Not As It Used To Be. . .

Tonight we went to 4:30 pm Mass, a children's Mass at St. John's. This was Ezra's first

Christmas singing with the choir. It was such a blessing to be part of the bigger picture

this year.

So many years ago, in St. Louis, our family usually attended Midnight Mass. First at St.

Margaret, then at Epiphany and finally at the College Church. My first memories from the

St. Margaret's experience center around not the Mass itself, but rather being at Grandma

Santa's before and after Mass. We arrived around sunset, ate dinner and then opened

presents. Periodically, Grandpa Joe would gather up all the wrapping paper and toss it in

the fireplace. Unfortunately, one year Mary Fran's present from Russ, a very fancy Remington

lighter, got gathered up and burned, we surmise, before it was even used!

After Mass, we would go back to Grandma Santa's for breakfast and sweets. Our

favorite was Torrone, a nougat candy laced with almonds and hazelnuts. Each 2 by 3 piece

was ensconced in rice paper and individually boxed in an elegant container with pictures

from Italy. The nougat was flavored with lemon, vanilla or orange. The story goes that

an Italian nobleman's daughter was to be married and he wanted a new type of delicacy

to be served at the wedding. And so Torrone!

As our families grew, we began opening presents at home and then heading over to

Lafayette for Midnight Mass and breakfast. Eventually, the Hohlfelds went to Epiphany and

went to Grandma's on Christmas Day. After Daddy died we started attending St. Francis

Xavier, but still the Midnight Mass tradition went on. When Jim and I began going together,

we went either to Epiphany or the College Church. After we moved to the Kansas City

area, we began attending the College Church here, near Rockhurst.

After we moved to Blue Springs, we went to Midnight Mass at St. John LaLande's. When Diane and Sally came along, we started to attend the late afternoon Children's Mass, but once in a while the girls made it to 11 p.m.

Now only half the Hohlfelds are here and Christmas is not as it used to be. . . but it is

good. Keep the old memories tucked inside your heart and make new celebrations

memorable. Merry Christmas!

December 8

Today I am thinking of Grandma Santa because it is the 110 anniversary of her birth. I often think of her as she was at Mary Queen & Mother but more often I think of her as she was when my "cousins by the dozen" were growing up.

We spent most Sundays at the house on Lafayette, arriving after Mass and not leaving until dark. But even before she kept her overnight bag ready to go in case there was a babysitting emergency, she was quite the feminist. She owned her own car in Quincy and was seen driving all around the town on some errand or adventure. She often drove the nuns to O'Fallon following the Red Bud highway.

As a young woman she worked as a seamstress, later she worked at a drug store and then she took on the operation of St. Margaret's school cafeteria. A short time after she retired, she was back working for the "Priestezes." They constantly told her how delicious her dinners were. The priests at Epiphany loved the way she kept their favorite foods apart from the others which gave rise to her infamous label "Father Meyer's Honey." Father Meyer must have had a special place in his heart (or tummy) for Grandma because he enticed her to follow him to a total of three parishes.

Looking back, I never saw a cookbook in her kitchen or one on how to entertain, but anyone that spent an evening in her home or ate a meal at her table knew she had a gift for both.

Fuzzy Sticks?

The other day, Diane and I went in search of craft items we needed to make candy canes out of

twisted cord. I sent Diane to the rear of the store to buy white pipe cleaners that would make it possible for us to make the canes have a flexible top.

She came back and reported the store only carried "fuzzy sticks." A closer inspection revealed

they were indeed only pipe cleaners in a pretty bag. They came in red, green and white, so of

couse we bought one of each color.

Diane has already made a few tiny wreathes with hers and we plan to start twisting tomorrow.

We have a deadline of December 5th and should have at least a dozen ready to sell At St. John

LaLande by then. For those who have never heard of this particular St. John, as I hadn't, he

was one of the "North American Martyrs" who attempted to bring Christianity to the new world. At the time of his death, he was only 15. He had been in the service of the Jesuits for

a few years. Thank goodness we only need to serve God by selling crafts and cookies at the

annual fund raiser.

