This will undoubtedly be a rather somber post, but a story that really does need to be told if I'm telling my children and grandchildren about my life. So, on this forty-second anniversary of my mother's death, it seems the appropriate time to do so.
My children grew up aware that I hated my birthday. Future posts will provide additional reasons why, but the first reason I had to truly dislike my birthday had to do with the fact that my mother passed away just eight days before my sixteenth birthday, but the story begins two years earlier...
The February before my 14th birthday, my mother was just recovering from a bout with the flu when she came to me and asked be to feel below her right armpit. She had apparently done a self breast exam and noticed three small bumps. I felt them too, but at the time was totally unaware of the implication. Suddenly, we were plunged into a two-year nightmare as she battled breast cancer.
She went to the doctor right away and went to the hospital for a biopsy. We learned that she had inoperable breast cancer and most likely had six months to live. Through radiation therapy and chemotherapy the six month sentence stretched to two years. Years in which I learned to stop taking my mother and all that I had for granted.
Admittedly, I was the spoiled baby of the family, but fortunately I was fairly mature for my age and adapted to my new responsibilities. While Miem took over the housework and quite a bit of the cooking when she began to care for my mother after she became home bound and then bed-ridden, there were skills that my mother taught me bit by bit while she was still well enough to do so. Things like the bookwork for my dad's contracting jobs and paying the bills. My name and signature were put on my parents bank accounts so I could write out the checks. I learned to do the grocery shopping, I received permission to enroll in driver's ed a semester early so I could get my driver's license as soon as I could after I turned sixteen. I began to assume responsibility for my aunt, DeeDee, who my parents had helped since the death of my grandmother.
I doubt that my mother saw the extra eighteen months to be quite the same blessing that I did. Of course she lost her hair due to the chemo. Her right arm swelled up like a balloon and she had to wear a special elastic wrap on it to try to keep the swelling down. I know that was extremely painful for her, but nothing was as bad for her as the result of the radiation. The repeated radiation aimed at those three nodules burned holes into her breast and all the way through her body so that she had open sores where the radiation went in and came out. I can't imagine how she must have felt having her fifteen-year-old daughter treating the sores and rotting flesh twice each day. And it had to have been even more difficult having that same daughter begging her on a daily basis not to give up; that there were new medical treatments found every day and that we could be given a miracle.
I know it was an extremely humbling experience for me. The first time I had to help her walk to the bathroom because she couldn't walk the ten feet by herself was when I really realized I wouldn't have my mother with me much longer. I beat myself up for the things I knew I had done and said as a snotty teenager that probably hurt her terribly and that there was no way to ever take it all back. The truly amazing thing is that I know how much she still loved me in spite of myself.
The night she died, I was exiled to the downstairs apartment where my brother Al lived. I kissed my mom good-night and told her I loved her and then was told that I needed to go downstairs to sleep to be there for my niece and nephew if they woke up in the night. I know that they all thought they were "protecting" me so that I wouldn't actually have to be there when she passed away, but I knew when it happened. I could sense it and I resented being deprived of a few extra minutes with her, but I knew that they thought they were doing what was right and didn't say anymore about it.
The following morning, I threw a bit of a fit as the family began making preparations for her funeral. As was the family custom, they were planning an open casket viewing and funeral. I lost it. My mother hated having people look at her. She hated being in the spotlight and she was very uncomfortable with anyone judging her appearance. (She didn't like to go to church because she only had one dress and "knew" that people at church would judge her for wearing the same dress every week.) So, I insisted that she would not want a bunch of people looking at her laying in a coffin withe her swollen arm and fake-looking wig. I agreed to compromise. We had an open-casket viewing and a closed-casket funeral.
Weeks later, my father and I went to Lincoln Memorial Park (in Aurora, IL) to choose the headstone for her grave. We decided we would buy a stone for both my father and her and as I looked through the catalog (I found that rather nauseating... a catalog of headstones), I found the perfect one. It had Lily-of-the-Valley, their birth month flower, on it. More prophetic however, was the phrase "Together Forever." It just felt right to me at the time. Little did I know that eight years later I would truly come to understand what that statement could really mean when I joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and two years after that when I had the opportunity to be sealed to my parents for all eternity in the Ogden, Utah temple.
I knew my mother for less than sixteen years in this mortal existence. I've lived without her for forty-two, so far. I'm in no hurry to be with her again, but I am so very happy and blessed to know that when the time comes, I will be with her again and be able to say all those things I never said and be able to introduce her to the rest of her grandchildren and great-grandchildren because I know, without a shadow of a doubt that Families CAN be Together Forever, through Heavenly Father's plan.
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
WC #4: Welcome Baby Claire!
I just received a greatly anticipated text from Brooks! The long-awaited Claire Emelia has joined the family!
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| Claire |
Born February 20, 2013 a little before 9:30 this evening and weighing in at 8 lb. 8 oz, she has kept everyone waiting a VERY LONG TIME! Where to even begin?!?!?!
While I know the past two days have been very difficult on "Mom & Dad," I think these past two days have been torturous for big brother Ethan! At 8-years-old, he's been well aware of this pregnancy and what it will mean to have a baby sister. The poor boy was in tears yesterday afternoon when he came home from school to find his mother sitting on the floor in her bedroom, folding laundry. He expected to go to the hospital after school yesterday to meet his baby sister! To cheer him up, I suggested we text all his grandparents, aunts & uncles and track guesses for Claire's anticipated time of arrival today. (The doctor told Brooks he would induce her at 9:00 this morning and we'd have a baby by 3:00. Knowing that's not how we "Zielke women" give birth, we knew that was unrealistic!)
Uncle Barton was the most optimistic, betting on 12:30 this afternoon. Pessimist that I am, gave the latest guess for 6:40 this evening. Turns out, I was the last loser... Everyone else fell somewhere between Bart and me. (The Gailey clan also added their guesses, but they were much more optimistic than the Sloan clan!)
