positive results ensued. Ready or not, Brian’s secured future had begun. Navigating questions regarding curriculum, discipline, and the like, Brian was offered a fifth grade position in one of eight elementary schools. Broad smiles exited the administration office as Brian and the assistant superintendent made way to visit his new found assignment. 

I was immediately introduced as we readied ourselves for Wolcott Elementary. Easy street was in our midst. A brief struggle met up with the key as I turned on the Corvair. Hmmm, must be some water in the gas line as it rolled over and over before making a connected start. A little blue exhaust, a few nervous giggles, and we were ready to follow Mr. Greene to Wolcott.

The school was about five miles from the city. The fresh air beckoned us once again as we traveled Davison’s countryside. Nearing the school, we made a stop at a crossroad. Mr. Greene continued the necessary left turn. The cherry red gem had stalled. A quick restart would keep us within eye distance of Mr. Greene. The Corvair would not budge.

What seemed like forever, but likely less than five minutes, Mr. Greene returned to find us. 

“Ah, a little hiccup here? What seems to be the problem, folks?” Mr. Greene was most gentle.

Brian had little to add as I popped out, “Oh I think we have some bad gas in here. All my car needs is a little push start. Then I can just pop the clutch….. If you could……..” What had I done?  Yammer and giggle, I must have let Lucy out of the bag. So much for Brian’s solid interview and job offer!

To my surprise, Mr. Greene let out a most welcome laugh. “Well, certainly that can be done! I must say, this is the most unusual interview followup I have ever witnessed! Thanks for the chuckle, now let’s get you two kids on your way.” With a push, a pop of the clutch, Lil Red was on her way.

Needless to say, this interview was the stepping stone to Brian’s rewarding career as a teacher of young minds. Upon my graduation two years later, we married and made our home and family a solid part of the Davison community. My treasured Corvair, however, endured a most shortened life. This jewel was a sweet ride, however, replacement parts were non-existent, 13-inch tires a rarity, and general maintenance became a house payment. Sweet dreams my cherry red. May you find happiness in Chevrolet Heaven! 

Lessons Learned:

Life is much easier with a sense of humor. This tale of my cherry red could well have resulted in a personal failure of epic proportions. However, a quick wit proved enough for a most successful outcome. Bless you Brian, Mr. Green, and Davison Schools!

The road to success is not easy to navigate but with hard work, anything is possible. As a married couple, teaching was a long and rewarding profession. Many joyful experiences followed the long nights of lesson planning and desires to meet student needs for personal success. 

Thanks for reading!

I do not recall any lazy days of summer on the farm.  Always busy-ness with a little adventurous fun sprinkled in. Pick any late July to mid-August day from the 1960’s.  Likely a hot and most humid one. Without pause, Momma’s poppin yet another, all inclusive plan for her kiddles. Imagine and join me if you will. 

Just as we wrapped up morning chores and breakfast, Momma kindly ordered us to find any long sleeved, leg-covered clothing that was available. No worry for appropriateness in size, color, or style.  Fashion on this day had no requirements. Yes, our time had arrived. Blackberry picking! We envisioned berries bigger than our thumbs, homemade ice cream, pies, and jam! Momma likely imagined free labor, desserts, and fruit for winter.

We all knew the drill. No warning, no choices. Get dressed and ready to go.  “Claudia, get the small water pails from the barn. Francie, your job is to get an armful of baling twines from the grainery. And Frankie, you take the twins, these four empty coffee cans, and make ‘em into pails for the young ones.” As usual, Coach Momma in unquestionable control of her team. 

Donned with flannel shirts and jeans of any sort we secured our ankles with baling twine. “Best way to keep out the bees and skeeters”, Momma cautioned. 

With a bucket tied to our waists, we quickly took our places on the tailgate of the ‘54 Chevy truck. A turn of the key as Momma had us headed for the woods. Her dutiful brood making the best of teamwork, and that was that!

Likely it was no later than 9:00 a.m. on this sultry day.  Slowly we creeped the two-track path to a sea of black shine. Berries blinked and glistened from the morning dew. Likely the size of our thumbs, our wide eyes envisioned buckets and buckets of sweet delights. 

Parking the truck, Momma mosied out and directed her troop to all directions. “Pick as fast as you can and don’t pick any that are red or green, they are not ripe. If they fall off easily, they’re the best ones.  And don’t be eating any. If you eat one, you won’t stop and your bucket will never get full. Let’s see who can pick the most.” 