I intend to visit a tobacco counter soon to find out if pipe cleaners are available in today's

society or if pipe smokers have to use "Fuzzy Sticks" to clean their pipes.

Thanksgiving

This year we tried something completely different. I finally decided it was time to stop

making Sally's family eat two turkey dinners within 8 hours of each other. So, we brought

pumpkin pies and coffee to their house around 6 p.m.

Levi was on the sofa sleeping, but when he heard us talking, he woke up and was still in full

swing when we left about two hours later. Everybody, except Ezra and Levi, was excited to

see the Plaza Lights turned on tonight.

I remember the first time I went to see the "turn on." It was with Jim and his family and

we parked on top of Swanson's. The view from their roof was amazing. We were all huddled

together because it was about 30 degrees! At that time we were a fairly large crowd:

Gladys, Jim's grandmother, and his mom, Betty. Also, Martha, Archie, and Nanett. And, the

newcomer, me. At that time, both Diane and Sally were still a "twinkle in God's eye."

Over coffee after the event, Betty made her annual observation. "I don't know why every

body makes such a big deal out of watching the lights come on. If you come down here at

5 p.m., you can see them come on any night of the week until the middle of January."

Because our group was smaller this year, I ordered a full Thanksgiving dinner from Hen

House. All I had to do was bake the turkey (for 3 hours) and microwave or bake green beans,

dressing, carrots, sweet potatoes and gravy. The easiest part of all were the cranberries:

we sliced the jellied Ocean Spray and a cranberry-orange relish came with the dinner.

I think next year, I will go back to making my own dinner, because the pre-arranged

dinner actually took as much time and energy as starting from scratch. With apologies to

the Bard, perhaps I can end with my own observation:

Double, double, toil and trouble

Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

Eye of newt and hair of dog

Cranberries growing in the bog.

Oven roast, smoke, fry or bake,

My annual bird I ought to make.

But the pamphlet said, "Just re-heat.

Take the burden off your feet."

What the grocer fail to mention:

A half-baked turkey needs more attention

Than his fresh cousin ever did!

Happy Holidays in the making,

One Month

It has been one month since my Mother passed away. She was 87, and, of course there were

signs that led us to realize time was getting shorter. In September, she had a stroke. After she

returned to her nursing home she was only eating about one quarter of her meals. Realizing

that this was her body gradually shutting down, my brother, sister-in-law and I knew it was

time to see her. Sally and her family were also planning to go to St. Louis at the same time.

Thursday, September 30, we were making plans to leave the next day. Because of previous

work-related commitments, Lynne was going to St. Louis the following weekend. Friday

morning, Diane and I were finishing our packing and Jim was getting the cat ready to take to

her kitty-sitters. When the phone rang, and I saw my sister's ID, I knew why she was calling.

There was no other reason for her to call since we would be there in a matter of hours.

Wolf Pack

Today, Ezra's family took him shopping for his Cub Scout uniform and when Diane and I

arrived, he met us in the driveway looking very proud and very professional. Even though

he is a Cub Scout he is also a Wolf. I don't quite understand but I will probably pick it up

as time goes by. He looked very official in his dark blue shirt, cap and yellow kerchief with

a gold slide.

He will go to meetings every Monday night and do a lot of camping. In fact, he wanted to

camp out tonight, but I don't think he will win that argument. Sometimes, he gets so excited

that he goes into orbit. This evening, Sally was trying to demonstrate how he sounds and

looks as he going off that deep end. She started jumping around and making weird, loud

noises. This just made him laugh more, and louder. And that, of course, made Levi imitate

both of them.

One time, Ezra was practicing how to slide into a base in the living room. Levi didn't quite

get it. He was trying to be just like his big brother, but not knowing about sliding, he just

threw himself on the floor over and over again.

Alas, Poor August

As the hours tick away, soon the sun will sink gently in the west, and then poor August will

be with us no longer. So while there is still time, let's raise our Solo cups together and

remember August. A simple man, trying not to make a big contribution to society but only

trying to keep his humble shoe shop open for the passing parade, ready to help with a new

shoe lace, heel taps, sole, or even soul, repairs.