So, big brothers eagerly awaited her arrival. The entire family bet on her arrival and eagerly anticipated verification of their "win" as I received phone calls & texts throughout the day. I'm sure Daddy was eagerly awaiting her arrival, not just to welcome his daughter into the family, but to be able to get his family back into a normal routine, with his family complete.
But, most of all eagerly awaited by her mother. Brooks knew she wanted to have a little girl named Claire since the day she was seven-years-old and she was listening to some of my old records with me and I told her to stop and "listen" to the words to this song:
Gilbert O'Sullivan and Clair
(The little girl who inspired the song)
As I expected, Brooks was thrilled when she realized that this was a man singing a song to a little girl that he loved and baby-sat. (In reality, Clair was the daughter of Raymond Gilbert O'Sullivan's manager/producer. He used to babysit for her and she called him "Uncle Ray." The song was written as a gift for the family.) Brooks has held onto this name for HER little girl for twenty-three years and she's finally here!
Emelia also has special significance. I had a very special aunt, Emily Zielke. (My brother Al, couldn't say "Emily" when he was little and somehow came up with MiMi, which over time, was shortened to Miem (Meem).) When Miem was born and they asked her mother her name, being a German woman, told them her name was Emilie (pronounced in German more like Amelia). Somehow, in the translation, it ended up being Emily. Miem was the closest person to a grandmother that my children ever encountered on my side of the family and Brooks has also had a love of her German heritage, enjoying old family stories and histories. Every one of her children have a name with family significance. In addition to "Grandma Miem," Claire has two aunts named Emily (Barton's wife & Josh's sister). Hence, named for a great aunt and two aunts, adding a German pronunciation with an Americanized spelling (for proper pronunciation), we proudly welcome the newest member of the Sloan family, my fifteenth grandchild.
HAPPY BIRTH-DAY, CLAIRE EMELIA!!!!!
Monday, February 11, 2013
WC #3: Happy Birthday Emily!
I have two beautiful daughters-in-law, but today I dedicate this post to Emily Crabtree Sloan because it is her HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!! Actually, if I remember correctly, Emily declares February as her birthday MONTH each year, but today is actually the anniversary of her birth 28 years ago!
It's rather cute how Bart & Emily got together. Somehow I think the fact that he was dating her cousin, but trying to fix her up with Brandon meant that he really knew there was something special about her. Fortunately, Brandon was looking elsewhere and didn't buy in to dating Emily.
Emily made a really good first impression on me, which was difficult, because I really liked Bart's high school girlfriend, but fortunately, I got to see her and gain my first impression BEFORE they started dating! I was fortunate enough when the boys got home from their missions to be working as a photo district manager covering the whole state of Montana and eastern Idaho, including Rexburg (where all of my kids went to school) and Pocatello (where Brooks and her husband were living). I say "fortunate" due to the fact that Walmart required me to visit each of my stores monthly AND gave me a 4-wheel-drive vehicle, bought my gas AND paid for my hotel stays and meals... and every time I went, I got to see my kids! (And keep tabs on their love lives!)
So, the first time I remember seeing Emily was when I went to church with the boys on campus. I use the term "church" loosely, because if you've ever been to BYU-Idaho, you know that the need for sacrament meeting rooms, Sunday School rooms, etc. is so large, they use classrooms on campus. Anyway... I had been looking at all of the other girls, with their fancy hair, spike-heeled-shoes and painted faces and then I saw Emily, teaching the gospel doctrine class. Anyway, the wonderful thing about Emily, that struck me the first time I saw her, was that she was REAL. She had (and still has) a natural beauty. She wears make-up, but doesn't need to; she's beautiful without it. She has an infectious smile and she's down-to-earth. She was dressed PRACTICALLY that day I first saw her. She was wearing a simple jumper; cute, but simple. And she was wearing FLATS!!! I was so impressed! I had to wonder why Brandon didn't want to date her, but then again I wondered why Bart didn't date her instead of her cousin. I thought I could like Emily a lot more... and I do.
Both of my boys have told me that in some ways their wives remind them of me; yet they are two VERY different young women. I think what Bart sees in Emily of me is her love of children and working with them. With a major in child development, you can't get much closer to my own degree in elementary education. Her love of children shines through and her face glows when she's working or playing with them. She's always there to help with nieces and nephews and almost two years ago gave me my 13th grandchild! When Abigail was still "in the oven" and didn't have a name yet, I decided that I would call him/her "Baker;" my baker's dozen grandbaby. Even though Abigail suits her and she's a beautiful little girl, she'll forever and always be MY Baker.
Emily is a great mom. Baker is learning by leaps and bounds and it's due to the loving care and time Emily devotes to her every day. (Not to say Bart doesn't contribute, but let's face it; he's been in dental school preparing to care for his family and his time is quality, not quantity.) One thing that I truly appreciate about Emily is the great pains that she takes to make sure that Baker knows who I am. I've only had the opportunity to see her in person three times in her young life, yet when we get to Skype, she knows who I am. Because her mommy cares enough to show her my picture and talk to her about me. Emily can't possibly know how much that means to me. (Well, maybe she does now, if she's reading this!)
So, Emily became my fifth wonderful, beautiful daughter. The last to join our family and make it complete. She's a loving mother, wife, aunt, sister and daughter. She's so supportive of Bart and everything he does, even though he has to spend a good deal of time away from her and Baker, she supports him, because she recognizes he's doing it all for them. Not just in this life, but in the eternities that follow.
For who you are and all that you do for us, we love you Pretty Lady!
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| Emily with Barton at his white coat ceremony. |
It's rather cute how Bart & Emily got together. Somehow I think the fact that he was dating her cousin, but trying to fix her up with Brandon meant that he really knew there was something special about her. Fortunately, Brandon was looking elsewhere and didn't buy in to dating Emily.