In the silence of this bright, warming day one could hear several plunk, plunk, plunks, as luscious berries made their way into our buckets. We would pick, pick, pick until our containers were filled or if 12 noon had arrived. Momma was in control of the watch as her eyes kept tidy track of her wandering chicks. 

“MOMMA!!! COME HELP ME! M-O-M-AAAAA!” Sister Ang was in agony. Screaming and running, something was amiss. 

As so often the case, when one toiled to task, we all toiled. When one voiced danger, we all responded with wide eyes and affection. Moaning Ang had made her way to the truck’s tailgate. Seven sweaty sibs surrounded her as Momma arrived with her calm, composed self. “So Ang, what’s up? Breathe deep, you’re going to be fine.”

Tears flowed freely as Ang anxiously ripped off her shoes and socks. Breathless, she began to explain. “I stepped on a big bee’s nest that was under that bush over there! I think I have a hundred bites!” 

YOW! She had bites on her ankles, bites on her hands, and a few dotted her sweaty cheeks. A few lone bees continued to buzz about as we all had the sweet, blackberry juices on our hands and faces. 

“Okay kids, let’s get this show on the road. Load up, it’s time to get Ang fixed up and get these berries home. No swatting these bees, we don’t want to make them mad.” Once again, Momma Hen provided adequate comfort and direction to her chicklets.

We consolidated our pickings, took to the tailgate, and Momma took to the wheel. Ang continued to moan and sob with sibs providing what comfort they could. Within minutes we were back home. 

Ang was provided Momma’s go to for first aid:  cool cloths, one aspirin, and the couch. The rest of us were kept outside to shed our clothes in exchange for a cool rinse off with the water hose. Time slowly crept to the lunch hour. 

In exchange for our labors, we spent the afternoon under the large maple tree churning out homemade blackberry ice cream.  Claudia and I helped Momma prepare as many pies as the berries would supply. Two for dinner, one for the neighbor, and the remaining eight were freezer bound. 

Just a quick note about those pies. As per usual, Momma never had a recipe. I so remember several coffee cup measurements of flour, a hand full of sugar, a few pinches of salt and simple lard.  Presto! Pie crust for at least a dozen as she lined the tins on the table.

She then filled a dishpan with those fresh-picked berries. A few handfuls of flour, and sugar stirred in as she carefully placed the mix in each shell.  My job was to top each with a few butter pats while Claudia had the pleasure of decorating each crust top with artful slits and holes. 

Preheat the oven at 400 degrees, top the pies with cream and a sprinkle of sugar. Lastly, Momma had ripped apart a tattered bed sheet. With small strips of cloth, she saturated them in the cream and carefully wrapped each pie’s outer edge. “To keep in the juices,” she taught us. 

Simple rewards that seemed epic at the time. I’d give anything to return to that pleasurable toil, teamwork and love!

Lessons Learned:

Busy hands are happy hands. Momma always seemed to sense this about her family. Yes, there was always work, however, she never forgot to slip in slices of enjoyment and fun. And oh……. home churned blackberry ice cream was the perfect reward for yet another family task accomplished! 

Thanks for reading!

I am the proud owner and operator of a most coveted role: Gramma. My three lovely cherubs inhabit Philadelphia, Pennsylvania while I tend to daily tasks of my Michigan home. Seldom do I refuse any reason to travel east to love on my bunnies. One trip in 2011, however, continues to be a most memorable one. I firmly believe lucky Lucy was with my soul and spirit on this most unusual adventure.

Daughter Ruthie had called to secure a week’s worth of my love and presence with her family. With no hesitation, my bag was packed as I made the plan to drive solo for this 10 to 12 hour trip. Nothing unusual. Leave by 6:00 a.m. and arrive in Philly by dinner. Love fest, here comes Gamma!

The date was late summer, likely after Labor Day. Weather patterns had begun to inch toward fall with increased rains that stretched from the Midwest to the East coast. Lower temperatures had made their presence as leaves were losing their greens in exchange for the new fashion of reds, browns, and rich golds. With a pleasant respite from the last few days of rain, I took off with sunny skies and a chill in the air. 

By 2:00 p.m., I had been making steady progress. If I continued this smooth sail, ETA in Philly would have Gamma on time for dinner.  Traveling at the base of the scenic Pocono Mountains, traffic began to slow on Interstate 80. Just as I peaked at the top of a large incline all traffic stopped. Before me were hundreds of idled vehicles. Travelers, truckers, busses, and an intense presence of the United States National Guard! Who, What, Where, and Whys popped in my head. 