But eventually, poor August could not keep his beastly landlord from the door. The owner bustled through the open door, bringing the heat and humidity clinging to his

prosperous body. He flamboyantly told August that he would give him only one more

month to pay him the three months rent he owed. After making this harsh proclamation,

the owner left as he had entered, as they say, in a huff.

Upon hearing his sentence, August looked at the Cats' Paw calendar on the wall. The

calendar was old, yellow and tattered. Times were so bad that the Paw people no longer

sent him new calendars. No matter, August's days no longer needed to be correctly

identified, as long as he knew what month it was.

So, as the stooped and somber shoemaker glanced at the calendar he realized it was the

first day of the last month of summer. Slowly he gathered an old piece of a cardboard box

and his black shoe polish. The latter was somewhat difficult to locate because if you're

not buying shoe laces you sure don't want a shine.

He put the items on his display case, almost completely empty now, and located an old

rag, a simple task since all his rags were old. Not a new rag in the shop. Hopefully, you

are now acutely aware that this man is destitute.

August began to write a message on the cardboard using the shoe polish as ink. When

he finished his message, he slowly put it in the front window among the clay pots

holding a few "mother-in-laws tongues" and a droopy ivy plant. There were still a few

display items meant to entice customers into the store.

After he arranged the sign, August went to the back room, an even a more pathetic sight

than his workshop, and took his old brown sweater that he wore, even in summer. He

turned out the 60- watt light and walked to the door. He looked around, either to see if

he had forgotten anything or to take in what he would be giving up soon. He smiled.

He had forgotten his old Thermos bottle, now filled with 8-hour-old coffee.

Finally, he left the shop and locked the door. He walked to the front window and admired

his heartfelt message to the neighborhood. The sign proclaimed:

The first of September will be the last of August

Independence Day

We are not planning a big celebration for Independence Day this year. We will probably

watch "Yankee Doodle Dandy" while we have bar-be-que. Later, Diane and I will scout out

a suitable fireworks display. We never like to plan ahead, just follow the smell of sulphur.

One thing I must do, is to wish Kathy Hunn happy birthday. I was recalling today all the

things we experienced together, then went our separate ways and now we have been able

to stay in touch through Face Book.

Some of the things that crossed my mind include her old black car, the semester she carried

a dead cat with her, and her navy blue coat in 8th grade. Kathy worked behind the counter at a dime store in Hampton Village. We had to buy a Coke if we wanted to spend time talking to her while she worked. But it was worth every penny.

Happy Birthday, Foxy!

Aunt Rita at 79

Happy Birthday to Aunt Rita, who makes every family gathering livelier, funnier and happier.

To Aunt Rita, who when she found a small gift box with a beautiful ribbon around it in an

aisle at Famous-Barr, pocketed it and went on her way. Later, she realized someone must have

had a big laugh when they saw her pick it up because when she opened it in her car she found a

chunk of dog poop.

Happy Birthday to Aunt Rita, who has had more jobs than any three other people put

together, including flight attendant, model, real estate agent, hostess and court liaison. At one

point in her life she was going to be a court reporter but decided against it when the apparatus

kept falling on the floor.

Happy Birthday to Aunt Rita who had to raise four boys on her own

during the week and on the week end she added another. Happy Birthday to Aunt Rita, who

at times needed to get away. Unfortunately, she had to take four of the five boys with her!

Happy Birthday to Aunt Rita who can tell the best stories ever, with enough embellishment

to make you laugh until your sides hurt and your eyes water. And right up there with funny stories is her enthusiasm for shopping. I used to love it when Aunt Rita would take us "girl shopping" when we were young (prom dresses) and not so young (the Barn).

And, of course, Happy Birthday to Aunt Rita, who so many years ago sat on the living room

floor in our house on Tholozan, looked dramatically over her shoulder, and coined the

phrase that now belongs to the ages: "Our family has always been in show business."

Movie Quotes

Yesterday, I was thinking about some of my favorite quotations from movies. It was Clint

Eastwood's 80th birthday and TCM was showing "Dirty Harry," which I had never seen. The

mentioned that "Are you feeling lucky" came in around 50 on the AFI list of memorable

quotes and "Make my day" came in at number 6.

Probably my favorites never even made it to the Institute's top 100, but I like them.