Emily made a really good first impression on me, which was difficult, because I really liked Bart's high school girlfriend, but fortunately, I got to see her and gain my first impression BEFORE they started dating! I was fortunate enough when the boys got home from their missions to be working as a photo district manager covering the whole state of Montana and eastern Idaho, including Rexburg (where all of my kids went to school) and Pocatello (where Brooks and her husband were living). I say "fortunate" due to the fact that Walmart required me to visit each of my stores monthly AND gave me a 4-wheel-drive vehicle, bought my gas AND paid for my hotel stays and meals... and every time I went, I got to see my kids! (And keep tabs on their love lives!)
So, the first time I remember seeing Emily was when I went to church with the boys on campus. I use the term "church" loosely, because if you've ever been to BYU-Idaho, you know that the need for sacrament meeting rooms, Sunday School rooms, etc. is so large, they use classrooms on campus. Anyway... I had been looking at all of the other girls, with their fancy hair, spike-heeled-shoes and painted faces and then I saw Emily, teaching the gospel doctrine class. Anyway, the wonderful thing about Emily, that struck me the first time I saw her, was that she was REAL. She had (and still has) a natural beauty. She wears make-up, but doesn't need to; she's beautiful without it. She has an infectious smile and she's down-to-earth. She was dressed PRACTICALLY that day I first saw her. She was wearing a simple jumper; cute, but simple. And she was wearing FLATS!!! I was so impressed! I had to wonder why Brandon didn't want to date her, but then again I wondered why Bart didn't date her instead of her cousin. I thought I could like Emily a lot more... and I do.
Both of my boys have told me that in some ways their wives remind them of me; yet they are two VERY different young women. I think what Bart sees in Emily of me is her love of children and working with them. With a major in child development, you can't get much closer to my own degree in elementary education. Her love of children shines through and her face glows when she's working or playing with them. She's always there to help with nieces and nephews and almost two years ago gave me my 13th grandchild! When Abigail was still "in the oven" and didn't have a name yet, I decided that I would call him/her "Baker;" my baker's dozen grandbaby. Even though Abigail suits her and she's a beautiful little girl, she'll forever and always be MY Baker.
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| Emily & our newborn Baker! |
Emily is a great mom. Baker is learning by leaps and bounds and it's due to the loving care and time Emily devotes to her every day. (Not to say Bart doesn't contribute, but let's face it; he's been in dental school preparing to care for his family and his time is quality, not quantity.) One thing that I truly appreciate about Emily is the great pains that she takes to make sure that Baker knows who I am. I've only had the opportunity to see her in person three times in her young life, yet when we get to Skype, she knows who I am. Because her mommy cares enough to show her my picture and talk to her about me. Emily can't possibly know how much that means to me. (Well, maybe she does now, if she's reading this!)
So, Emily became my fifth wonderful, beautiful daughter. The last to join our family and make it complete. She's a loving mother, wife, aunt, sister and daughter. She's so supportive of Bart and everything he does, even though he has to spend a good deal of time away from her and Baker, she supports him, because she recognizes he's doing it all for them. Not just in this life, but in the eternities that follow.
For who you are and all that you do for us, we love you Pretty Lady!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY EMILY!!!
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| Bart, Emily & "Baker" Easter 2012 |
Sunday, February 10, 2013
EY #7: Tell about your brothers while growing up..."
I know this question is about my "brothers," but this blog will only focus on one. William Edward Zielke is my oldest brother and today is his birthday! Born February 10, 1945 he was named for two great-grandfathers and one grandfather. William Zielke was our paternal great-grandfather who came to America from Germany. William Haag was our maternal great-grandfather who was a first generation American, born of parents who also came from Germany. Edward was our Grandpa Hill (see post from Jan. 22).
"Billy" was the oldest in our family, and consequently the responsible protector of the family. He also knew what he wanted. When he learned he had a baby brother when he was almost three years old, he declared to my grandmother that he was gonna take him and "throw him in the ocean," so set he was on having a baby sister! Obviously, I don't know too much about Billy's younger years, as he was ten-years-old when I was born.
I do know that he was a great big brother though! He used to read me stories. He used to give me stuffed-animals. He used to like to argue and was a great debater. (My daughter Meg inherited that skill!) At the time it just used to annoy me, but thinking back on it, I think he was probably trying to get me to think myself; to imagine the what-ifs and to realize that things aren't always what they seem. He used to take care of me and he used to comfort me when I cried. Sure he teased me, but he had my number too and could call me out when no one else could. In fact I was a bit amazed when he met my children as teenagers after barely a few minutes in their presence he was able to call Samantha out too... "You're a smart-aleck; just like your mother."
Sad, but true.
Billy gave me my first taste of what it meant to REALLY miss someone. Within weeks of his high school graduation, our family moved from Aurora, Illinois to a farm in Watertown, Wisconsin and shortly thereafter we delivered him to Iowa State University for his first semester in the pre-vet program. I remember being excited for him and I was excited to be living on the farm with my pony and dogs and cats. But one day, I was laying on the couch in our living room and happened to look over at his senior picture on the end table. Suddenly, I was overcome with inconsolable tears. I bet I cried for at least a half hour. I really missed my brother and really wanted him to come home.
I think it was a little hard on Bill when I grew up and suddenly had a mind and opinion of my own. I was so used to everyone spoiling me and taking care of me, I just did what everyone wanted because it had to be the right thing to do. I remember the first time I stood up to him. It was at my father's viewing the night before the funeral. I saw one of my aunts at the casket with a camera and asked my brothers to ask them to stop. They refused, saying they had a right to take the pictures if they wanted. I knew, however, that my father would not want to be remembered lying in a casket, but would rather be remembered smiling, laughing and having a beer at a family reunion. When my brothers refused, for the first time in my life, I stood up to them. I told them that if they wouldn't talk to our aunt, I would. And I did. I'll say that my aunt was very understanding and respected my wishes, but I'm quite sure I shocked the socks off Bill and Al. Li'l sis never had that kind of guts before.
