Boomer Christmas Memories 2014

Well, here we are, nearly at the end of 2014. Had a big milestone birthday this year! It has been several years since I have had a “family” Christmas. Still, I can’t help reflect upon the hundreds of  memories from long ago.  

 My mother usually hosted the family gatherings as she was beyond doubt the best cook. Example: One of my dear aunts neglected to remove the turkey from the wrapper. It was not tasty. 

 We had the smallest house, so finding a place for everyone to sit was difficult at best. Buffet was the prerequisite. If everyone attended (and they usually did) there would be 30 people, more or less. Mom would pray for good weather so we kids could play outside. My mother invariably cooked herself “into a stupor” as we say. The prep work would begin weeks before. There would be multiple lists and each of us had a task. Dishes needed washing, silver to be polished, etc. Of coarse, my mother’s unusually clean house had to be “cleaned.”

 Mother would bake pies and cakes.There was homemade fudge and candies.The entrees would include turkey, ham and pot roast. Sides included both mashed and sweet potatoes. Mom also prepared 2 kinds of stuffing. We a stove upstairs and oven in the basement and all would be working overtime. 

  The 60’s were a great time to be a kid. Department stores were full of opulence and there was plenty of assortment for all. In 1963 I received my very first record player. A red portable (I did take it everywhere). Santa bought me 3 LP albums that year. Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer (Gene Autry), Christmas with the Chipmunks, and Songs by Ricky (Ricky Nelson).

The next Christmas in 1964 I received my first guitar. A Japanese made Sears Silvertone 6 sting acoustic. It was purchased so I could participate in our church’s Saturday guitar masses. I learned 3 chords. 

Since I had to wear uniforms for school and my mom was such a great seamstress, she made most of my clothes. I seldom got “store bought clothes.” I was allowed in 1965 to pick out my own presents. That meant a to visit Robert Hall clothing in Highland Park. I was allowed to choose 3 outfits! I was in heaven. 

I had a very difficult time selecting so it took quite a long time. My poor dad went to car and waited. He loathed shopping. I finally chose a pink ribbed short sleeved “poor boy” top and pink and tan plaid hip-hugger, bell bottom pants with a very wide pink belt. Next, there was a sleeveless cowl neck sweater in a very pale mustard with hip-hugger plaid pants in lime green and mustard. Lastly there was a Mondrian color-block shift dress. I was even allowed a pair of white go-go boots! I thought I was a mod queen! Curious how I have remembered those outfits all these years!

These days I am grateful for a quiet evening with friends, loved ones and good food. I hope all who read this have a most wonderful Christmas/Holiday and good fortune in 2015!

MY LOVE AFFAIR WITH HALLOWEEN

It's nearly October 31st. Soon it will be time to hear the immortal words, “Trick or treat smell my feet!”

Whether you call it Halloween or Trick or Treat. It is an American tradition that has morphed into something completely different than it was when I was a child. Back then, it meant one thing--lots of goodies.

Being a TV generation kid, naturally I dragged my parents to Kmart or Kresge and purchase a Ben Cooper (store bought) costume. Even then I loved playing dress up. My costumes included Dale Evans, Shirley Temple, Rocky the Flying Squirrel and Woody Woodpecker. The masks with these where almost impossible to see or breathe while wearing.

I was blessed to grow up in a neighborhood where EVERYONE celebrated the night! Not in a weird creepy way like some do now. There were no zombies or unattached dolls heads. No blood dripping hands rising up from lawn and no faux gravestones. Most of what we did then was harmless. More innocent and fun-loving back then. Our objective was to make a lot of noise, eat a lot of candy and try not to vomit. Reminder: This was in a time just before Detroit became known for “Devil’s night.”

The festivities would begin at school with homemade treats and dress up. Of coarse, we were scrutinized carefully as I attended Catholic school. In fact, my “go to” gypsy costume was frowned upon as it included makeup and a 1940s off-the-shoulder peasant blouse. Even the cold stares of Sister Kathleen did not deter me. The following day, November 1st, was a Holy Day and it meant no school. So I could stay out a bit later than usual.

Quite a few of our neighbors would hold open house which included homemade candy apples, cookies and cakes. They would giggle and guffaw over our costumes and take lots of photos. This all took place before our quest.

Our journey always started at my house on Edgevale Street. (The house no longer stands). the  crew usually included my friends Robin, Teresa, her sister Debbie and stray children who abandoned their parents along the way. My mother insisted on accompanying us on our hunt. She would not let us eat any candy and made us say, “Thank you.” This is why we would always ditch her.