One is from "Mr. Roberts." After Mr Roberts (Henry Fonda) expresses his disappointment

in Ensign Pulver (Jack Lemmon) because he never sees any great ideas through. Roberts

accuses, what ever happened to the idea to put marbles in the Captain's overhead. Pulver,

extremely hurt, goes to his locker and takes a band-aid container out and shakes it

with vigor. "I'm looking for marbles all the time!"

In "No Time for Sergeants" Will admonishes his buddy (Nick Adams) to be nice to the

obnoxious Norman, because "he's had ROTC and they don't know how to cure it."

I'll end this short list with my most favorite. Grandfather takes Little Big Man up on

a mountain where he plans to die because life has become incongruent to him. He lays

down and says, "It is a good day to die." A fairly long time passes and it starts to rain on

Grandfather and eventually gets up and tells Little Big Man, "Sometimes the magic

works and sometimes it doesn't." They descend the mountain.

Oh, wait, two more of my very favorites come from one movie: "My Man Godfrey."

After William Powell sits Carol Lombard in a shower and turns on the cold water,

she comes out into her room chanting, "Godfrey loves me. Godfrey loves me" She

begins to jump on her bed continuing the chant. At the end of the picture, Lombard has

tracked Powell down to his "forgotten man" casino, bringing food and a judge to

marry them. Powell looks at the judge and attempts to question the inevitable and as the judge begins the ceremony, she takes his hand and says, "Don't worry Godfrey, it will all be over in a little while."

Try To Remember . . .

Brian put a link on Facebook today about the original investors in the play "The Fantasticks."

One couple who had invested about $330 have seen a return of $80,000! When it was on

Broadway the first time, my friend, Marybeth Homeoke's brother was sometimes responsible

for taking his sister and her friends to various places. He had an exceptional singing voice and

would often harmonize with his friends while they were delivering us to some event. We were

freshmen at SEA and they were College Men.

One of the songs I remember them singing was "Try to Remember." At that time, I knew

nothing about "The Fantasticks" but I knew the song was mesmerizing. If then was now, I

could easily Google it and find out about the whole musical. Another song they often sang was

"They Call the Wind Mariah." Again, I knew nothing about "Paint Your Wagon," but I loved

the song.

Marybeth's brother's passed away at an early age, just as his father had, leaving a beautiful

wife and children. Both of Marybeth's brothers seemed to spend "quality time" with her.

Her brothers were both in college at that time and her mother worked full time.

Marybeth's mother worked at Anheuser-Busch, and she provided transportation for herself

and two other ladies. For a time, Marybeth, Kathy Fox and I rode to St. Elizabeth's with

them. One lady, and SEA graduate, was sweet and nice. I believe the other lady's name

was Bernice, and she lived in a house near St. Louis Hills. She had the kind of skin that

was tanned most of the year (before tanning beds) and on the leathery side, presumably

from smoking, which she did, quite a bit.

Bernice always wore a lot of clunky jewelry and sort of rattled as she walked.

Her brunette hair was shaped into a smooth bouffant which had been heavily

sprayed and patted into place. When she smoked in the car, she would keep the front

passenger window opened slightly. Each time she raised her cigarette to allow the

smoke to waft out the window, I held my breath, expecting the hair sprayed to ignite

from the cigarette tip.

For some unremembered reason, we eventually began to take the bus, which by today's

standards seems to be lengthy and cumbersome. I would walk a block to catch the

Chippewa-Watson bus and get a white transfer to the Arsenal bus. On Watson, close to

Hancock, Marybeth and Kathy would catch the same bus. The stop for the Arsenal bus was across the street from a doughnut shop and sometimes we were unable to resist temptation.

The Arsenal bus deposited right across the street from SEA. If we were early, we would

go to the bakery shop up the street. Of course, we would never do the doughnut shop and

the bakery shop on the same day. We had our standards.

Old Stories

Today, for some reason, the next few items came to mind. When Diane was about 3 years old,

we had spent the day with some friends who had abnormally aggressive and smart mouthed

children. When I put her to bed that night, I told Diane how pleased I was that she was so

well behaved, especially in front of friends. I praised her several times and she looked at me

with such a question mark on her face that I asked, "Did you want to ask me something?"