Bill married Patricia Ann Thomson in Grayslake, Illinois on June 3, 1967. Their son, Todd William, was born on my 13th birthday and their daughter Kirsten Marie was born on my brother Al's 23rd birthday (which also happened to be his daughter's 2nd birthday!). Unfortunately, our beloved little imp, Kirsten died two months before our father, making it a really rough year for Bill.
After our father passed away, Bill and Pat invited me to spend the summer between my Sophomore and Junior years of college with them. That was probably a bad move. Part of it was great. Bill helped me pick out and purchase my first car and we had some really good times that summer, but "little sister" was gone and "devoted big brother" had more adult concerns to deal with, working to finish his masters degree while managing a Clark Oil gas station. I also didn't see eye-to-eye with Pat on a lot of things and I'm sure Bill felt like he was in the middle, and I'm also sure I didn't make it any easier on him. I was too used to getting my way with my big brother and him taking care of me.
Things were never the same with our relationship after that summer. I never stopped loving him. And I've missed him dreadfully over the years, but you can never recover what you've lost in relationships. It's hard to believe that I feel such a strong love and attachment to a man that I really only knew and lived with for eight years of my life, but the love and attachment are there.
A few months ago, Bill came to Seattle on a business trip. He let me know he was coming and I drove to his airport hotel to have dinner with him. It was so good to see him. He was still my big brother. A bit older. Looked a bit more like our father. But, the same piercing blue eyes that seem to be able to see right through me. To know what I'm thinking.
Bill is still working. He had retired from General Motors after a career as an executive with them, but he lost his retirement with the government bailout a few years ago. The blue-collared union workers were taken care of; the executives were not. So, he's working with no sign of retirement in sight. He is under constant surveillance as his work frequently takes him to foreign countries, especially China. He undergoes TSA hold-ups in airports, his phone is tapped and his emails are traced; all because he's trying to earn a living, doing what he knows how to do.
I called him today to wish him a Happy Birthday. He was actually on vacation in Florida, without his family. It makes me a little sad, but he sounded good, so hopefully, that was his choice. I love my brother. I wish I knew something that I could have done to make his day special, but hopefully, the fact that I called and we actually spoke for the first time in a long time on his birthday, he'll know how much I do love him and think about him.
My advice to my children and grandchildren? I've taught you all your lives that no matter how many quarrels or disagreements you may have; no matter how frustrated you may become with one another; stick together and stick up for one another. A blood-tie is more powerful than you can imagine and the day will come when you wish you'd done more with/for one another, no matter how close or distant you are. Love one another and love your aunts, uncles and cousins. We have the gospel in our lives and we are an eternal family because Families can be together forever....
"Billy" was the oldest in our family, and consequently the responsible protector of the family. He also knew what he wanted. When he learned he had a baby brother when he was almost three years old, he declared to my grandmother that he was gonna take him and "throw him in the ocean," so set he was on having a baby sister! Obviously, I don't know too much about Billy's younger years, as he was ten-years-old when I was born.
I do know that he was a great big brother though! He used to read me stories. He used to give me stuffed-animals. He used to like to argue and was a great debater. (My daughter Meg inherited that skill!) At the time it just used to annoy me, but thinking back on it, I think he was probably trying to get me to think myself; to imagine the what-ifs and to realize that things aren't always what they seem. He used to take care of me and he used to comfort me when I cried. Sure he teased me, but he had my number too and could call me out when no one else could. In fact I was a bit amazed when he met my children as teenagers after barely a few minutes in their presence he was able to call Samantha out too... "You're a smart-aleck; just like your mother."
Sad, but true.
Billy gave me my first taste of what it meant to REALLY miss someone. Within weeks of his high school graduation, our family moved from Aurora, Illinois to a farm in Watertown, Wisconsin and shortly thereafter we delivered him to Iowa State University for his first semester in the pre-vet program. I remember being excited for him and I was excited to be living on the farm with my pony and dogs and cats. But one day, I was laying on the couch in our living room and happened to look over at his senior picture on the end table. Suddenly, I was overcome with inconsolable tears. I bet I cried for at least a half hour. I really missed my brother and really wanted him to come home.
I think it was a little hard on Bill when I grew up and suddenly had a mind and opinion of my own. I was so used to everyone spoiling me and taking care of me, I just did what everyone wanted because it had to be the right thing to do. I remember the first time I stood up to him. It was at my father's viewing the night before the funeral. I saw one of my aunts at the casket with a camera and asked my brothers to ask them to stop. They refused, saying they had a right to take the pictures if they wanted. I knew, however, that my father would not want to be remembered lying in a casket, but would rather be remembered smiling, laughing and having a beer at a family reunion. When my brothers refused, for the first time in my life, I stood up to them. I told them that if they wouldn't talk to our aunt, I would. And I did. I'll say that my aunt was very understanding and respected my wishes, but I'm quite sure I shocked the socks off Bill and Al. Li'l sis never had that kind of guts before.
Bill married Patricia Ann Thomson in Grayslake, Illinois on June 3, 1967. Their son, Todd William, was born on my 13th birthday and their daughter Kirsten Marie was born on my brother Al's 23rd birthday (which also happened to be his daughter's 2nd birthday!). Unfortunately, our beloved little imp, Kirsten died two months before our father, making it a really rough year for Bill.
After our father passed away, Bill and Pat invited me to spend the summer between my Sophomore and Junior years of college with them. That was probably a bad move. Part of it was great. Bill helped me pick out and purchase my first car and we had some really good times that summer, but "little sister" was gone and "devoted big brother" had more adult concerns to deal with, working to finish his masters degree while managing a Clark Oil gas station. I also didn't see eye-to-eye with Pat on a lot of things and I'm sure Bill felt like he was in the middle, and I'm also sure I didn't make it any easier on him. I was too used to getting my way with my big brother and him taking care of me.