We would traverse 3 or 4 blocks and quickly had our paper grocery sacks filled. When Mom got tired, I would send her home with the booty and then the real fun would begin. We would chart anywhere from  5 to 8 more blocks. As not to miss out on the guy who worked at Better Made Potato Chips and the lady who gave out small cartons of chocolate milk or cups of ice cream that her husband who worked for Twin Pines Dairy would obtain. I would usually not return home til 10pm.

The year I was in 8th grade, my mother deemed me “too old” to go trick or treating. I was in Girl Scouts and we participated in a scavenger hunt. It was not much fun and most of the girls disappeared to smoke or make out with boyfriends. The following year I attended a party where I played “7 minutes in Heaven” with a guy who did not like me. He said I was not funny enough.

My night would usually end up at home with mom administering liberal amounts of Ponds cold cream (to remove makeup) and Pepto Bismol. We would carefully sort the candy and goodies. Mom would quickly pilfer any Black Jack gum, peanut butter kisses or Mary Janes she found.

I have compiled a list of Best & Worst treats from back in the day.  Do you agree?

Worst  Treats

• Necco Wafers--very dry like communion wafers
• Milk duds--these pull your fillings out  
• Peanut butter kisses--these do not taste like peanut butter 
• Kraft caramels--not bad candy--too small and they always melted quickly 
• Black jack (gum)--BLAH!!

Best Treats

• Candy cigarettes--not really candy but VERY cool!
• Wax lips/fangs--again not candy but COOL!
• Any regular size chocolate bar--I hate those fun size bars!!
• Cracker jack--always got a prize
• Toy--some were better than others

VIEW FROM THE CORN FIELD

Well, here we are in the great state of Iowa. It has been nearly a year since we packed up and moved ourselves, 2 dogs and a kitty cat from our dream home in Alabama some 950 miles to Davenport, Iowa. I must say, I was not exactly thrilled to leave the south. I had after all, lived in the southern culture for almost 30 years. I had grown accustomed to macaroni and cheese as a vegetable. 

In October, 2012 we arrived in front of our little house, the weather was quite warm. Of coarse, I knew that would change. By late November I began to remember why I left the Midwest 28 years prior. I just keep telling myself that shoveling snow is great exercise!

When I closed up my beloved little shop in Centre, Alabama my husband promised me that we would find another spot to open in our new area. I had even looked into opening in Le Claire-- home of the American Pickers. Never did I allow myself to think that not only would I have a small shop there, but be right in the heart of the best shopping and restaurants.

As we explored in all directions and visited several cities within a reasonable radius. We found the rental rates in the city of Davenport to be far too high. Moline and East Moline had reasonable rents, but not much traffic. We took a day to visit Le Claire and spoke to several shop owners and posed the question of a vintage clothing shop. Most were very positive. By the time we made our second trip, one of the shop owners was planning on renting her space (next to where we are located now) for a very reasonable price. It seemed to be happening very quickly and I  generally do not like to rush into decisions, I prefer to explore options. By the time we had gotten back with her, a few weeks later, she had the space rented. However, the building next door was coming up for rent as the current shopkeeper was moving to a larger space. I could not believe my good fortune when I received a pm on facebook from her telling me that the other shop was up for grabs! I called the owner immediately and made an appointment to look at the space. The only drawback was that it was quite small at about 500 sq feet. But a darling space right in the heart of everything. Of coarse, we were not the only potential renters. In fact, there were probably 15 businesses that applied for this particular spot. I am glad we were chosen. We are enjoying the area very much.

Of coarse, my Bear built fitting rooms (trimmed in cedar) and fixtures,  painted the walls and even installed some additional lighting. Naturally, he is a great support in many other ways.

As some of you may know, I did have a bit of a rough time this summer. I was dealing with diverticulitis and shingles. It took a toll on me and on sales. Now,  I am back at it and planning lots of activities. We also involved with our Etsy shop, also named Cedar Closet.
We sell what I call “previously loved”, vintage and handmade. Again I have tried to involve local artists. I also do consignment on classic items and vintage. We have a large selection of vintage and handmade jewelry as well. I love that we get visitors from all over the country. As well as locals from surrounding cities.

We opened our shop on July 1st of this year. We are located in a lovely building that is over 100 years old. Although it is quite small it has a charming courtyard outside and is topped off with a cheery blue  and white striped awning.  If I peer closely between the buildings I can actually see the Mississippi river. It is hard for me to believe that it has been less than a year and Cedar Closet is back up and in full swing! If you ever find yourself in Le Claire, Iowa stop by and say, “Hello!”

