Childhood Biking

Watching Little Miss Sunshine wobble down the street on her new pink bike with white training wheels has brought back so many memories of riding bikes as a kid. I will never forget my very first bike. My Grandparents bought me a shiny red Schwinn bike. That bike survived not only me learning to ride, but also my brother and two younger cousins. I loved that bike. Our home at the time had a stone driveway, so I was limited to learning in our pole barn garage. My parents cleared the floor and away I went circling, circling, circling the garage. In just a few days I was bored and asked to have my training wheels taken off. My parents told me it was too soon, but I kept insisting. If I’m remembering things correctly (I’m sure my Mom will tell me if I’m not!) I convinced my Grandpa to take off my training wheels when he came to visit. He took them off and that was it. I was hooked. I zinged around the garage free as a bird.

Later, we moved into a neighborhood and I had quiet streets to ride – with friends!! Our bikes were part of our identity. We could ride around and know who was playing with who based on the bikes parked in the driveway. And then there was the peer pressure to transition to a ten-speed. The ultimate in bikes. You have arrived when you graduate to a ten-speed. One of my neighbors who was a year younger than me got her ten-speed first. She received it as a present for her first communion. I remember being sooo jealous and wishing I was Catholic so I could have a first communion and get a ten-speed. Then another friend, also a year younger than me, got her ten-speed as a first communion present. So unfair!! Somehow, I talked my parents into getting me a ten-speed. After all, I was growing up and my bike was now too small for me. I loved my purple ten-speed and rode and rode and rode around the neighborhood.

In fact, the first time I got pulled over by the police was on a bike. I was trying out my brother’s new bike that he had gotten for his birthday. I was just taking a slow, leisurely ride around the small block and didn’t stop at the stop sign. No one stopped at that stop sign on a bike! There was no traffic in our neighborhood. I had no idea there was a cop car riding quietly behind me. Oops. He gave me a good-natured warning, and somehow I told him it wasn’t even my bike, as if that was a valid excuse.

As I watch Little Miss ride her bike, it brings a pang in my heart. She’s making that transition from toddlerhood to childhood much too quickly.

Filed under Little Miss Sunshine, way back when | Comments (11)

The sweet memory

Thank you to all of our veterans. We owe you all our gratitude and respect for the freedoms we enjoy every day.

I am constantly reminded of the sacrifices made by those who have served our country. My family history is filled with a rich military history. In fact, almost 32 years ago I was born on a military base in Okinawa, Japan where my Dad was serving. I can’t imagine being pregnant and having my first baby so very far away from home, but that is exactly what my parents did. My Dad’s parents made the journey from Ohio to Okinawa for my birth. I knew it was a huge trip for them; if I remember correctly, my Grandma hadn’t traveled much, if at all, outside of Ohio prior to that

Last Sunday when we went to visit Grandma, who is recuperating from a hip replacement in a rehab center, she relayed a touching story. She said during one of their group sessions they were stretching and chatting when the therapist asked everyone in the group to describe their favorite vacation. Some patients recounted a cruise or a trip to the Grand Canyon. Grandma said when it came her turn she got so choked up she could barely tell her story. She said the biggest trip of her life was travelling to Okinawa for the birth of her first grandchild – me. And even as she was telling me about it several days later, she choked up again. Her words couldn’t say what her eyes did. It touched me very deeply to realize that after 80 plus years of living and all the incredible things she has experienced in her life (she and Grandpa later travelled to Hawaii and across Europe), trotting across the globe for my birth was what she recounted as her best trip ever.

Filed under Story Girl, way back when | Comments (6)

Scribbles

One of the benefits of spring cleaning is finding lost treasures. A few weeks ago, while cleaning out my dresser, I uncovered a tattered blue journal held together by crumbling, clear tape. Faded gold lettering on the front cover says, “The Scribble-in Book.”

I sat down on the floor and forgot about the dresser as I opened the front cover to refresh my memory of the book’s lengthy history. In my Grandmother’s handwriting was simply written “Aunt Ida. Received 9-11-88.” Right below Grandma’s writing, I had written “Given to me by Grandma T, Fall of 1995.”