Things were never the same with our relationship after that summer. I never stopped loving him. And I've missed him dreadfully over the years, but you can never recover what you've lost in relationships. It's hard to believe that I feel such a strong love and attachment to a man that I really only knew and lived with for eight years of my life, but the love and attachment are there.
A few months ago, Bill came to Seattle on a business trip. He let me know he was coming and I drove to his airport hotel to have dinner with him. It was so good to see him. He was still my big brother. A bit older. Looked a bit more like our father. But, the same piercing blue eyes that seem to be able to see right through me. To know what I'm thinking.
Bill is still working. He had retired from General Motors after a career as an executive with them, but he lost his retirement with the government bailout a few years ago. The blue-collared union workers were taken care of; the executives were not. So, he's working with no sign of retirement in sight. He is under constant surveillance as his work frequently takes him to foreign countries, especially China. He undergoes TSA hold-ups in airports, his phone is tapped and his emails are traced; all because he's trying to earn a living, doing what he knows how to do.
I called him today to wish him a Happy Birthday. He was actually on vacation in Florida, without his family. It makes me a little sad, but he sounded good, so hopefully, that was his choice. I love my brother. I wish I knew something that I could have done to make his day special, but hopefully, the fact that I called and we actually spoke for the first time in a long time on his birthday, he'll know how much I do love him and think about him.
My advice to my children and grandchildren? I've taught you all your lives that no matter how many quarrels or disagreements you may have; no matter how frustrated you may become with one another; stick together and stick up for one another. A blood-tie is more powerful than you can imagine and the day will come when you wish you'd done more with/for one another, no matter how close or distant you are. Love one another and love your aunts, uncles and cousins. We have the gospel in our lives and we are an eternal family because Families can be together forever....
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
EY#23: What did you want to be when you grew up?
What did I want to be when I grew up? Wow! This could be the shortest post in the world and I could just say "a teacher" and be done with it, but then again, I wouldn't want to disappoint all of my loved ones who visit this site and hang onto my every word. So, I shan't disappoint and shall expound!
The first time I was ever asked the question, I was either in kindergarten or first grade. I remember that it was in the kitchen of my grandma's house in Oswego, Illinois and I know it was one of my aunts (Grace, Marge or Dorothy) who asked the question. For some reason I want to say it was Aunt Grace, but I can't be sure. BUT... I do remember my answer. With no thought or hesitation I declared "A teacher." Not sure exactly why I came to that decision, probably because it meant I'd be able to write on a chalkboard and read books all day! OH! And being able to make red checkmarks on kids' papers and then put a BIG red number at the top of the page, with a big red circle around it! But, that desire never died, in spite of a few detours along the way.
Oh yeah... there was the period of time that I thought I wanted to be a ballerina. That was when I had a set of ballerina ColorForms dolls. (Wow! I haven't seen ColorForms FOREVER! Anyone remember them?) I seem to remember thinking how cool it would be to be able to dance on your toes.
Then I fancied that I would be a singer and would sneak the mutes for one of my brothers' horns to be a microphone and sing my heart out alone in my room.
Oh. Then there was the librarian phase. (Again with the fascination with books!) But the real draw to being a librarian was those nifty pencils they used to use! The pencils were always sharp and they had that nifty rubber stamp attached to the side. I was fascinated when I went to the library and went to the desk to check out my books to watch the librarian press her rubber stamp onto the ink pad and then stamp the due date in the front of my book and then so smoothly turn the pencil over and write her initials next to the stamp in my book!
Then we moved to a farm in Wisconsin and my dad bought me a pony. I got my first (and only) pair of cowboy boots and a cowboy hat and fancied myself a real cowgirl! Until I realized I was REALLY afraid to ride my pony unless my dad was walking alongside with the reins.
Then reality set in a bit more and I went back to wanting to be a teacher because of my third grade teacher, Miss Keyes, at Schurz Elementary School in Watertown, Wisconsin. I thought she was great and so talented to be able to teach a class of third and fourth graders in one classroom at the same time! WOW!
So, the desire to teach held true on into high school and as I became involved in the advanced math placement class and got to work with some really great math teachers, I changed from elementary teacher to math teacher... until my junior year. When I heard that the state of Illinois was going to reduce the state requirement of 3 years of high school math to just ONE!! Ever the realist, I looked around myself at all the math teachers in my school and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that there wouldn't be enough math students to keep all these math teachers employed if they took away two thirds of the classes. (And face it, there aren't that many people who voluntarily take math classes!).
So, time to rethink my career choice! I knew I liked math & science. I knew I liked children. I knew I liked helping people. Mine would not be a "get rich" career. So, I began doing some research into different health or human resource-type careers and settled on Occupational Therapy, which took me to Millikin University, because their literature said they had an OT program. They lied. Long enough for me to get hooked on the school and my sorority. So, I had to change my major to stay there!
Well, I planned on working primarily with children with my OT, so I decided I'd go the Special Ed route and still be able to work with a lot of the same children. Millikin had a Special Ed program, or so they told me until the end of my sophomore, when I had grown to love MU & ZTA even more AND Randy had entered my life! I couldn't transfer then!
Time to make another career choice and, you guessed it, back to Elementary Ed I went. And it just felt right! It was tough getting a teaching job. Everyone had to pay their "dues." So, I subbed for almost a year, worked as a teacher's aid for another semester and finally got my own classroom in September of '78. The career was short-lived though after marrying in December of '78 and having my first daughter in '79 and I left my beloved teaching job to stay home and be a mom to my new beautiful, baby girl.