My Love Affair with John Bates

Picture a chubby pre-teen girl in a bland plaid catholic school uniform with white go-go boots. That was me in 1964. Even at age 10 I was into fashion. I would scan magazines and TV ads for appealing items. I would “design” some of the outfits my mother painstakingly stitched for me. She was an excellent seamstress and could combine bits and pieces from several different patterns to achieve the “look” we wanted. All I know is when I wore a groovy outfit, I felt marvelous!

Since we lived in the Canadian border town of Detroit, we had ready access to British television shows. Enter The Avengers. Diana Rigg as Mrs. Emma Peel. Not only was she the model of the liberated woman who could do it all, she sported  the trendiest clothing and the most fabulous accessories including the previously mentioned gogo boots.

The  clothing designer who first defined Mrs. Peel’s  élan was John Bates.  His fashions underscored her character. That of the truly unencumbered  female. One minute she was in a feminine lacy dress with ruffles and pearls. The next in a one piece leather cat suit, of coarse, with matching boots.
 
Bates' designs for Emma Peel included leather cat suits, low slung trousers, empire waist mini and maxi dresses and jackets featuring PVC and Op Art designs. The garments not only made her look fantastic but were also fun and functional. Moreover, they were objects of lust and (verbose) desire for myself and all my friends.

At the age of 18 in 1957, Bates worked as an apprentice at the design house of Herbert Sidon, in London. He would then go on the be a fashion illustrator. In 1960 Bates introduced the Jean Varon label. The designs were fresh, bright and modern.  Bates’ collections were immensely popular in the London boutiques. They were sought after by trendsetters like Twiggy, Jean Shrimpton and Marianne Faithful.

Bates quipped,”I called it Jean Varon because at the time an English name like John Bates meant nothing, you had to appear to be French. Jean is French for John and Varon because there was no "V" in the rag trade book. Jean Varon made a good graphic image"

His creations were imitated and mimicked by many  American clothing companies. Very short minis, trouser suits, lace dresses, cat suits and tube dresses.  These styles seemed to define not only that particular time, but an attitude that a woman could be anyone she wished to be depending upon her couture. 

In the 1960’s there was even a Poppy Parker doll in Great Britain with outfits designed that closely resemble Bates creations. 

In 1965, one of his dresses with a mesh midriff was chosen as the Dress of the Year and donated to the Fashion Museum in Bath, which in 2006 held a major retrospective show of his work.

One of Bates' most influential champions was Marit Allen, the editor of British Vogue's Young Ideas. Allen considered Bates the true inventor of the miniskirt, rather than Mary Quant or André Courrèges. Bates designed a wedding ensemble for Marit Allen that is displayed in the Victoria and Albert Museum.

Allen  said of Bates, “John Bates loves short skirts, money, false eyelashes and Cilla Black. Hates English bras, big busts and any sort of foundation garment.”

Believe it or not some John Bates/Jean Varon items can be purchased online on Etsy and Ebay and other sites. Some at very reasonable prices.

Summer of Hate 1967

The following epistle took over a year for me to finish. It was written with anger, remorse, and sadness. Death is always difficult to witness. Whether, a person or a city.

 
Sunday, July 23, 1967, Detroit, Michigan. The weather was a very warm 86°. What began that day and lasted until the following Thursday would forever change the face of my 
beloved city and indeed, the entire country‘s view of it. In particular, it transformed my safe secure neighborhood to a environment of mistrust, bigotry and fear.

I had a ringside seat to the Detroit riots in 1967. The Summer of Love became the Summer of Hate. Gone were the days when I could walk the 7 blocks to the Wanda Drugs to pick up a copy of 16 magazine. Those few days between Sunday, July 23rd and Thursday, July 27 put an end to the security that I had known as a child.

Our northeast side Detroit neighborhood consisted of Whites, Blacks, Jews, Hispanics, Germans, Italians, Russians and Greeks. That was the first time I stopped thinking of them as neighbors and started thinking of them as DIFFERENT. We all had various religions and beliefs, but this seemed to not only amplify the disparity, but also to segregate.  I literally felt the community die.

Although the Detroit Free Press won a Pulitzer Prize for its reporting, I believe the journalists missed the underlying issues. In actuality, just as many whites participated in the looting and violence as the blacks. However, the media took great pains to present the dissenters only as blacks. The Media’s reasons were insidious. This was my first, certainly not my last, realization of how manipulative and deceptive the media could be.

Many have declared the cause of the riots as tensions between blacks and whites, police brutality,  lack of affordable housing, lack of good paying jobs, the list is very long. Whatever the cause or causes, it seemed unavoidable.  I witnessed the beginning of the end of my city. Nothing would ever be the same after those days.

There were several documented incidents of police brutality. One example the “Algiers Motel Incident”, which involved 2 white teen-aged girls from Ohio who were staying at the motel with 2 black men. The men and women were tortured and eventually the men were shot (by Detroit Police officers) and their bodies left at the motel.