My Great-Great Aunt Ida, the originator of the journal, was one of the godliest women I have ever known. She never married and never drove a car. She graduated from Moody Bible Institute while D.L Moody was President. She taught Sunday School for as long as she was able and was everyone’s “Aunt Ida.” She spent her years studying the Bible and loving all who came across her path. She was also the family “cake baker/decorator.” It was while staying with my Grandparents to recuperate from a broken hip that Aunt Ida passed The Scribble-in book on to my Grandma. My Grandma faithfully visited Aunt Ida during her final years in a nursing home, helping her with her lunch and praying with her. Aunt Ida passed away at the age of 101 while I was still in elementary school.

I have many memories of my Grandma during my growing up years. A good majority of those memories center around a discussion of the Bible, visiting her Bible Study Fellowship luncheons, and sitting with her and Grandpa every Sunday in the next-to-the-last row of pews in church. When I headed off to college in Fall 1995, Grandma introduced me to The Scribble-in Book and passed the treasure on to me. She always believed I would write. Grandma passed away just over a year ago after suffering from crippling arthritis for years. I’m sure she and Aunt Ida had a great reunion.

Mesmerized, I began to carefully thumb through the yellowing pages. I smiled as my fingers traced the familiar hand writing of these two precious women who loved God so dearly. I could see their personalities shining through and could almost hear their voices read the stories. They each filled pages with poems, short stories, and notes from sermons and books that left an impression on them. As I flipped through the book, I noticed that I had not contributed much yet to this history. The book now sits in a prominent place next to my computer – something my Great-Great Aunt never owned. As I listen to sermons while I sew or clean or come across an article that is especially meaningful, I give the thoughts the permanent honor of a home in The Scribble-in Book.

Someday, maybe my own daughter will thumb through the pages and be impacted by the thoughts of women who lived long before her. Maybe words from the book will shape what she does that day. You never know what your legacy may mean.

My life is like a weaving
Between my Lord and me.
I cannot choose the colors
He worketh steadily.
Sometimes He weaveth sorrow
And I, in foolish pride
Forget He sees the upper
And I the underside.

Not until the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Will the Lord unroll the canvas
And tell the reason why.
My life is like a weaving
Between my Lord and me.
I cannot choose the colors
He worketh steadily.

from “My life is like a weaving”
(captured by Aunt Ida in The Scribble-In Book)

Filed under Story Girl, way back when, writing | Comments (3)

Memorial Day Tribute – Civil War

We hear many personal stories from our veterans and their families from current day back to World War II, but I thought this weekend as we honor those who have given their lives for our freedom that I’d share a bit of a rare gem from my family. My Grandpa preserved letters from some of our distant relatives that they wrote home during the Civil War. This is something we most often only read about in history books, yet these letters give quite a personal look at what life was like for those fighting the Civil War. Years ago, my Grandpa took these letters (there was a quite a stack of them) and summarized them for me.

Michael Rex was born in Cumberland County, Pennsylvania on May 1, 1818. Daniel Rex was born in Ohio, but the date is unknown. Michael Rex enlisted in the Civil War on August 12, 1862 in an Ohio Infantry. He enlisted to serve three years or until the finish of the war.

Daniel Rex enlisted June 17, 1862. He was captured at Knoxville, TN and served six months in Libby and Belle Isle as a prisoner of war. He nearly starved to death. When he was released, he was sent to the USA General Hospital in Annapolis, MD on April 9, 1864. He was ordered to soldier’s rest on May 28, 1864.

Twenty-six letters were preserved from Michael, and his sons Daniel, William, and Simon.