I thought she would ask a question about what I had been talking about, but instead she asked,

"Why don't underpants have pockets?"

When Sally was about 4 years old, she was happy whenever one of Diane's school friends came

over and the older girls accepted her from the start. One of Diane's friends was going to have

a sleepover and Sally asked if she could go too. I explained to her that when the girls came over

here for a sleepover, she could take part in that, but no she couldn't go to Jenny's house that

night. She begged, she argued, she cried, but I stood firm. (Something that was hard for me

to do with either girl.) All the time we were getting Diane's stuff together, right up to the

minute we left to take her to Jenny's house, Sally gave it no rest, she argued until the end.

Finally, she blurted out, "Okay, I won't go. But they won't have any fun without me!"

Basketball

Ezra just finished his first season of playing basketball in elementary school. He is only in First Grade, but actually seems to know what he is doing. When he made his first basket in a real game, he looked at Sally and gave her a big smile, then in the next heart beat, he was running down the length of the court.

Ezra is on the small side and really moves in between and around the bigger kids. I told him,

"You're going to be just like Bob Cousy." He looked at me as if I was from another world.

But, then again, that happens quite a bit.

Watching Ezra reminded me of Epiphany's awesome basketball teams. I think there was such an interest in the team that only 7th and 8th graders were allowed to play. I think I can actually remember most of the starters: John Kilo, James Gummersbach, Thomas Hunter, and James Heman. I know John Kilo is an attorney, but have no idea what happened to the others.

It is sad to think that Epiphany will be closing this year. There were so many activities for

grade-schoolers and then in high school there were even more. In our parish here in

Blue Springs there is nothing to compare with what we had in the 60's: Summer swim parties, Teen Town, Bowling, Coronation, just to mention the one's that come readily to mind.

I was recently made aware that Bob Kuban is writing a series of nostalgic articles about CYC's and other "old stuff." It is published on theglobedemocratonline.com.

April Fools

Today's entry is from the not-too-far past. Actually, it happened just a few weeks ago, on

April 1. My 87 year-old mother called my sister and told her they were turning her nursing

home into a rehab facility, which actually happened at the home she lived in before. Before

Diane could ask any questions, my mother told Diane there was nothing she could do, except

to move in with her and her husband. My sister's mind was moving so fast she couldn't catch

her breath, or give my mom one good reason this could not happen. Of course, she's thinking

of hundreds of reasons but she can't form the words to make any of them come out straight.

While my sister is picturing feeding her, bathing her and everything she would have to do on

any given day, my mother springs up with: "April Fools."

This was not the only practical joke mom played on an unsuspecting person. When I asked

her if she got any body really good on April 1st, she told me that when the aide came in to

check her vitals she played dead! Evidently, she was holding her breath for a good while but

eventually started laughing and gave up the joke.

At 1 p.m., on any given day, my mother cannot remember what she had for lunch an hour

before. She can pull out information from decades ago, but usually nothing from the

most recent past. So, we were not only amazed she played the jokes, but also remembered a few days later that she did it!

More Birthdays

Today would have been my Father's 92nd birthday and his mother's 110th. I used to think it was

a rare thing for a child to be born on the same date as a parent, but I have run into it several

times.

I wonder what my Dad would think of the 21st Century. Both may sister and I agree he would

probably love computers and what can be accomplished using them. He would Google all

things pertaining to Thoroughbred horses.

However, in the late 60's and early 70"s he was not pleased nor amused that he was one of

the first employees at Union Electric to have to use "Brainiac" type tactics in the

payroll department. He would often let off steam about the idea was great but the implementing it was daunting. If he were alive today, I'm sure he'd have a Mac.

Now, before going back to my Dad, a few thoughts about Grandma Hilda. As with so many

people of that generation, she seemed always to be "an older woman" even though she

was probably only in her fifties in my memories. So, my sister and I were surprised to see

pictures of her as a young woman. She was beautiful. Her eyes, by the time we remember her,

were care worn. However, in the few pictures we have of that earlier era, her eyes were her best asset.

