YA # 8: Tell the story of meeting Randy.

Perhaps it's time to tell a story of the man whose name is key to the name of this blog.  It seems only fitting today since it is his birthday!  Happy Birthday Old Man!  For the next 32 days, you're a year older than me!

So, Brooks thinks the family should hear the story of how I met Randy.  Not sure how long this post will be, since there are other questions that deal with dating him and becoming engaged, etc., but I'm quite sure I'll think of something to ramble on about.

My sophomore year of college, I was on my second choice of majors, Special Ed. (No, that's not how Randy comes into the picture! Well, not directly anyway...)  As part of my major, I began doing volunteer work at a school for mentally and physically handicapped children every Wednesday.  It just so happened that there was a young man named Curt Majors who worked there and we became friends. He'd come to see me at the Zeta House; I'd drop by his house; you get the picture.  I might have had a crush on him.  I'm not really sure.  I probably did.  He was cute, except for his huge nose.  All the girls at the house thought of him as my boyfriend, anyway.

One weekend in late October, 1974, all the Zetas went on a retreat.  A time for us all to grow closer again after the summer apart. So all 30+ of us headed to one of the girls' home near Champaign, IL and spent the whole weekend together.  Two bathrooms.  Sleeping bags. All meals together. No one could leave.  It was great for bonding, but truthfully, by Sunday night, I know I was ready to get away from my "sisters" for awhile.  So, still in my railroad worker style, striped overalls and a red plaid flannel shirt, hiking boots, my glasses (which were still from the late 60s since I had gotten contacts) and hair that hadn't been washed in three days tied into pigtails, I headed over to visit Curt.  October 26, 1974. 

Curt was happy to see me. He didn't care what I looked like.  He accepted me for who I was and he invited me in to visit for awhile. There was another guy there.  Not very social; rather gloomy, but I didn't pay too much attention to him.  Anyway, Curt was in the process of cooking a steak dinner for his friend Randy, Mr. Gloomy (who I found out was Randy's cousin, visiting from the Washington peninsula) and himself.  Shortly after I got there, Randy arrived for dinner. He walked in through the back door and went to the kitchen sink to wash up after work and Curt introduced us.  When Curt introduced me to Randy, he told Randy "This is Carol Zielke; or Zeke. Whichever you want to call her."  Randy stood there drying his hands looked me over head-to-toe and simply said "Zeke."  I hadn't really given much thought to how I looked until that moment, but to say I was mortified that I looked more like a "Zeke" than a "Carol" is putting it mildly.

I tried to make a hasty retreat, saying that I didn't want to interrupt their dinner, but Curt insisted that I stay and talk with them while they ate.  I don't remember too much more of the evening (since I was obsessed with how to make my getaway), but I do remember that after we were all sitting in the living room talking awhile later, I finally felt that I could gracefully excuse myself, tell Randy and Mr. Gloomy that it was nice to meet them and say good-night.  My mortification only became worse though when the minute I said that I needed to be going, the dear, pleasant Mr. Gloomy jumps up, grabs my car keys from the end table and THROWS THEM AT ME!  Nice guy.  Needless to say, I made a hasty retreat and hoped that I'd never see either one of them again.

I ran into Curt and Randy once that next week when they were out "cruisin' El Dorado" and, thankfully, found out that Mr. Gloomy had gone back to Washington.  

The biggest surprise came on Friday night, Halloween.  I was getting ready to go out with some friends and I got a call in my room over the intercom that I had a visitor.  I had no idea who it could be.  I'd never had a visitor in the house before, since I'd only lived there for two months.  I came running down the dorm stairs into the "old part" of the house to the top of the grand staircase and looked down.  Curt was standing there in a hideous werewolf-type mask, but I didn't even notice him.  It was Randy looking up at me.  We made eye contact and for the first time I actually heard the Spirit whisper in my mind: "That's the man you're going to marry."  

I didn't know how to handle that moment.  I hadn't had any interest in Randy.  I always liked the   tall athletic-types or the surfer dudes with sun-bleached, straight hair and definitely NO glasses.  Instead, I hear in my mind that I'm going to marry this scrawny, curly-headed, nerdy looking guy who didn't even clear six foot?  I couldn't believe it and yet I couldn't deny it either.  I'm sure he felt something too.  We never discussed it, but I remember that night so clearly.  I know I had to have been ignoring Curt and his mask as he ran around scaring all the girls in the house.  My focus was all on Randy and from that night on, it was he and I, with Curt the outsider.

There are a lot of times now that I wonder at that moment and the strength of our connection.  I wonder why, if we were never going to make it anyway, why did I feel so drawn to him. But there have been many people through the years that have asked me if I would have married Randy if I would have known how it would all turn out and I have to say, based on that one moment in time, yes.  Without a doubt. Because I know it was right for me.  It was right for him. And it was right for my children.  Although there were ups and downs; lots of trials and tears; there was also a lot of love, laughter and spontaneity.  Had I not married Randy I wouldn't have had the children I have.  Had I not married Randy, I doubt that I ever would have listened to the missionaries and I never would have known all the wonderful blessings that have been mine as a member of Christ's church.

When we went to my Zeta spring formal exactly six months later, we were dancing and the DJ began playing a popular Olivia Newton-John song and Randy looked me in the eye and said, "This is our song."

I sent him a text this morning when I woke up to wish him a happy birthday.  This was his reply: "Thank you for being you and always remembering. Love you too."

EY #31: Tell about high school. Was it okay for girls to be smart at your school?