In a letter dated October 19, 1863 at Loudon East Tennessee, Michael, Daniel and William were side by side in battle. They were told, “It is not often seen father and son standing side by side in line of battle.” on Sunday, October 25 he writes, “We done a heap of fighting, and we aint done yet. Wednesday the rebels surrounded our Calvary and mounted infintry at Philadelphia, Tennessee six miles from here and they had to cut their way out. We lost 148 men killed wounded and missing, but thank God, Dan and Will came out safe. Last week one night, we all three slept together under a oak tree under one blanket in hearing of the cursed Rebs.” Also from the same letter Michael states, “We have lots of wet and cold weather. We nearly freeze some nights and we have poor grub and little of that but still live in hopes of better times. ” He writes in another letter of how they talk to the rebels on the other side of the river. “We don’t shoot at each other. We talk to them every day. They say if we quit fighting and go home they will quit fighting and go home too.”

In one letter from Simon from Chattanooga on October 10, 1863 he says, “I think the last battle of this war will be fought within six weeks. Near this place we have got thirty thousand men from the eastern army and a good many from Grant’s army to help us. I think we can whip them. We can see the rebels all the time. We lost very many men, about 20,000 killed and wounded.”

A letter from Michael on September 8, 1863 from camp Loudon, TN says, “We have captured over 6,000 bushels of wheat from the rebels and 80 sacks of salt, and over 100 army tents and a rebel steam mill. They started to grind this morning for our own use. I just know there was some of the 45th Reg. taken prisoner, but I don’t know who.”

August 23, 1863 in Kentucky, while camped in an orchard, Michael writes, “We die on the way. I don’t believe that ever I will again see home, but God only knows. We have to carry our blankets and rations for one day – one canteen full of water and 40 rounds of cartrages (bullets). We will soon be in Tennessee and then in Georgia. So may God bless us all is the prayer of your unworthy husband and father, Michael Rex.”

I wanted to tell you how hard army life was in the Civil War. They hardly had enough to eat and marched everywhere they went. These were religious men and prayed often. They were common men. Michael was a blacksmith and farmer and Daniel was a farmer. Yet these common people fought for the unity of our nation.

Filed under way back when | Comments (2)

Memorial Day Tribute #2

My grandfather served in both World War II and the Korean War, as did many of his generation. Thankfully, he survived both wars, and became my Dad’s Dad and my Grandpa. Grandpa turned down a purple heart for a wound he received on his hand during combat. He turned it down because he felt there were so many others who had suffered much more than he, and he did not believe his wound was worthy of a purple heart.

When I wrote to my grandparents in college asking them for family stories, he shared a story about surviving a typhoon while on a navy ship near Okinawa. I guess this one stuck with me because years after this story took place, I was born on Okinawa while my Dad was in the army.

Those who serve our country endure so many perils day in and day out, and I am forever grateful for them and the freedom they protect.

My Grandpa died eleven years ago from heart disease, and I still miss him terribly. I get my love of history and stories from him. Here is my Grandpa’s short story in his own words.

In 1945, I was at the island of Okinawa. A typhoon was coming and we were ordered out to sea to ride the storm out. At that time, I was on a small ship, LCSL-17. It was only about 25 or 30 feet wide and no more than 172-200 feet long. We had a flat bottom and in a storm, it shook you to pieces. The waves were thirty-five feet high. We could not cook or do any work. I found a five gallon can of mixed nuts and lived on that for about three days. My job was to steer the ship, and we had to be roped or tied to a metal round bar behind us so we could have our hands free to steer. There were two or three larger ships lost in that storm.

I was young, and I don’t remember being scared – but I should have been. It was en experience I would not want to do again. But I am glad that I went through it.

Filed under way back when | Comment (0)

Memorial Day Tribute

Every Memorial Day weekend, I pull out this story that my Grandma wrote to me in a letter while I was in college. I was taking a story telling class and had written my grandparents asking them to send me family stories. This one is a gem, and serves as a reminder that Memorial Day is more than barbecues, a day off work and the start of summer. May you remember all those, and their families, who have given their lives so that we may live free, and pray for those who serve us today across the globe.

The date was December 7, 1941. My sister and I were home alone when the news came over the radio (before the days of t.v.) that Pearl Harbor had been attacked by Japan. That meant we were at war.