Over the years, I tried to get back into teaching a few times; started paying my dues again with the "sub" routine, but it was never again meant to be. Eventually, I needed to get another type of job to support the family while Randy went back to school to finally get his degree and that's how I ended up at Walmart. The funny thing was that as I began building my career with WM, I recognized more and more opportunities to train associates and set my sights on moving into Talent Development.
Time and locations were never right until two years ago, January, 2011 when I finally moved into Walmart Talent Development in the Seattle, Washington area. A dream job for me actually.
A job that has given me the opportunity to combine 20+ years of retail experience with my education degree to help train new managers and try to improve the quality of the training programs in the stores.
So, that's that. Not a terribly exciting or amusing post, but I think you can see why I always asked my children, from very young ages, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" I watched for their skills. I watched for their talents. I watched for those things that brought light into their eyes and I tried to help them pursue their goals, whether they were ones I would have chosen for them or not. And you know what? "They done good!" Every one of them went to college. Every one of them pursued THEIR own interests, not mine. They aren't all done with school yet, but they're all in good places in their lives and I'm proud of each and every one of them.
So, my beloved grandchildren, I now ask you: What do YOU want to be when you grow up? You might change your mind a dozen times along the way, but set your sights on something that will make you happy. Whether you're a neurosurgeon, president of the United States or a plumber be true to yourself, your talents and your loves and be happy!
The first time I was ever asked the question, I was either in kindergarten or first grade. I remember that it was in the kitchen of my grandma's house in Oswego, Illinois and I know it was one of my aunts (Grace, Marge or Dorothy) who asked the question. For some reason I want to say it was Aunt Grace, but I can't be sure. BUT... I do remember my answer. With no thought or hesitation I declared "A teacher." Not sure exactly why I came to that decision, probably because it meant I'd be able to write on a chalkboard and read books all day! OH! And being able to make red checkmarks on kids' papers and then put a BIG red number at the top of the page, with a big red circle around it! But, that desire never died, in spite of a few detours along the way.
Oh yeah... there was the period of time that I thought I wanted to be a ballerina. That was when I had a set of ballerina ColorForms dolls. (Wow! I haven't seen ColorForms FOREVER! Anyone remember them?) I seem to remember thinking how cool it would be to be able to dance on your toes.
Then I fancied that I would be a singer and would sneak the mutes for one of my brothers' horns to be a microphone and sing my heart out alone in my room.
Oh. Then there was the librarian phase. (Again with the fascination with books!) But the real draw to being a librarian was those nifty pencils they used to use! The pencils were always sharp and they had that nifty rubber stamp attached to the side. I was fascinated when I went to the library and went to the desk to check out my books to watch the librarian press her rubber stamp onto the ink pad and then stamp the due date in the front of my book and then so smoothly turn the pencil over and write her initials next to the stamp in my book!
Then we moved to a farm in Wisconsin and my dad bought me a pony. I got my first (and only) pair of cowboy boots and a cowboy hat and fancied myself a real cowgirl! Until I realized I was REALLY afraid to ride my pony unless my dad was walking alongside with the reins.
Then reality set in a bit more and I went back to wanting to be a teacher because of my third grade teacher, Miss Keyes, at Schurz Elementary School in Watertown, Wisconsin. I thought she was great and so talented to be able to teach a class of third and fourth graders in one classroom at the same time! WOW!
So, the desire to teach held true on into high school and as I became involved in the advanced math placement class and got to work with some really great math teachers, I changed from elementary teacher to math teacher... until my junior year. When I heard that the state of Illinois was going to reduce the state requirement of 3 years of high school math to just ONE!! Ever the realist, I looked around myself at all the math teachers in my school and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that there wouldn't be enough math students to keep all these math teachers employed if they took away two thirds of the classes. (And face it, there aren't that many people who voluntarily take math classes!).
So, time to rethink my career choice! I knew I liked math & science. I knew I liked children. I knew I liked helping people. Mine would not be a "get rich" career. So, I began doing some research into different health or human resource-type careers and settled on Occupational Therapy, which took me to Millikin University, because their literature said they had an OT program. They lied. Long enough for me to get hooked on the school and my sorority. So, I had to change my major to stay there!
Well, I planned on working primarily with children with my OT, so I decided I'd go the Special Ed route and still be able to work with a lot of the same children. Millikin had a Special Ed program, or so they told me until the end of my sophomore, when I had grown to love MU & ZTA even more AND Randy had entered my life! I couldn't transfer then!
Time to make another career choice and, you guessed it, back to Elementary Ed I went. And it just felt right! It was tough getting a teaching job. Everyone had to pay their "dues." So, I subbed for almost a year, worked as a teacher's aid for another semester and finally got my own classroom in September of '78. The career was short-lived though after marrying in December of '78 and having my first daughter in '79 and I left my beloved teaching job to stay home and be a mom to my new beautiful, baby girl.
Over the years, I tried to get back into teaching a few times; started paying my dues again with the "sub" routine, but it was never again meant to be. Eventually, I needed to get another type of job to support the family while Randy went back to school to finally get his degree and that's how I ended up at Walmart. The funny thing was that as I began building my career with WM, I recognized more and more opportunities to train associates and set my sights on moving into Talent Development.
Time and locations were never right until two years ago, January, 2011 when I finally moved into Walmart Talent Development in the Seattle, Washington area. A dream job for me actually.
A job that has given me the opportunity to combine 20+ years of retail experience with my education degree to help train new managers and try to improve the quality of the training programs in the stores.
So, that's that. Not a terribly exciting or amusing post, but I think you can see why I always asked my children, from very young ages, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" I watched for their skills. I watched for their talents. I watched for those things that brought light into their eyes and I tried to help them pursue their goals, whether they were ones I would have chosen for them or not. And you know what? "They done good!" Every one of them went to college. Every one of them pursued THEIR own interests, not mine. They aren't all done with school yet, but they're all in good places in their lives and I'm proud of each and every one of them.