I must say this question intrigues me. Not the telling about high school part.  It's the was it okay for girls to be smart part... Not exactly sure why it wouldn't be, or why Brooks would have asked this question, unless it was spurred by the story I probably told her about this man:

Vern Kresse: Jr. Year Physics

Ah yes... Mr. Kresse (pronounced Kressey).  Can't say that I ever disliked a teacher more than him with the possible exceptions of a Jr. High Art teacher and a calculus professor in college, but that's different.  See, I was smart.  I like to think I still am, but my kids have passed me up and my grandchildren aren't too far behind, but I WAS smart.  I always planned on being a teacher myself and at this point in my life, I wanted to be a Math/Science teacher and had decided I was going to go as far as possible in Math & Science in high school.  So, junior year I took Physics.  

There were only two girls that year who took Physics and we were in two different classes, so we couldn't work together.  The first week of class, Mr. Kresse made it clear that he didn't believe girls belonged in his class.  He pretty much came out and said so, but I determined I would stick it out and show him.  It was rough and I found myself getting B- and Cs on a lot of my work and the fact that I couldn't find anything wrong with my work made me begin to believe that maybe he was right. Maybe Physics WAS too difficult for my poor, feeble, female brain.  Until the week I was paired on an assignment with the clown who sat at the table in front of me.  I did all the work on the project, took all the notes, let him do his write-up of the project from my notes and he got an A for the same information I got a C!!! It was then I decided Mr. Kresse truly was just a male chauvinist jerk and gave up science 'til I got to college. 

Typical me in Senior study hall.
Calculus book open, pencil in hand and
Shakespeare on hand in case I had "spare time."

There were plenty of other cool teachers, though!  We had a fabulous sophomore Chemistry teacher named Mr. Babich, who moved on to become an assistant vice principal.

Mr. Frank Babich

Then there was Miss Gray for "English Lit" and "English Composition."  It was thanks to her that I learned to use so many wonderful filler words.  You know. "However," "therefore," "whereas," etc. to meet the requisite number of pages in a term paper!

Miss Myrtle Gray

And then there were the psychology teachers who introduced me to the complexities of the human mind!  Don't they look like psych teachers?  Mr. Brouhard, a bit psychotic himself and Mr. Hollingsworth, the romance novel teacher in sport coat???  (He had a grin to die for!)

                                                                                

                                                                               Mr. John Brouhard

         

Mr. Dewey Hollingsworth

But the absolute BESTEST teacher in the whole world; my favorite of all time was Mr. Conant. The accelerated math teacher for Junior year Trigonometry & Analytic Geometry and Senior year with Calculus.  He wasn't an easy teacher. He was tough. But he was encouraging and challenging.  

Mr. Larry Conant
(He was kinda cute for an "old man." Don't you love the sideburns?)

He used to walk around the class when we were working on homework or taking a test and bend down, hands on his knees with his chin by your elbow watching your work.  Talk about making you nervous!!! But you didn't dare stop, 'cause then he'd think you were stumped and he'd start asking you questions to get you going again and it would draw everyone's attention to you! I still don't understand how a teacher who made me feel so nervous all the time could be my favorite, but I guess it's just because we all knew that he cared and he wanted to see each of us succeed. He wanted us to get it.  I hope all of my grandkids will get to experience at least one Mr. Conant in their years of school!

Speaking of math class, by Senior year Calculus, we were down to 15 in the class and I was again the only girl in a class. One day after everyone got their ACT scores back, I overheard all of my male classmates comparing their scores, especially in Math. They were all excited over Mike Teska's (our valedictorian) score of 34 out of the possible 36.  I was sitting quietly among them,  secretly gloating, with my nose in a book, as usual, when one of them turns to me and says    
            "Hey! Wha'd you get?" 
            "Hmmmm?"
            "Wha'd you get?"
            "What did I get on what?"
            "Your ACT math score. Wha'd you get?"
            "Oh. 35."
            "35!?!?!?!?! What? 35?"
            "You don't believe me?"
            "Well, no it's not that.... Hey guys! Teska! Guess what Zielke got!!!"
Even though I never really felt intimidated by guys in my classes, every once in awhile it sure did feel good to show 'em up.  Welcome Carol, to the feminist movement!

I guess this post doesn't really tell about my high school.  It turned into a tribute to some of my favorite teachers, but as final proof that it was okay (with everyone except Mr. Kresse) for girls to be "smart" in my school, here's the yearbook picture of everyone from my class who was inducted into the National Honor Society during our Junior Year.

1972-73 NHS Inductees from East Aurora High School
Score 16 boys vs. 29 girls!
(I'm second from the right in the first row)

WC #2: I'm a hopeless Nostalgic!

So, I came to the realization today that I must just be a hopeless Nostalgic!  Never heard of one?  Well, me neither, but I've diagnosed myself.  Now I probably need to get out my psychology books and try to analyze myself and decipher why I do the things I do!

It's no secret to anyone who knows me that I've always preferred listening to my "oldies" music.  So much so that my children all grew up knowing the lyrics almost as well as I do.  Even my dear "extra" daughter, Jana Mae knows lyrics, titles and artists she never heard of in her early years thanks to hours of Cousin Brucie and the 60s on Sirius Satellite radio!

However, a few years ago, with the growing use of DVD technology, I began to find some old favorite movies and just had to have them!

Shown here are some of the very best: Barefoot in the Park,

Bonnie & Clyde, Breakfast at Tiffany's, The Day the Earth Stood Still,

Love Story, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, 

Romeo and Juliet and The Sting

(I'm sure Lanie will remember watching most of these 

in the theater with me!)

Next thing I know, they start to put some of the very best TV series on DVD too!

The Best of Ozzie & Harriet

Lost in Space!!!

Next thing I knew, "Barbie" was celebrating her 50th birthday and Walmart began selling collector's editions of all the old original dolls!  I just had to replace the two that were originally chewed on by our black lab pup, Buck, and then finished off by my very own children!  An added bonus was that each doll happened to come with one of the outfits I ALWAYS wanted for my Barbies but they were too expensive and my mom wouldn't buy them for me!