Grandpa Joe

March 19 was my Grandpa Joe's birthday. He was such a kind, gentle, soft-spoken man, but he

also had dignity and a dry sense of humor. I think all of his children inherited his sense of humor. (Grandma Santa was a funny person, too, but she usually didn't know she was being funny. Star naked, etc.)

About his birthday, March 19, Papa Joe told would comment, "St. Joseph, Joe Simeone, and the Swallows." He also told us he came to America on "The Volcano."

When I would stay overnight at their house, I would sleep with Grandma Santa. Grandpa Joe

would get up around 5 a.m. to start his workday. He said he had to get to the shop early, so

the people could bring in their shoes on the way to work. When he was ready to go downstairs,

he would peek in Grandma's door. I would pop up and want to talk to him, but he would put

his fingers to his lips and say, "Shh, the Pope's sleeping." I would giggle and go back to sleep.

As a kid, I thought he meant the real Pope, but now I think he was talking about Grandma!

Grandpa Joe would come home from the shop around 5 p.m. Sometimes he would take a

shot of the whiskey he kept under the sink. But just one, and then only once in a while.

For dinner he would always have a plain dish of pasta, know then, in all it's forms, as

spaghetti. If he liked what Grandma was serving to whomever happened to be there, he

would have a small portion.

In the summer, Papa Joe would sit on the steps of their large porch that ran across the

entire front of the house. During the long summer evenings, after being on his feet all day, he would water his small patch of lawn. When the water mingled with the air and fell on the parched grass, it gave off a magnificent aroma that I can still smell on certain evenings and

it always brings to mind my Grandfather. As a shoemaker, sometimes during the depression,

he would bring home only five cents, but the riches he passed onto his family were

priceless.

St Joseph's Day

March 19 is the feast day of St. Joseph. It also my Grandpa Joe's birthday.

Grandpa Joe was a shoemaker by trade. How my grandparents moved to Quincy, Illinois,

is somewhat sketchy. The fact that they were both immigrants, Santa from Palermo, and

Joe, from, I think, Naples, is a coincidence of major circumstances.

Santa's sister, Katie, was married to Ernest Villimillia (sp). The story goes that Ernie was

actually in love with Santa, but after she turned down his proposal, he decided to woo her

sister Katie. A family verbal tradition suggests that Ernie told Santa, "If you won't have me,

I will marry Katie so I can be part of your family and be near to you."

After a time, Ernie introduced Santa to Joseph Simeone. Grandma claimed it was love at

first sight, and it didn't hurt that he looked quite handsome in his WWI army uniform.

There is a picture of Joe and Santa standing near a tree and they are actually kissing,

probably a taboo for that era. Joe is holding Santa's cheek with one hand and had his

arm around her waist. And Santa looks like she is loving every moment. And Grandpa

Joe was quite the handsome solder!

Of course, there are many other Grandpa Joe stories and I hope to remember many of

them and write about them in the future.

Early Spring

Tonight, when we were coming home from Sally's, there was an aroma that brought back a

lot of memories. It reminded me of the nights in March and April when we worked on the decor for the Coronation at Epiphany.

One night I remember in particular found some of us up on top of the Father English

Memorial Gymnasium, watching a basketball game we could not afford to see legally.

The night was not chilly, but then again, not warm. The aroma was not floral, nor did

it have any characteristics I can easily name, but I know it when I smell it. Unfortunately,

I don't have many opportunities to experience it.

We worked several nights a week on the Coronation decorations, ignoring reading

assignments and essays. At SEA, during daily Mass, if you were not feeling well,

there was a tiny room with an uncomfortable bed, where you could spend a little

time until you felt better. During the entire months of March and April, the Sick Room

was occupied on a daily basis exclusively by Juniors from Epiphany Parish

The Coronation was held the last Saturday in April. Because that was the same Saturday

that Daylight Saving Time went into effected, we had the exquisite excuse that you could

always claim you didn't know if the clocks when up or back, and that you thought you

were coming home at the right time, and you tried not to be too noisy coming in, and oh,

will you wake me up early so I can go to the Queen's Breakfast?