I was a freshman in high school at the time, and my sister Betty was four years older. I had no idea at the time what impact that news broadcast would have on our family, consisting of Mom, Dad, three boys, and us two girls, living a somewhat quiet life on an Ohio farm.

Dick, my middle brother, joined the army the following summer. We all went to visit him during basic training at Camp Perry. The following summer of 1943, my youngetst brother, Leonard joined the Navy after graduating from high school.

By now, most young men were in service unless he was declared 4-F, meaning he couldn’t pass the physcial. Others got a degerment for a critical war job. My oldest brother Bob fell in this category. When his deferments ran out, he was drafted and left for serivce on Christmas Eve 1943. We all went to the station to wave him goodbye. The weather was nasty, snowy and slippery. Only a call from Uncle Sam would bring a person out on that Christmas Eve.

Bob went through boot camp then a shake down cruise with the ship he was assigned to, the Destroyer Meredith. He came home on leave before leaving for whatever assignment lay ahead. By now, it was spring of 1944, and I was getting ready to graudate from high school. Bob bought me a black Parker fountain pen for my graudation gift. As he walked toward the front door, he said his last goodbye, cried, and said he wouldn’t be coming back. At that moment it didn’t leave much impact on me because I knew he wasn’t as eager to go off to service as my other brothers.

Three weeks later, in the middle of the night, there was a knock at the door. My Dad asked who was there. The reply was, “It’s Western Union with a telegram from the War Department.” Mom and Dad went downstairs immediately. I remember lying in bed, not wanting to know which one of my brothers the telegram brought news of. When I did go downstairs, I learned the news was about Bob. His first trip out took him directly to the Normandy invasion in the English Channel on June 6, 1944. His destroyer was hit on the morning of June 8, and he was killed in action.

My thoughts went back to the last time I had seen him, only a few weeks earlier and the statement he made as he said goodbye.

I still have and cherish my fountain pen.

Filed under way back when | Comments (7)

Marchocolate

For some reason as I was driving to JoAnn to help my wedding dress friend attempt to exchange one of the fabrics for her dress (a great story for another time), I couldn’t help thinking about Marchocolate.

In the town I grew up in, we had a legendary restaurant called Kewpie. Their logo and mascot was a Kewpie doll and they had the best hamburgers in town. “Hamburg pickle on top makes your heart go flippity flop.” (What that really is referring to is the heart attack you get because of all the grease, but that’s why we LOVED it, gimme grease!!) It was THE local hangout hamburger place, and I have so many memories of Kewpies. When my brother and I would be with one set of grandparents, Grandpa would regularly go out and come home with a bag full of Kewpies for dinner. We’d attack the bag like animals looking for our “special.” I remember regularly going to Kewpie with my other set of grandparents as well. In fact, that Grandpa loved Kewpie so much that at his funeral, his long-time neighbor put a couple coupons in Grandpa’s pocket, you know, in case he needs them in Heaven…or something.

The local urban legend is that Dave Thomas copied Kewpie when he started Wendy’s. I can see how that conspiracy would start, what with the square hamburgers and the frozen chocolate malts. I have no idea as to whether or not its true, but given the many, many bizarre conspiracies the locals have concocted over the years about my hometown, I really doubt it. (If the Russians would have bombed us during the Cold War, our little no-name town was in the top five places they’d hit!)

During February and March, Kewpie ran specials on pies. Maybe it was to drum up post holiday business or maybe just to help with the doldrum of winter, but to this day it’s Februcherry (obviously, cherry pie) and Marchocolate (chocolate silk pie). I have no idea what brought this memory up, but oh how I wanted a piece of chocolate silk pie. In fact, I dug through my pantry to see if I had any chocolate pudding to make a pie, but alas there was none. So instead, I reminisce about a childhood hamburger joint that holds so many family memories of loved ones long-gone. At least I still have the loving, greasy memories.

Filed under way back when | Tags: cherry pie, chocolate silk pie, grease, hamburgers, kewpie, lima, memories, ohio, pie, reminiscing | Comments (2)