I got the original Barbie on the left for my 5th birthday in 1960.
The "Bubblecut" Barbie was for Christmas in 1963!

If you think I'm starting to lose it, you ain't seen nothin' yet!  So, I mentioned my love for oldies music.  Well, I really like a lot of the old groups: The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Abba, The Archies, The Partridge Family, but the first group I ever really loved (and had a crush on the lead singer) was Herman's Hermits!  Such a fan in fact, that all of my children have had the pleasure of attending at least ONE Herman's Hermits concert with me in the past decade!  But, no matter how much I loved the Hermits and Peter Noone, they couldn't hold their place in my heart after I found The Monkees!  I'm sure Davy Jones was the one who originated my soft spot for men with brown eyes and The Monkees concert in Chicago, Illinois on July 30, 1967 was my first and only REAL, HONEST-TO-GOODNESS, SCREAM & CRY HEART-THROB concert with my cousin Beth and ex-best friend Janice Graham---oh, and my poor dad--- who kept sneaking off to have a cigarette.  He knew I wasn't going anywhere!  So, of course when I found out I could order both seasons of The Monkees TV show, I had to have them!

The Monkees, Seasons 1 & 2 with the People Magazine
Tribute to Davy Jones last year

Then, wouldn't you know, my career with Walmart put me in a situation that I was exposed to all the latest and greatest in technology and I bought my share of electronics in those four years.  Well, I already owned a Nintendo Wii when lo and behold they released a Beatles edition of the popular RockBand genre!  You know it!  I had to have it!

Shortly after this, the Twilight series inspired a few trips across the state of Washington to visit Forks on the peninsula. On the way home the second time, my friend, Karen, suggested we go back home through Leavenworth, Washington, a delightful German community where oddly enough I found an Indian doll that I fell in love with!

The doll on the left is the first one I purchased in Leavenworth

Now, what does an Indian doll have to do with nostalgia?  When I was little, whenever my dad went out of town on a job, he always brought me home an Indian doll.  I loved them and I was fascinated with them!  I always had a thing for Native American lore.  I loved hearing my mother tell me about the Indian legends of a Great White God who came to visit them and how they waited for his return.  I know now that it was actually the Spirit whispering truths to me at that young age to prepare me to recognize the truths in the Book of Mormon, but there I go, rambling again.  Anyway, I always loved getting my Indian dolls.  The thing I don't know is if my dad brought them home to me because I loved them, or if I loved them because my DAD brought them home to me!  Either way, since moving to Seattle, I've purchased three more Indian dolls and a few totem poles.  The other doll pictured above was purchased in Alaska when I went on my very first cruise ever with our dear friend, "Aunt" Susan Schulthies.  The other two pictured below I purchased in the same doll store in Leavenworth where I found my first Indian doll.

I figure now that I have four Indian dolls, I'll keep buying
them until I have one for each granddaughter!

That brings me up to today, when I received (via Amazon) my most recent, crazy nostalgic purchase that inspired this blog. Back in 1966 when The Monkees first aired, there was another new television show, but this one was a soap opera.  But not just ANY soap opera! This one had vampires, witches, werewolves, zombies and anything supernatural you can think of!  The acting was absolutely HORRID, yet every teenager that I knew, hurried home after school in time to watch it.  It became a "cult" classic; was remade into a failed TV series in the 80s or 90s and, most recently was made into a movie starring Johnny Depp.  (The movie is actually quite funny, but I think you have to be acquainted with the original TV show to REALLY understand all the humor in it.)  I found the ENTIRE series on DVD on Amazon shortly before Christmas and warred with myself for the past month and finally decided to splurge on myself and I did!  I am now the proud owner of every episode ever made of Dark Shadows from 1966-1973!

So... what thinkest thou?  Am I the true hopeless nostalgic I described at the beginning of this blog?  Is it just that I like these things?  Is it just that I enjoy the memories connected with each of them?  Or do I have some deep-seeded desire to return to a simpler time, when I had no responsibilities; when I was surrounded by family and friends and love?  Or even worse, am I trying to escape from the reality of my life and an unknown future?  Go ahead.  Analyze me!  Heaven knows, if you're reading this, I've probably psycho-analyzed you more than once in your life, so now it's your turn!  But in the meantime, perhaps my theme song should be "Those were the days, my friend. We thought they'd never end. We'd sing and dance forever and a day. We'd live the life we'd choose. We'd fight and never lose. Those were the days; oh yes, those were the days...."

ML#9: Tell about the birth of your....third child

So... Thirty years ago last night I was just about to dig into the Godfather's Pizza that Randy had brought home after work, when he turns to me and says, "President Thacker stopped by the popcorn shop today."  This wasn't a terribly uncommon occurrence; his sons did work for us...
   "So what did he want?"
   "He said he wants us to speak in Stake Conference in two weeks."

Now for the non-Mormons who might be reading this post, let me take a moment to explain.  A bishop of a ward in our church is equivalent to the pastor of a congregation.  The Stake President is a level above that and is responsible for several wards (probably 8-12 wards).  Twice each year, there is a Stake Conference and all of the wards meet together in one location and frequently (at least in the olden days of the 80's) there will be guest speakers from Salt Lake; an apostle or a seventy.  The place where they held Stake Conference in Bountiful was an old "surround-seating" theater that seated thousands.  Hopefully, this helps set the stage...

I began to panic.  "What on earth are WE supposed to speak about?" (I should have known. Mormon converts were a bit of a novelty in the Salt Lake Valley and everyone loved to hear our conversion story.)

Munching on his pizza, Randy said "Oh, you know.  How the missionaries found us.  How we came to know the church was true.  How we ended up in Bountiful..."