Millinery

As a kid I knew that one of the jobs my Grandma Hilda had as a young woman was that of

sewing at various factories at various times in her life. I know that she used to work at a

place called Baer-Sternberg, or a reasonable facsimile. I now wonder if this is the same

Baer of Stix, Baer and Fuller.

Several times, when we were staying with her in St. Louis, I would take out the current item

of sewing or knitting that I was working on. One night, she asked to see what I was working on,

which was very unusual. She began to tell me how she worked at the downtown at Baer-

Sternberg in the sewing department. It was the company's policy that the "girls" could

take home any material that was in the remnant boxes. Grandma said she never took any

menants for two reasons: after sewing all day, the last thing she wanted to do was to go

home and make dresses for herself. The second reason was, and how typical of Hilda this

is, she did not want to take anything she couldn't afford to buy.

On this particular night, she told me how she used to go window shopping after work.

One time, she saw a particular attractive hat in the Garland's window display. She

liked it enough to take some remnant pieces of felt and feathers and duplicated the hat she

had seen at Garland's.

She got a lot of compliments from her "girl friends," so she made more copies from

different stores. She emphasized, she didn't use anything but remnants and only for

herself.

One day "the boss" stopped her in the work room and said, "I know what you are up to, Hilda." She got flustered and said, "We've always been welcomed to use the remnants for our own sewing." He laughed and said, "I don't mean using the scraps. I mean the way you are making those knock-offs. I'll keep my mouth shut if you make one for my wife. You do a really good job; if I didn't know you couldn't afford them, I'd think they were the real thing."

I can't remember a time that I haven't been "making things" and trying to duplicate

patterns in crochet, knitting and sewing. I've always wonder where this trait came from

because my Mom had no interest in sewing or crafts. Finally, when I was in my 40's,

I found out I was a "knock-off artist" just like my Grandmother.

More From the Tholozan Kitchen

After writing about Hepp the Electrician, I was reminded of other kitchen-related events.

Shortly after we moved from Winona to Tholozan, baby Brian encountered something he never

had to deal with on Winona, steps. The kitchen, in the back of the house, had steps that led

up to two bedrooms on the second floor. There were about four steps that led to a narrow

landing and then made a 90-degree turn and went up about another 8 steps.

Baby Brian had mastered going up the steps quicker than he did the downward route. One

evening the inevitable happened. The good news, as they say, was that he only fell down the

last four steps. The poor baby cried all evening, and if my memory is correct, he actually had a concussion.

My bedroom was quite large and had a dormer window. Diane's was smaller and had a

regular sized and shaped window. For some reason, when Grandma Hilda came to live with

us, she and Diane shared the smaller room. Grandma, who never complained much when

she was awake, repeatedly moaned, "Oh my buckel," several times a night. We asked her

what it meant and she closed her eyes and laugh, "It means, oh, my back."

Diane and I used the last four steps for a resting place for items that needed to be taken up

stairs. Mainly clean clothes, books and junk. Why we just didn't take them up, I don't

know.

My art class was assigned to make a sketch, linoleum cutting and mosaic from a single

design. I used a simple madonna and child. We were given a few months to complete the

whole assignment and I remember sitting at the top of the stairs, smashing up tiles with a

small hammer and then gluing them into the pattern. While I worked, I listened to WIL radio, and sometimes, if I really got into the music, I would hit my index finger instead of the tiles.

The all-time greatest event that took place in that stairwell occurred while I was working

on the mosaic. It was early fall and we had the huge window fan that had traveled with us

from Lafayette to Winona to Tholozan going full tilt in Diane's bedroom. I was whacking

away and my apendages, and I suppose the noise of the music and tile-smashing became

too much for my Mother. She called up, "I'm going to close this door for awhile."

When she closed the door the ceiling over the four last steps collapsed, I suppose from

there being a vacuum created due to the lack of air supply and the window fan. It scared

the bejebbers out of all of us. I was so surprised, I jumped up and at least 100 tiny pieces of

tile fell to the bottom of the stairs, right into the rubble on the landing.

After that, we were careful to never recreate the circumstances that would cause the

ceiling to fall down. In fact, whenever we would turn our attack fan on at our house in

Blue Springs, I'm careful to call out, "Open a window."