So, my beloved grandchildren, I now ask you: What do YOU want to be when you grow up? You might change your mind a dozen times along the way, but set your sights on something that will make you happy. Whether you're a neurosurgeon, president of the United States or a plumber be true to yourself, your talents and your loves and be happy!
Monday, February 4, 2013
EY #6: Tell about "running away" with your cousin.
Not exactly sure why I chose this topic today. I had every intention of writing this post on her birthday, but maybe the fact that I have a nephew and a sister-in-law who share her birthday has something to do with it. Maybe I'll be inspired to write about them on June 17th!
So... Beth Ann Kaetzer was my "little cousin." Not too sure why I felt that way about her. I was only 15 months older than her, but I guess the fact that I was so much older, made me feel protective of her. I looked on her Facebook page to see if I could find a picture of her from when she was a kid, but not everyone shares their past quite the way I do so this was the best I could do:
Now, Beth's older brother, Jimmy was eleven months older than me, so as you can guess, we were all pretty close. Especially since the rest of our cousins seemed quite a bit older than us; or at least that's how they made me feel. Anyway, we also only lived about 6 miles apart. Beth's family (her mom was my Aunt Marge, my dad's younger sister) lived in a house behind my grandparents in Oswego, Illinois and my father was in the process of building a new house for them across the street from Grandma & Grandpa.
Occasionally, my mother would babysit for Aunt Marge and I had the fun of having other children my age at our house. (They also had a little brother named Tommy and I think Aunt Marge was pregnant with Timmy.) Anyway, on this particular day, we had gone to Oswego to pick them up, but Jimmy decided he wanted to stay home and watch "Uncle Ray" work on their new house. I'm not sure why we wanted Jimmy to come with us so much. We really should have enjoyed having some fun without him, but we missed him.
Beth and I were having fun in my bedroom, using my bed as a trampoline when I came up with a brilliant idea!!! Let's walk to Oswego and get him! Now, I don't know if Beth was smarter than I was or if she was just a chicken, but she didn't seem quite as excited about the adventure. She told me that we didn't know the way (remember I said it was about six miles?), but I assured her that I did. After all, I would be starting kindergarten in just a few weeks!
So, we planned our escape. (Or I did and she just went along with my insanity... I really hope she'll comment on this post and share a bit of what she remembers!) The plan was that we would ask my mom if we could go for a walk around the block. She let us do that sometimes and the world seemed so much safer back then. Anyway, we got permission and set out on our adventure. Except when we got to the end of my block we didn't turn, we kept on walking and walking and walking. We walked past my soon-to-be elementary school and said hello to Miss Lonergan, the principal who was outside. I knew all about Bardwell School and Miss Lonergan. My mother was a long-time room mother and PTA member/president, so I was frequently at the school in my "younger" years. I'm kind of amazed now that Miss Lonergan didn't call my mom. She did ask what we were doing when I introduced her to my little cousin, but I told her we were just out for a walk. (Is it wrong that I can still remember some of these details?) Anyway, she bought our story, so we continued on.
The road to Oswego (at that time anyway) took us past some rural areas and at one point we walked past a wooded area. Beth was a bit apprehensive of the woods, but instead of trying to reassure her, I compounded her fear by telling her that lions, tigers and alligators lived in there, so we needed to hurry and stay on the road... yeah... no sidewalks by this point. The road to Oswego followed the Fox River and at one point we had a very good view of the river... and the hobos that were hanging out by it!
We had walked about halfway and made it to Montgomery, Illinois and came upon a little picnic area with a small parking lot that had those tire bumper things; you know the things that show you where the parking places are and prevent you from pulling into the grass? Well, I always loved to walk on those things, pretending they were balance beams or something I guess. So, we started walking on them. Until I fell and hurt my knee on the gravel! And I started to cry.
Suddenly, an elderly woman came out of the house across the street and started calling us to come into her house. Visions of Hansel & Gretel and the wicked witch came to mind and I hesitated to go into a stranger's house. But, practical Beth convinced me that it was the right thing to do since I was hurt and we didn't have any bandaids. So, we watched for cars, I held Beth's hand and away we went. I think the old lady was a little surprised when I could tell her that 63849 was my telephone number, but she promised she would call my mother right away.
Before she went to make the call, she cleaned up my knee and patched me up and then offered us a dish of chocolate covered peanuts. Beth dug in and grabbed a handful! I was horrified! "Don't you know you're not supposed to take candy from strangers?!?!?!" Beth just looked at me and popped a couple in her mouth. I'm not sure what made me think it was okay to be in a stranger's home, but that it wasn't okay to eat the candy. I just knew that my mother told me to NEVER take candy from strangers. So I didn't. But I sure envied Beth for having some. We left home before we got to eat lunch!
So, Beth munched on candy; I glared at her and sniveled about my sore knee and the lady called my mom, who arrived within minutes. I was so excited to see her, but didn't get the comforting greeting I expected to make my knee feel all better. In fact I got no greeting at all. Just an order to get in the car while my mother thanked the lady.
I never knew what "the silent treatment" was, but I should have been glad that's what I got, because it didn't last long enough. Once we got home and my mom parked the car and we all got out of the car, I received swats to my rear-end, all the way into the house while my mother asked me if I had any idea how worried she had been and how lucky I was that all I got was a scraped knee and how inconsiderate I was since my mom still had Tommy to look after and how could I put Beth in that much danger and what was Aunt Marge going to say.... and on... and on...
Had the book Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, Bad Day been written by then, I think I would have agreed with Alexander and decided to move to Australia!
Moral of the story to any grandchildren who may read this post: No matter how smart you think you are, you do not know everything! Listen to your parents (and your little cousins-or siblings) when the speak with the voice of reason! And, while adventure may be fun and sound like a good idea at the time, there is nothing better than the safe haven of a loving home and parents who care enough to swat your rear-end!