With no time or opportunity to inquire, I was soldier directed to exit the off ramp. Deeply inhaling, I simply followed the car ahead of me. A dead cell phone became useless as I parked in a yellowed bed of grass and expired flowers. 

Inching cautiously out of the car, I greeted my new comrades,  Mr. and Mrs. 40-something Newlywed. “Ah, Hello. It looks like we might be here a while. Any idea what might be going on?” 

Mrs. smiled and quipped, “Um, we’re on our way home to New York City. We’ve been on our honeymoon.” Her face softly reddened as she demurely smiled.

Hubby ended his call and added,  “They say the Susquehanna River is ready to peak later tonight and right now it’s three feet above flood stage. There’s nowhere to go but sit here and wait it out. I’ve got a hotel reservation up the road a few miles.  If you want the last room, follow us.” Without hesitation, I tailed the Big Apple loves to peaceful chaos. 

The 30 minute trip into Perkinstown was uneventful. The Susquehanna River was overflowing as it moved ever so swiftly through this small burg.  Large branches, and oddities made the trek southward as a few hundred locals gathered to witness this newsworthy event. Anxiously, we secured a place of rest at the only hotel in town,  Perkins Inn.

Owned and operated by the same family for over 150 years, I felt a sense of comfort. Bucky and Sylvia greeted us with open arms. Upon securing our rooms, Mr. and Mrs. Love and I made a date for dinner. Charge my phone, call the kiddos with my change of plans, and ready myself for a night of relaxation. 

As the elevator creaked and crawled upward, I could only appreciate my newfound friends. The key slid into place as I opened my safe haven for the night. What a most glorious surprise. The last room for me was the Honeymoon Suite! Sweet was what it so attempted.

Luxurious but well-worn red, black, and silver laced shag carpet welcomed me. Oh my! To my right was an area walled out and fashioned with French doors. Mirrors appeared everywhere as a most conspicuous oversized hot tub was waiting with assorted bubble and bath amenities. Completing the final touch for this nest of love was the universal wall hanging of velvet.  Ah yes, the bloodhounds were bellied up to the bar while enjoying drinks and cigars! Ceiling mirrors completed the nest. Love and ingenuity. What a throwback!

A clash of yellow roses and vines intertwined on the brocade spread of my double bed. Above the headboard was a most inappropriate painting, “Washington Crossing the Delaware”! My, my, how could this room invite intimacy? Alas, not to be outdone, I opened the bed to find satin sheets. 

All in all, this adventure to Perkinstown did not disappoint. I enjoyed laughter and love with my cupid couple. Inn owners Bucky and Sylvia were genuine and most gracious. . With a light dinner, comfortable bed, and a safe haven, peaceful chaos did not happen. I was most thankful. 

Phone charged. Calls made. A restful night with Washington and the bloodhounds. Waters receded as we bid goodbyes to this sleepy, vintage town. A few hours delayed,  Philly and family greeted Gamma. And the lovefest began.  

Lessons Learned

Trust, it will all work out.  Strangers in a strange place. If I didn’t want to sleep in my car for the night, I had to secure my trust and faith in others. I did, and it all worked out. Trust.

Misfortunes are adventures in disguise. Holding on to this mantra has contributed to my well-being time and again. Live, love, laugh…..you cannot go wrong!

Thanks for reading!

Okay, I’m coming clean. This game has gone on far too long. Over and over, I cause others to laugh at and with my many foibles. Over and over, I continue to apologize. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls the truth be known. Lucille Ball lives in me! We are one in the same.

Those of you who know me well can attest as Lucy being alive and well in my body, soul, and spirit. Lighthearted, and yes, often simply silly, my gene pool resembles that of Miss Lucy. For the most part I am of her mind and body minus red hair.  Gene pool or otherwise, Lucy-like behaviors have served me well surviving childhood, the workforce, and that as spouse and momma. I share these truths. 

Childhood:  In my mind, this is likely my birth of young Lucy. First grade. Catholic school. Recess. Picture old wooden desks that attached to one another in a row. Folding seats and inkwells. We had a few on the playground for whatever reason. 

The whistle had been blown by Sister Adolpha and it was time to return to class. All kidlets ran to the door and entered the classroom in silent order.  I was not in that angelic line. Sister A. called for me in the hallway. Nada. She searched the bathroom. Nope. 