Dad was a procrastinator, and several days, then weeks, went by and the rubble stayed on

the landing. Diane and I perfected a way to go up from the fourth step and around the landing,

at a 90 degree angle to the fifth step. Of course, going down in the morning required us to

take a leap of faith from the last step at the bottom to the fourth step at the top of the

little landing.

This would be the end of this passage, but it occurred to me that in writing about the

kitchen I used the word linoleum twice and I have rarely used it that many times in such

a short distance between usages.

Hepp the Electrician

The kitchen on Tholozan was huge and had beautiful black and white tile around the sink and

counters. Unfortunately, it also had black and white square linoleum on the huge floor. At

some point it was discovered that some of the wiring in the kitchen needed work. Enter

Hepp the Electrician. He was a friend of Dad's but I'm not sure how they knew each other.

In addition to fixing the electrical stuff, he was also going to redo the floors, change the

cabinets, grout the tiles and get new counter tops. I was reminded of this when we were at

Sally's and she was going to the bathroom to get cooking water. John was putting in a new

sink and fixing the dishwasher, which he accomplished in a few hours.

Unfortunately, Hepp the Electrician was not so speedy. He also tore out the plumbing before

starting the other revamping. I mainly remember this because we had to get cooking water

from the bathroom. And do the dishes in the bathroom sink. And every time you wanted a

glass of water, the bathroom sink.

Soon the parents engaged in conversations that were variations on a theme: Mom would ask

dad, "When is he going to be done?" Dad would reply, "I don't know." "Could you ask him?" Then Dad would ask Hepp, "How's it going?" And Hepp would say, "It's getting there" or "Almost ready to put the plumbing in" or "Any day now."

In addition to being a very slow and meticulous worker, he also spoke very slowly and

his stories were quite long and drawn out. So if we had to pass through the kitchen for

any reason, we didn't want to ignore him, but on the other had we didn't want to spend the

next half hour listening to him. Every minute spent in conversation, and I use the term

loosely, was another minute not being used to get our sink back in service. We had to

develop the knack of whisking through the kitchen, saying hello, and then whisk right

out again.

I'm not sure exactly how long the renovation took, but I do remember coming home from school and if Hepp wasn't laying down with his head under the sink, I thought maybe he had taken a sick day. Eventually, just as with daVinci, Hepp a true artist in his own right, finished

the kitchen. For a while I think we actually missed him.

Legion of Decency

Several years ago, I told Sally about the Legion of Decency's ratings for Catholic movie goers.

Tonight, after seeing "Doubt" on demand, she wondered what rating it would have. In addition

to holding a priest in a precarious position, but also, the big controversy about having

"a secular' song in the Christmas program. On top of that, the secular song, if it was "Frosty,

the Snowman," would also "conjure" up the whole magic hat thing.

I told her about how even "Miracle on 34th Street" was given a "B" (objectionable, in part,

for all) because it "accepted the possibility of divorce." This always gave us a hoot: not

only was a divorce objectionable, but even the possibility of divorce was not considered valid,

if you were a Catholic.

I remember looking at a list of "Condemned" movies and thought the most tantalizing of

them was "I am a Camera." When I saw it on TCM years ago, with Julie Harris as Sally Bowles, I was impressed in how not salacious it was. In fact, it was "I am a Camera," or some other book or film by John Van Druten or Christopher Isherwood, that was the basis of "Cabaret."

The Legend of Decency's weekly movie ratings was the only thing I read in the Friday

issues of The Catholic Review. Ah, how lovely it was to have the Church tell me everything

I needed to do, and of course, what to steer away from. If only life now could be that

uncomplicated. But then again, no.

The Party's Over

As Grandma Santa used to say late in the day, on January first, "Festa Fini" - announcing to

everyone still at her house that the holiday season was over. She had been feeding and

entertaining all our relatives for about one month, and was ready for the whole season of

love and peace to be packed away for another year.

We spent today at the young Whitaker's house and had a great time. The food was good,

the relatives were fairly sane.

I am trying to write something of value, but somehow, I can't remember anything of

worth and I keep awake to do it. Love to all