Moral of the story to my children or any other young parents who may read this post: Don't forget that your children have their own ideas about the world and how it operates. Protect them but don't smother them. And be willing to look beyond their actions to discover the reasons behind them. They may just be missing someone (or something) they love.
So... Beth Ann Kaetzer was my "little cousin." Not too sure why I felt that way about her. I was only 15 months older than her, but I guess the fact that I was so much older, made me feel protective of her. I looked on her Facebook page to see if I could find a picture of her from when she was a kid, but not everyone shares their past quite the way I do so this was the best I could do:
 |
| My beautiful cousin, Beth with her children |
Now, Beth's older brother, Jimmy was eleven months older than me, so as you can guess, we were all pretty close. Especially since the rest of our cousins seemed quite a bit older than us; or at least that's how they made me feel. Anyway, we also only lived about 6 miles apart. Beth's family (her mom was my Aunt Marge, my dad's younger sister) lived in a house behind my grandparents in Oswego, Illinois and my father was in the process of building a new house for them across the street from Grandma & Grandpa.
Occasionally, my mother would babysit for Aunt Marge and I had the fun of having other children my age at our house. (They also had a little brother named Tommy and I think Aunt Marge was pregnant with Timmy.) Anyway, on this particular day, we had gone to Oswego to pick them up, but Jimmy decided he wanted to stay home and watch "Uncle Ray" work on their new house. I'm not sure why we wanted Jimmy to come with us so much. We really should have enjoyed having some fun without him, but we missed him.
Beth and I were having fun in my bedroom, using my bed as a trampoline when I came up with a brilliant idea!!! Let's walk to Oswego and get him! Now, I don't know if Beth was smarter than I was or if she was just a chicken, but she didn't seem quite as excited about the adventure. She told me that we didn't know the way (remember I said it was about six miles?), but I assured her that I did. After all, I would be starting kindergarten in just a few weeks!
So, we planned our escape. (Or I did and she just went along with my insanity... I really hope she'll comment on this post and share a bit of what she remembers!) The plan was that we would ask my mom if we could go for a walk around the block. She let us do that sometimes and the world seemed so much safer back then. Anyway, we got permission and set out on our adventure. Except when we got to the end of my block we didn't turn, we kept on walking and walking and walking. We walked past my soon-to-be elementary school and said hello to Miss Lonergan, the principal who was outside. I knew all about Bardwell School and Miss Lonergan. My mother was a long-time room mother and PTA member/president, so I was frequently at the school in my "younger" years. I'm kind of amazed now that Miss Lonergan didn't call my mom. She did ask what we were doing when I introduced her to my little cousin, but I told her we were just out for a walk. (Is it wrong that I can still remember some of these details?) Anyway, she bought our story, so we continued on.
The road to Oswego (at that time anyway) took us past some rural areas and at one point we walked past a wooded area. Beth was a bit apprehensive of the woods, but instead of trying to reassure her, I compounded her fear by telling her that lions, tigers and alligators lived in there, so we needed to hurry and stay on the road... yeah... no sidewalks by this point. The road to Oswego followed the Fox River and at one point we had a very good view of the river... and the hobos that were hanging out by it!
We had walked about halfway and made it to Montgomery, Illinois and came upon a little picnic area with a small parking lot that had those tire bumper things; you know the things that show you where the parking places are and prevent you from pulling into the grass? Well, I always loved to walk on those things, pretending they were balance beams or something I guess. So, we started walking on them. Until I fell and hurt my knee on the gravel! And I started to cry.
Suddenly, an elderly woman came out of the house across the street and started calling us to come into her house. Visions of Hansel & Gretel and the wicked witch came to mind and I hesitated to go into a stranger's house. But, practical Beth convinced me that it was the right thing to do since I was hurt and we didn't have any bandaids. So, we watched for cars, I held Beth's hand and away we went. I think the old lady was a little surprised when I could tell her that 63849 was my telephone number, but she promised she would call my mother right away.
Before she went to make the call, she cleaned up my knee and patched me up and then offered us a dish of chocolate covered peanuts. Beth dug in and grabbed a handful! I was horrified! "Don't you know you're not supposed to take candy from strangers?!?!?!" Beth just looked at me and popped a couple in her mouth. I'm not sure what made me think it was okay to be in a stranger's home, but that it wasn't okay to eat the candy. I just knew that my mother told me to NEVER take candy from strangers. So I didn't. But I sure envied Beth for having some. We left home before we got to eat lunch!
So, Beth munched on candy; I glared at her and sniveled about my sore knee and the lady called my mom, who arrived within minutes. I was so excited to see her, but didn't get the comforting greeting I expected to make my knee feel all better. In fact I got no greeting at all. Just an order to get in the car while my mother thanked the lady.
I never knew what "the silent treatment" was, but I should have been glad that's what I got, because it didn't last long enough. Once we got home and my mom parked the car and we all got out of the car, I received swats to my rear-end, all the way into the house while my mother asked me if I had any idea how worried she had been and how lucky I was that all I got was a scraped knee and how inconsiderate I was since my mom still had Tommy to look after and how could I put Beth in that much danger and what was Aunt Marge going to say.... and on... and on...
Had the book Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, Bad Day been written by then, I think I would have agreed with Alexander and decided to move to Australia!
Moral of the story to any grandchildren who may read this post: No matter how smart you think you are, you do not know everything! Listen to your parents (and your little cousins-or siblings) when the speak with the voice of reason! And, while adventure may be fun and sound like a good idea at the time, there is nothing better than the safe haven of a loving home and parents who care enough to swat your rear-end!
Moral of the story to my children or any other young parents who may read this post: Don't forget that your children have their own ideas about the world and how it operates. Protect them but don't smother them. And be willing to look beyond their actions to discover the reasons behind them. They may just be missing someone (or something) they love.
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