"Did President Thacker forget that I'm pregnant? Almost two weeks overdue?"
"No.  He figured you'd have the baby by then."

Well, President Thacker was right and it was HIS fault that Brooks Amerini Sloan decided that it was time to finally make her appearance!  I went to bed that night SO preoccupied with thoughts of having to speak in front of so many people I tossed and turned until about 1:00 AM when Brooks had had enough! She gave me one swift kick and I was laying in a puddle of water!
Yep. My water broke.  We called a neighbor to come stay with the two older girls and headed for the hospital.  Brooks entered the world about 7:25 in the morning on Sunday, January 23, 1983 after my quickest and easiest birth! Thank heavens!  Of course we didn't know her name was Brooks.

She was supposed to be Jamison Randall.  We needed a JR Sloan.  Randy's name is John Randall. His grandfather was John Rodger.  We were supposed to have a JR and since this had been the easiest of all of my pregnancies so far and she was such a calm baby, I was absolutely convinced she was a boy.  I mean everything else was different and since the other two were girls, this one had to be a boy. Right?  Well, since it was obvious she couldn't be Jamison Randall, we needed a new name.  D'Arbra (aka Darby) named for her paternal grandmother?  Olivia, named for her paternal great-grandmother, Olive Fanny?  (Well, ya gotta admit, Olivia's MUCH better than Fanny!) Or Brooks, after her paternal great-grandmother, Irene Dale Brooks?

Randy kept pushing for Brooks.  I kept pushing back. "Not Brooks. Why not Brook?"
"Brook wasn't my grandmother's name.  It was Brooks!"
"But Brooks Sloan is terrible."
"What's wrong with Brooks?"
"Everyone will call her Brook her whole life anyway, so might as well just make that her name."
"Why is everyone going to call her Brook?"
"Because people don't know the name 'Brooks' for a girl and the 's' is going to blend into her last name and people are going to hear 'Brook Sloan.'"
"Well, it's not gonna be Brook."
"Okay.  Let's go with Olivia."
"Olivia isn't really Grandma's name."
"Okay. Let's go with Darby."
"My mom never liked her name. I don't want to do that to another girl."
"Well, I don't like Brooks."

As you can tell, Randy won.  But he redeemed himself by suggesting her middle name.  A few weeks before we had met the sister of a good friend of ours. Her name was Amerini and Randy had commented on how pretty he thought her name was.  Her parents had immigrated to America from Greece and she said the English equivalent was Amy... Randy's sister's name.  And so it was: Brooks Amerini Sloan weighed in at 8 pounds 4 ounces and didn't gain another once for the first six weeks of her life!

I knew she wasn't nursing well, but I didn't know it was that bad!  When I took her in for her 6 week check-up, Dr. Doug (the girls' pediatrician) was very concerned.  Put her on formula that Thursday and told us to bring her back in Monday morning and that if she hadn't gained at least 6 ounces he was going to put her in the hospital and test her for cystic fibrosis.  That was a terrifying weekend.  We already had one daughter with congenital heart defects and now this?
We prayed and we fed and we woke her up and fed and that little piglet gained almost a full pound in those four days!  Dr. Doug said "Forget nursing.  She gets formula."  And she turned into a delightful little chunk!

I always said that Brooks was the one born to prepare me for twins.  She's the one who was crawling in the grass outside when I noticed she was chewing on something.  I asked her what she had and she held up her chubby little hand to show me half of a fuzzy, green caterpillar. She's the one who I caught sniffing a raisin while she was sitting in the high chair while I was doing dishes.  
"What are you doing, Brooks?"  (She put the raisin in her mouth.)
"Don't you put a raisin in your nose." (She put another raisin in her mouth and I turned back to my dishes.) A minute later I hear a snorting sound and look around to see Brooks snorting, shaking her head and digging in her nose!
"What did you do?  Did you put a raisin in your nose?"  More snorting.  I grabbed her out of the high chair and turned her over so I could look up her nose; a little tip of a raisin! I tried to get her to blow her nose.  She snorted, inhaling it more.  I waved the pepper shaker under her nose to try to make her sneeze. No luck.  I finally called Randy who hurried home and ran her to the doctor's office.  This time, Dr. Doug removed a GRAPE!  Yep.  It had rehydrated in her nose!

Although no one who's known Brooks since her teenage years would believe it, she also used to be my morning girl.  And we're talking MORNING!  4:00 AM kind of morning!   While Samantha was in the hospital with her brain abscess, some people from church planted a garden for us in the community garden plot next to the chapel.  Since 6-month-old Brooks decided 4:00 was a perfectly wonderful time to be up for the day, and she was too happy to be quiet, she and I began daily outings to the garden at 5:00, as soon as the sun was up.  She'd sit in her stroller and just enjoy life while I took advantage of the coolness of the morning to pull weeds and later pick vegetables that I could learn to can. We'd be back home by 7:00 and she was ready to take a nap... just in time for Megan & Sami to get up and start their days!  Who says young mothers need any sleep?

5-year-old Brooks: Kindergarten at Hayesville, Ohio Elementary

(I could only comb her hair if she got a side ponytail!)

Brooks. She's always been the mischievous one. The instigator. The heritage-lover. The girlie-girl (well, after she started to comb her hair and brush her teeth, anyway). The inquisitive one. The artsy one. The dollhouse one. The laugh-out-loud one. The toot in the morning one. The sentimental one. The creative one. The June Cleaver one.  The mother of three handsome young sons. And the soon-to-be mother of one very long-awaited Baby Claire.

Happy Birthday, Weasel!  Ich liebe dich!

WC #1: About my Maternal Grandfather

So, tonight I pull out my first wild card; to talk about my maternal grandfather.  You'll probably begin to see a pattern with this post.  I tend to think about special people on their birthdays, and if they have already left this life, on the anniversary of their deaths.  Today would have been Grandpa's 127th birthday!