In a rather stern mood, she returned to the playground to find me alone and crying. I was seated in one of the desks and could not get out. The seat had folded as skinny, curly haired, bug eyed me was stuck with feet dangling! As she carefully removed me, Sister A. did not think my predicament was the least bit comical.  I was terrified of punishment and pondered penance for my sins. Today, however, I reminisce and conclude, “Hello world, welcome to the Lucy life!” No harm, no foul.

Employee:  Waitress days were aplenty in my teen and college years. While working in a local family restaurant I was challenged to wait a table of nine family members. As luck would have it, everyone was served correctly and efficiently. Then came dessert. This particular establishment had prided itself in homemade everything sweet. All nine had ordered sundaes, pies, and such. 

Order in. Order out. All in a timely fashion. From the kitchen I came to dish out the luscious homemades. Nine assorted sweets topped with whipped cream, cherries, and the like. Off the shoulder and onto the table, I carefully balanced the tray of yumminess.  Pappa of the family offered to assist in serving his loved ones. 

Just as I began to disregard his offer, he took a serving of coconut cream pie. Crash! The unbalanced tray of remaining desserts tumbled in his lap! Lucy aptly appeared as I quipped, “Wow, now that’s surely a way to get upside down pie!”  

Thankfully, everyone laughed at my waitress blunder. A substantial tip resulted with my Lucy validation! God bless these innocent victims and my Lucy genes!

Spouse:  Yes, I had so lovingly married my “Ricky”. For the most part he was patient, kind, and lighthearted regarding my countless errors in judgement and common sense. However, there were those times and circumstances that tried his will.  As a result, impatience, frustration, and rolled eyes ensued. One such incident involved testing our newly purchased paddle boat on a small lake in the middle of nowhere…..the Upper Peninsula! 

 I am most fearful of swimming and therefore, donned a life jacket for protection. Making our maiden voyage across this pristine lake, the two-person pontoon was a perfect fit. As we headed toward the dock, I agreed to “jump” the boat for the dock with tie down in hand. 

One leg made the dock successfully as the paddle boat moved ever so gently…. Away. Rather than make the leap, I chose to embrace my ability to do the splits! You can well imagine my predicament.

It was quick….. A big plunge below the water followed by a bob to the top. With a repeat performance and intense fear of drowning, I grabbed the dock. Soaked, but saved, I was a mess!  Frightfully laughing, Lucy and Ricky had survived another day! 

Momma:  Daughter Ruthie was bringing home a new friend, Dario, for introductions and such. My ever-so-know-it-all mentality had instructed spouse and young sissy, Eva that we must properly pronounce our guest as , “Dario” and not “Daria”…as that was the correct Spanish version.  NO “A” on the name…. Just an “O”.

Enter, the likeables. Smiling and ready to greet one another,  I eagerly stepped forward with open hand. Innocently, Lucy emerged, “ So nice to meet you, Mario!”  Oh my, what did I say!?

Dario reached out to shake my hand and retorted, “Ah, you so funny. You think I am like Mario Brothers game on internet? You very funny.”

I was appalled at my nervousness and stupidity. Eyes rolled from both daughters. A placid smile secured spouse’s feelings. I was sure Ricky would emerge, “Lucy, you got some ‘splainin to do”, but it didn’t happen. Lucy’s genes had come alive once again.

All in all, if I had to be somebody else, I would choose to be none other than MYSELF!  Silly, self-assured, and loving. Doses of Lucy and a love for life! There you have it! Lucy lives in me! 

Lessons Learned:

Lucille Ball lived a life of laughter and love from her countless fans and family. My thoughts and behaviors so often parallel her life. Here are a few of her favorite quotes that I so believe.

“Love yourself and everything else will fall in place.”

“One of the things I learned the hard way that it doesn’t pay to get discouraged. Keeping busy and making optimism a way of life can restore your faith in yourself.”

“I am not funny. What I am is brave.”

And the best for last………

“The secret to staying young is to live honestly, eat slowly, and lie about your age.”

Thanks for reading!

Summer was always a time of festive family, food, and fun.  It seemed our brood of crazies were entertaining neighbors, friends and hoards of relatives on a daily basis.  With eight kiddos, 160 open acres, animals of many sorts, adventures were left to our imaginations. And that we did. 