Edward Hill was born January 22, 1886 in Belvidere, Illinois.  I don't know too much about my grandfather.  I know his father died when he was young and his mother remarried Charles Watson. His mother was born Mae Smith in Baltimore, MD on January 6, 1866.  He had one sister and one brother, 2 half brothers and 1 step brother, but "Aunt Ida" was the only one I ever met.

I know that my grandpa loved baseball and would sit in front of the TV for hours day-after-day and watch the Chicago Cubs play ball all summer long.  He chewed tobacco, smoked a pipe and chewed Blackjack gum.  A kiss and a hug for Grandpa when I walked in the house would usually win me a piece of his gum!  Sometimes it was Chiclets though, but Blackjack was the best!

I loved my grandpa, but I'm afraid I can't say I have a lot of respect for him.  Maybe that's just my lack of understanding or information about him.  I've mentioned that my great-grandfather built beautiful homes and when he died, still owned three that were all left to my grandmother.  Grandma always left the care of the 4th street house to my mom & dad, but she and my aunt (Dorothy, aka DeeDee) took care of the other two.  To my knowledge, Grandpa never did anything to help.  They mowed all the grass (probably an acre or more for the two houses together), they did all the home repairs, they cleaned up after the renters and found new tenants, they did the shopping and cleaned the house and cooked the meals while my grandpa.... watched baseball.  I hear he worked for the railroad and that he was a custodian at my elementary school looooong before I was born, but I never remember him doing anything but sitting in his spot on the couch watching baseball, chewing tobacco and spitting in his spittoon. 

He was diabetic and took insulin shots every day, so maybe his health was much worse than I ever realized and maybe that's why he let the women in his life do all the work and take care of him, so I should cut him some slack, but I know I recognized at a fairly early age that it just didn't seem right.  They'd come in hot and tired from working outside on a summer day and as soon as they'd walk in the door, he'd begin hollering for his dinner.  Maybe that's what spurred some of my early feminist thoughts!  Hmmmmm....

Grandpa died in November, 1970; just three months before my mother died.  I remember that she really wanted to go to the funeral, but she was too sick herself.  My dad did manage to get her out of the house and into the car to take her to the funeral home for a little while at the visitation the night before.  I'm sure it was difficult for her, knowing she would be following him in the not-too-distant future.

I may not have known him well.  I may not have understood him.  But, I did love him.
Happy birthday, Grandpa.

EY#20: Tell about your Best Friend, Part 2

So, last night I told the story of getting to know my best bud.  I guess I could write a whole book, so I suppose as I answer a lot of the questions in my book, she'll be a part of the story.  But, before I move on to another question, it seems there's another part of our history that I need to share because it had a major part in framing our lives for the past forty years!

I know teenagers today are constantly texting and tweeting and playing with gizmos and gadgets.  I'm sure it brings them a lot of happiness.  I just don't understand how it could possibly compare to 2-3 hour long conversations on the phone with your friend.  Typically, Lanie and I would walk home from school together; first to one house to change clothes and drop off books and then to the other house where we'd hang out 'til supper time.  The other one would go home, we'd each eat dinner and then we'd be on the phone for the rest of the evening. Frequently,  my mom or my dad or my brother would come up and say "Who are you talking to?"  They'd get a look like "Duh!" and I'd say "I'm talking to Elaine."
    "I thought Elaine just went home."
    "She did."
    "And you didn't have enough time to talk?"
    "We're doing our homework."
    "Do you need help?'
    "No."
    "Does she need help?"
    "No."
    "Then why are you doing your homework on the phone?'
Just 'cause it was more FUN to do it that way!!! "Wha'd you get for number three?"..."What?!?"
"That's not what I got.  How'd you get it?"  And so on, and so on, over and over and over....

And then there were the sleepovers.  Those were always fun. But best of all were the nights we spent in Corny.  Now talking about Corny is a different topic, but Elaine & I and Corny created some fabulous memories...

The great thing about sleeping in Corny was the bedrooms.   We always stayed in the "Big Cabin" where the bedroom upstairs was one big room with a curtain to separate one double bed from the other.  The top of my dad's head was always on Lanie's right side.  Invariably, Lanie and I would have to talk before we went to sleep and talking would usually erupt into giggles and before you knew it, Dad would be telling us to knock it off and go to sleep.  But it was so HARD!  I mean we had to recap the day!  And what did we have to recap that we couldn't talk about the whole day when we were together?  My cousin, Norm!

Norm is nine years older than me; born between my two brothers and the youngest son of my closest aunt and uncle.  Consequently, I grew up with Norm as a part of my life.  He was another brother.  And, I assume, I was the kid sister he didn't have.  At least that's how he treated me.  Tolerated me, teased me, spoiled me, got annoyed with me; you know how it goes. Well, he was always just my cousin, until the first summer I invited Lanie to go to Corny with us.  What a hoot that was!  Lanie who didn't even own a swimming suit and felt that she was being exceptionally brave holding onto the pier and sitting in the water! Wooooo! I can't be too hard on her though.  I couldn't swim either, but that's another blog!  Anyway... that summer was when Elaine developed a king-sized crush on Norm and the crush just kept getting stronger and stronger year after year!

One time, Norm brought his fiancee to Corny with him!  Wow!  Was that ever a BAD week! I don't even remember the girl's name; I just remember thinking she was NOT the right girl for him!  Not that I really thought there was a chance in the world that anything would ever really happen between Lanie and Norm, I mean he was so OLD!  But, I was smart enough to recognize that he sure laughed a lot more and had a lot more fun around Lanie than he did with her!

So, Norm... yep.  Lanie and I used to lay in bed at night and talk and giggle about her marrying Norm and then we'd be cousins and how great that would be.  And then we'd joke because there was a girl in our school named Carolyn Hansen and because of her people always used to get Lanie and I confused and I'd be Carol Hanson and she'd be Elaine Zielke.  So then we decided that that would solve the problem.  She'd marry Norm and then she'd really BE Elaine Zielke and I'd find and marry some guy named Hanson and I could be Carol Hanson and that would be the way it was supposed to be!  Maybe that's what's missing from MY life. Maybe I need to be looking for a man named Hanson.  Come to think of it, there is a man named Hanson that I work with in the Seattle Temple... Hmmmm.. I don't think his wife would like it very much if I started hitting on him though!  Well, we got it half right!  

Sometimes I wonder if Norm & Elaine were really aware of everything I did; all the pains I took to take every opportunity to push them together.  Maybe Lanie knew, 'cause she knew that I knew how much she liked him.  Maybe Norm knew and just didn't let on and appreciated that I was always throwing jail bait in front of him!  If we were swinging in the neighbor's tree swing, I'd ask Norm for a push and then say it was Lanie's turn, so he had to push her too. If the three of us were going somewhere in Norm's nifty Thunderbird, I'd volunteer to sit in the back seat, so  she'd get to sit in the front with him... oh my heavens... I'll never forget the first cute, corny flirt that I ever heard from him!  We're riding along and all of a sudden I see Norm reach over and pat Lanie's shoulder and he says "Yep. Sure is."  I think we both just kinda looked at him like he was nuts, until he pointed to a sign on the side of the road that said "Soft Shoulder."  What a cornball!  And then there was the day Lanie was shaving her legs in the lake and he saw her shaving her toes and she learned that hairy toes are a sign of being crazy.  Theirs was definitely a unique relationship, but boy did we have a lot of fun every summer!

Although Norm wouldn't ask Lanie out while we were in high school (and consequently, she missed our Senior Prom), I think it was only a week or two after graduation when he actually asked her out!  I think I was just as excited as she was, because I knew then it was just a matter or time before my best friend really would become my cousin!  It's kind of funny.  To this day when I tell people about her, I never really know what to call her.  It's easiest to just say my cousin, but she's so much more than that.  And yet, to say she's my best friend seems to dismiss the fact that she is really, truly family!  To quote the Pointer Sisters of the seventies: "We. Are. Fam-i-ly....."  Love ya Buddy!

EY#20: Tell about your Best Friend!

So, I decided that I needed to do a post tonight that would be a bit more fun and NOTHING is more fun than my best friend!  I've been fortunate enough to have several really great friends in my life; that happens when you move around a lot.  I have wonderful friends from my college/sorority days, from thirty-three years as a Latter Day Saint and from a twenty-one year career with Walmart, but no one can take the place in my life and in my heart of my best buddy, Lanie!

My cousin, Norm, took this picture of us at our high school graduation open house in 1973, but the story begins long before this was taken......

As you'll recall, I started life in Aurora, moved to Wisconsin for a few years and then moved back to Aurora in 1967.  I had a best friend named Janice Graham when I moved to Wisconsin and, silly me, I assumed we would still be best friends when I moved back four years later.  Alas, I had become a "country bumpkin," a "farm kid" and Janice had moved on to much cooler friends.  She was still nice enough but one day about a week after we started 7th grade we were walking home from school and Janice pointed to this weird girl walking ahead of us and said to me "I think you should get to know Elaine.  I think you could be friends."  

I should have recognized that my "friend" was trying to get rid of me, but I looked at the girl with the waist length hair, pulled off her forehead with a plastic headband, glasses, a blue plaid parochial-looking skirt with a purple, green and yellow leaf-pattern shirt, knee-highs and loafers and replied, "Her?  I don't think we'd have much in common."  I mean, after all, I was cool! I had a hip-hugger skirt with a fashionably wide belt, fish-net stockings and mini go-go boots!  Next thing I knew, Janice had given me a push on the crowded sidewalk and I nearly fell into Elaine! What could I do but say hello?  That wasn't exactly the moment we became best friends, but it is my first clear memory of her, even though we were in the same class at K.D.Waldo Jr. High.  For that one moment in time, I owe Janice Graham a great debt, for giving me the best friend a girl could ever hope to have!

Another very early memory of Lanie, just a few days after our "introduction," was in gym class. (Well, honestly, there are a few great memories of gym class, but I can only cover one at a time)  We were  playing field hockey and you have to understand, I am NOT an athlete! Much to my mother's and my brothers' disappointment, I don't have a coordinated bone in my body, so I did not go looking for opportunities to be front and center in gym class, but somehow this day I ended up with the puck or ball or whatever the heck it was we were playing with.  Next thing I know I'm surrounded by a bunch of vicious girls from the other team swinging their clubs. One bumps into me, I lose my balance and another one trips me with her club! Down I go and away go the other girls with the prize.  I'm sitting on the ground in tears with a very painful ankle and who comes up but this geeky Elaine-girl and says "Does it hurt?" I don't remember what I said... I'm sure it wasn't nice.  At the very best it was probably sarcastic, 'cause that's the kind of person I am, but I knew I didn't want to be making small talk with Elaine at that moment! (I came to find out almost 30 years later that I broke my ankle that day on the field; never went to the doctor 'cause my jock older brother said "It's a sprain. Walk it off."  I only found out when my ankle was x-rayed for another break about thirty years later and the ER doctor told me it never healed properly the LAST time it was broken! Thanks Al!)

But, back to gym class.  I just have to share this story of another day, after we had become friends, 'cause it makes me laugh, still, right now!  I have tears in my eyes thinking about it, which is really cruel, but it was so flippin' funny!