One such summer, Hungarian relatives made the trek from South Bend, Indiana to feast and enjoy the fresh air of country living.  Uncle Julius, Aunt Sophie, and their extended family arrived for one such visit. Six wide-eyed souls had come to make lifelong memories. Cleaned,  pressed white shirts, shorts and new oxfords were the fashion statement of cousins Stanley and little Juju. We anxiously greeted them in our bare feet pigtails, and smudgy faces. 

Brother Frankie was always the brave soul.  “Let’s take the cousins out for a while and show them what farm is all about.”  I knew this spelled T-R-O-U-B-L-E as Frankie giggled and nudged me. 

First things first. Uncle Julius wanted to taste the fresh whole milk from the morning’s chores. Momma poured everyone a glass of goodness, cream and all. They gulped and slurped. “Ahhhh, that is the best, Catherine. No wonder your children look so healthy.” smiled Uncle Julius. Belching had now become the norm as they all shared their white moustaches in agreement.

“Can we see the cows, Daddy? Can we?” begged Stanley.

Frankie interrupted, “Just follow us. We’ll take you.”  Rushing and giggling with excitement, we headed for the barnyard.

Taking our spots on the fence rail, we sat and identified all the cattle by name. Juju and Stanley were in awe. “Wow, they all have a name.  Do they have last names too?” inquired Juju. 

“Ah, not so much. We just stick with a first name.” I added.

“So why does that one cow have only one udder?” chirped Stanley. 

Brother Frankie didn’t miss an opportunity for some light humor, “Ah, that’s the cow that gives only chocolate milk. If you don’t believe me, cross the fence and check for yourself.”  Stanley made the jump and proceeded to check the facts.

“HEY, Stanley! Get away from there! That’s a bull, silly! Not a cow! I was just kiddin ya!” yelled Frankie. We all giggled under our breath as Stanley embarrassingly ran back with new shoes laden with mud and assorted barnyard doo.           

Farm kids 1. City dwellers 0.

Before long, we were hiking to the woods. Juju and Stanley were free birds taken by the fresh air and green. As we skipped along, Frankie added his usual nonsense.

“Hey Stanley, see that wire over there? It’s a fence even though it’s just one wire. The animals stay away from it because we have trained them to know what a fence is for.” Frankie, where is this leading?  I wondered.

“Me and my friends pee on the fence! Whoever hits it first wins! Wanna try Stanley?” 

As luck would have it, Stanley, Frankie, and little brother Mike took to the task. Frankie and Mike knew the trick. Pretend to pee, and see that Stanley wins.  Hook, line and sinker, Stanley hit the fence first, and got a jolt that sent him screaming! Electric fences will do that! 

Farm kids 2. City dwellers 0.

One last gullible moment with our Hunkie cousins involved the barn cats. Frankie, ever so informed, told them that when cats jump, no matter how far, will always land on their feet. To prove the point, we retrieved handkerchiefs from Daddy’s drawer, found some string and a few loose bolts.  Fashioning somewhat of a parachute, we stuffed one

of the cats into the contraption.

“Hey, Stanley, wanna drop a cat?  You need to climb the silo and when you get high enough, we’ll give you the cat to drop.” Confident Stanley took to the task. He scaled the outside wall about 20 feet as brother Frankie handed off the readied cat. Passing it to Stanley, the cat quickly jumped and would have nothing of the moment. The parachute had failed to open, Stanley gasped in fright, and the cat took off running. Whether it landed on its feet did not matter. Stanley was shaken as he lowered himself to safety.

Farm kids 3.  City dwellers 0.

Enough excitement for these cousins on the farm. Momma had made a feast for all to enjoy.  Chicken Paprikash, baked rice, fresh green beans, cucumbers with sour cream, homemade bread with butter, and lots of cold whole milk.  Dessert was not amiss as we licked our plates clean of wild blackberry pie and hand churned ice cream. 

Another sun-filled, fun-filled afternoon entertaining guests to our crazy farm living.

Innocent pranks, lots of laughter, loads of love. It’s some of what I remember best.

Lessons learned:

Don’t believe everything you hear.  Frankie was an expert of untruths. He kept everyone on their toes with his antics and innocent fibbing. God love Frankie.

Gullibility comes in all shapes and sizes. Cousins Stanley and Juju loved the farm.  Many summers we became their highlight vacation spot and haven for gullibility. Thanks to the eight crazies, Juju and Stanley have memories too.

Thanks for reading!