So, kids... back in the olden days, we had to take showers every day after gym class so we weren't all stinky the rest of the day.  Well, not only did we have to take showers, but there were no curtains; the showers were wide open.  And you weren't allowed to take anything into them with you and you weren't given a towel until you were on your way OUT!  I was never really sure if I was lucky that my locker was toward the back so that I had to parade through the whole locker room in my birthday suit or if it would have been worse having one of the front lockers so that everyone going in and out of the shower could watch me dressing and undressing, but that's not part of my story.  So, anyway, Lanie was headed to the shower in front of me... both of us walkin' in all our glory when she takes one step into the shower room, her foot hits the slick tile floor and both feet fly up in front of her and she lands flat on her arse!  Now if you think the visual is bad, I wish we had sound effects!  You know the sound of a bad belly-flop in the pool?  Yep!  Just imagine poor Lanie's bare hiney hittin' that wet, hard tile!  She had class though. It had to hurt like heck, but she swiftly alighted to her feet and proceeded into the shower while I stood outside doubled over in laughter!  Some kinda friend I was, huh?  At least I didn't start laughing until AFTER she had gotten up and I was relatively certain she wasn't hurt.  Come to think of it, both Lanie and I had some of our best laughs at one another's expense from a fall or an accident of some kind... so don't think she didn't have her opportunities to laugh at me!

However, I can see that one post is not going to be nearly enough to tell you about my best friend, Lanie.  I mean, we have forty-five years of history.  But, this was an introduction and I hope you'll enjoy the adventure of getting to know the best bud in the world!

EY#13: Describe the House(s) You Grew Up In.

Somehow, it only seems fitting that the post I would write the day after where/when I was born would be the house I grew up in. While I actually grew up in two different houses, I'll focus on the one where I lived for 14 of the 18 years.  Not to say that the farm in Watertown, Wisconsin isn't worth mentioning, because it is.  I ADORED the four years I lived there, it just seems that that needs to be a different kind of post....

I grew up in a family home at 450 South 4th Street in Aurora, Illinois.  I say "family home" in a different sense than you might think, especially since it consisted of two flats.  The first floor flat had 3 bedrooms (after my dad remodeled it) and the upstairs flat had 2 bedrooms.  I lived on the first floor from birth to eight years and then on the upstairs from twelve to eighteen years. (Wisconsin was the four years in between!)

Our house had a rich family heritage.  You see, before the depression my great-grandfather Haag was a fairly wealthy man who built fabulous houses!  The 4th Street house was one he built about three blocks from his home as a wedding present for my grandmother Pearl (Haag) Hill.  The house was fabulous! Both flats had a full kitchen, formal dining room, living room and front entry.  All of the woodwork and flooring was hard oak! Beautiful and durable.  The most distinctive feature of wood-work were the colonnades! Made of oak, they were room dividers; an arched center, "windows" on each side, columns and beautiful scrolled designs.  They provided a great place for a little girl to play restaurant where the order would be put into the "window" from one side and picked up and delivered to whichever poor adult or sibling she could badger into being the customer!

I remember when I was very small, the house was a dark beige color with brown trim. Why do I remember?  Because I remember coming home from my grandma's house one stormy night and seeing my house in the dark and being PETRIFIED!  Although I don't believe I'd ever seen a horror film, that's what it looked like, and I couldn't believe it was MY HOME!  I didn't want to go in and I cried and cried!  I wonder if that had anything to do with the house being painted gray with white trim later????

The first floor originally had a large screened-in back porch.  This was turned into a third bedroom for my brothers about the time my parents decided it was time for me to move out of their bedroom!  The first floor also had a HUGE front porch, great for playing games that I couldn't win with my brother Al!  The upstairs flat also had a large front porch that was screened in and perfect for sleeping on a hot, humid summer night!

The top of the house had a HUGE walk-up attic that ran the full length of the house.  It was the kind of attic you see in old movies with all kinds of marvelous old things to discover.  Equally as fabulous was the basement.  Again, it ran the full length of the house and provided ample space for chest freezers, washer, dryer, playhouse for me and wrestling mats for my brothers.  But the GREATEST part of the basement was the train room!!!  My brothers had the most fabulous train set, with steam engines that actually shot steam and whistled!  To create a home for the train set, my dad knocked out a basement wall that went to the foundation of the boys' new bedroom and built a great big plywood train table that went all the way around the room. You had to crawl under the table to get to the center where the controls were.  Of course, I was never allowed to TOUCH the controls, but I could stay there forever and watch my brothers play with their train set because it wasn't just a train... it was a whole miniature community!

The old house went through a lot of changes through the years to meet the family's changing needs.  Originally we had a nice big fenced in backyard, with a big maple (?) tree that was home to Skippy.  Skippy was our squirrel.  Why Skippy? Because he LOVED it when we would take Skippy Peanut Butter sandwiches out to him and leave them in the tree for him to eat!  Eventually, the backyard gave way to a 3-car garage and a triple-wide driveway, but my greatest memory of the backyard was SO insulting!  

You see, our house sat right next to a very long alley that connected 4th and 5th streets.  Since our house faced 4th, it was the first house served by the alley.  I remember coming home from school for lunch one day in the first grade, so proud that I was learning to read.  I took our dog, Boots out to go potty and noticed a sign on the telephone next to our driveway and thought, "I bet I can read that sign!"  So I did.  Surrounding the silhouette of a running boy, the sign said: "SLOW CHILDREN"  I was horrified; humiliated! Who had put that sign there and what right did they have to call us slow?!?!?!  My first awareness of the injustices of the world and I couldn't be consoled...that sign haunted me all through my teen years! Stupid sign!  It's probably STILL there torturing other children... "Signs, signs, everywhere signs. Blockin' up the scenery, wastin' my time.   Do this. Don't do that. Can't you read the sign???"

EY#1: When and where were you born?

Back again!  Don't get too used to it.  It's new. I'm excited. So, let's do this two days in a row!  If it's like my scripture study, we might make it daily for two weeks and then it will taper off, but we'll see...

So, perhaps an explanation is in order before I begin. I've decided that the "title" of each post will be the question asked in my book.  "EY," as you'll notice above will mean it's a question from the "Early Years" chapter. "YA" will denote "Young Adulthood," "ML" will be "Married Life" and "LN" will be "Life Now."  When you see "WC," it means I'm throwing in a "Wild Card" stepping out of the box and addressing a topic of MY choosing or a random question that has been thrown out to me.  Got it?!?!?!?  Okay.  Let's get down to business!

I'd love to say that my birth was something monumental, but as far as I know, it was just a normal day: March 4, 1955, a Friday.  I was never supposed to be. Yes, I was the "accident."
After nearly dying in childbirth after my brother Allen was born seven years before, my mother was not supposed to have any more children, but I was loved and spoiled never-the-less.  I was two weeks late and my mother walked the 3-1/2 blocks from our home to Copley Memorial Hospital in Aurora, Illinois for the blessed event.

I was named Carol, after a beautiful little girl, with big blue eyes and blonde curls, that my mother babysat in high school. I never liked my name.  You see, I was jealous.  My brother William had a nickname: Bill (or Billy as I called him when I was little).  My brother Allen had a nickname: Al (or Zilch or Koochy-plunk as friends from school called him).  What kind of a nickname do you use when you have a name like Carol? I always wished my name was Carolyn or Caroline (like Pres. Kennedy's daughter) so that Carol could be MY nickname, but alas, just plain Carol it is.  My middle name is Ellen.  My father insisted on that part to name me after my mother (Mary Ellen). I was okay with the sentimentality there, until you put my whole name together: Carol Ellen Zielke.  All the "Ls" kind of create an experience in alliteration, don't you think?  One wonderful thing came from my name though! My oldest daughter, Meg, knew how I felt about my name and how I had always wished to be a Carolyn and when she gave birth to her first daughter, she was named for me in a way that would please me, combining my names: Carollen.  I love it. And I love "Cari." Alas, Cari hates HER name! I tell her that at least she can have a nickname.  She can be Carollen, or Cari or even "Roll-en" like Proud Mary!  But I digress!

So, check out this picture! Like it? I always hated it! Not the picture of ME, necessarily.  Actually, I think I was kinda cute, faux hawk and all.  It was the DRESS! I know you can't tell, but it's a very sheer light blue material with black WASPS all over it!!! I ask you! Who on God's green earth makes a baby dress covered in WASPS?!?!?! And if someone is silly enough to make it, who on earth is crazy enough to buy it????  A friend of my grandmother's.  That's who!  And when you ask your mother WHY on earth she had your baby picture taken in such a hideous dress the answer is that she didn't want to hurt the old lady's feelings!  For my children who think I make a poor fashion statement, perhaps you can blame this early trauma!  At any rate, I must confess to an early sin in my life.  My mother gave me this dress to put on my favorite doll; a hard plastic doll who actually bore a striking resemblance to baby Carol here, bald head and all.  Well, hard plastic dolls arms don't bend very well, you understand and, dang! If I didn't tear big holes in the dress the very first time I tried to put it on Cheryl!  I got in trouble, but it was an "accident!"

Anyway... if you can ignore the dress with the wasps and the faux hawk, not too bad a picture.  As I look at it now, I can see a few of my grandchildren in the shape of the eyes and one day, my Baker (Abigail, grandbaby #13) will recognize where her ears came from.

Back to the day of my birth... I haven't been a fan of my birthday.  Bad things always seem to happen a few weeks either direction from my birthday, but there is one that will go down in my history as one of the absolute best EVER!  I like to call it my "platinum" birthday.  The year I turned the age of my birth year.  You know.  Turn 55, born in '55 and that just happens to be the same year that Disneyland was born and I got to spend it with Brooks' family and Barton & Emily in the Happiest Place on Earth!

So, wow! This is long and I've been rambling! Not sure if this is the information Brooks was looking for when she asked that question, but "when you wish upon a star..."

Testing, Testing....

Okay. So. Here I am.  My lovely daughter, Brooks, has been telling me for a loooong time that she was going to create a blog for me and this is my Christmas present! Why? She seems to think I have some important things to say.  Brooks will one day be our family historian. Of my five fabulous children, she has always been the one to ask the questions. She's always been the one to wonder about the obscure and, consequently, is the only one of my kids who knows a lot of the stories she apparently wants me to share.

The name of the blog is also courtesy of Brooks.  While she loves to hear stories about my life, and seems to think I know something of love, her favorite stories, the ones that always  make her laugh out loud, are the ones I share of her dad.
My thirty-eight year relationship with the man has had its ups and downs, a good portion of frustration and tears, but yet there is always laughter.  Whether in the moment or in the memory, when faced with a choice of whether to laugh or cry, laughter wins with me every time.  I hope you'll choose to laugh too.

So.  Along with the blog, which was apparently designed by Brooks' wonderful husband, Josh (no doubt under her watchful eye), I received this nifty book with four chapters in it: The Early Years, Young Adulthood, Married Life and Life Now. The chapters are comprised of nothing but questions. 84 of them to be exact. And I'm supposed to answer them. And you, lucky friend or family member, get to read them! I have been given permission to write about other things as the mood hits me and I invite you to share requests for additional stories.

Some of the questions bring back fond memories. Some will probably humiliate me (or someone else from my past---yes; be afraid). Some promise to make me write with tears in my eyes. But hopefully all of them will entertain or inspire as I write with my (according to Brooks) witty candor!

So, buckle up and come along for the ride! Not sure how this will all turn out, but Cruisin' Grandma is in the driver's seat and we're going on an adventure!