The local television stations were asked to “tone down” coverage of the violence and especially looting that was going on in the 12th street area. Still, the rumors were rampant and the more it was suppressed, the more fearful citizens became.

My father was an employee of the City of Detroit. He worked in the 12th street area. He was told not to report to work until he was called.  This was the first time I remember seeing my father afraid. Although, being a good-ole country boy from Alabama and decorated combat veteran,  he did not balk at the idea of defending our home and family.

I watched my father and the man next door, a retired navy seaman,  as they prepared for their nightly vigil. They each sat on their own front porches with a shotgun laid across their laps. We had a finished basement and my mother and I were sternly told to stay there overnight.

I watched as one by one the garages of neighbors were burned to the ground. I listen to gunshots and loud voices and screams. I listened in horror as fights broke out between people who had lived side-by-side pretty much in harmony for 20 or more years. Tensions were high.

The mayor of Detroit at that time, Jerome Cavanagh, was at odds with George Romney (Father of Mitt Romney) and was reluctant to ask for and/or accept for federal help. Cavanagh, who prided himself on good race-relations, contacted US Representative John Conyers, who visited the heated area on Monday. Conyers attempted to sway the crowd as he stood on the hood of his car and used a bull horn to plead with the people, his people. He begged them, “This is not the way to go!”. He and his car were pelted with rocks and bottles. He returned to Washington shortly there after.

In retrospect most agree that the police commissioner, Ray Girardin, did an adequate job keeping a lid on the situation. He did have the assistance of National Guard troops. On Monday, Federal troops were dispatched by President Lyndon Johnson. This seemed to escalate the problem regarding race, as most of the National Guard Troops were white and from rural areas.

In the end disturbances were reported in more than two dozen Michigan cities.

• 45 people died in those 5 days
• 10,000 people participated
• 2509 stores looted or burned
• 7231 people arrested
• 40-80 million dollars in damages

Mayor Jerome Cavanagh himself had to admit in July 1967, "Today we stand amidst the ashes of our hopes. We hoped against hope that what we had been doing was enough to prevent a riot. It was not enough."
 
Cavanagh's political career was ruined. He did not seek re-election. It is said that he never forgave himself for the destruction the riots wrought.

I also hope against hope that the once great City of Detroit will become a place where each citizen will be happy, safe and proud to be neighbors.

Its One o’clock…

I am a child of the television revolution. I spent most of my free waking, childhood moments watching movies, cartoons, sit-coms, game shows and anything else that was of interest to a young mind. Now, mind you, there were only 4 channels available at the time. One of my favorites was a local movie and commentary show hosted by Mr. Bill Kennedy.

At 1’ O clock his theme song “Just in Time” would play and Mr. Kennedy would introduce the movie. The show aired on  our Canadian border station of CKLW on weekdays and Sunday afternoons.

Bill Kennedy would present movies and interject comments and insights. Some of the “pictures” as he called them, were horrible and he never hesitated for a moment to warn the viewers. Going as far as putting clothes pins on his nose and calling the movie “a real dog….woof!”

He would also often do “live” interviews with local and visiting celebrities. His most well known being a phone interview with John Wayne in 1976 while he was finishing the movie “The Shootist.“ There was also an infamous Frank Sinatra Jr.  phone conversation that ended quite abruptly. I remember chats with comedians, singers, and other performers as well.

Williard Kennedy was born June 27th 1908. He had been  an actor in Hollywood and in the 1940’s was under contract to Warner Brothers. In 1956 he left Hollywood and returned to the Detroit area to begin Bill Kennedy at the Movies. In an 1975 article in Cream magazine he said “I’m not an actor and I have 60 movies to prove it.”

In 1948, he appeared with Ingrid Bergman in the movie  “Joan Of Arc” as one of her executioners. Where he uttered the immortal line, “we need some more faggots!” A line over which he argued against. Kennedy also performed with Cary Grant in “Destination Tokyo.” However, he is best known as the announcer at the beginning of the Superman Television show. “Yes, it’s Superman…”

I directly relate my love of old movies and “old Hollywood” to his commentaries. If callers asked a question that he could not answer, he would refer to his “Fabulous Files.”  His wit was legendary and I believe he coined the phrase, “Behind every great man, there’s a woman with a great behind!” His collection of files were donated to the Detroit Institute of Art in 1987.

Bill Kennedy retired to Florida in 1983 and passed away in 1997. He will always have a special place in the vast Broadcasting history of Detroit. Having met him once or twice, he was always a gentleman. I know I have great reverence and respect for his unique style and panache. 

Some links you might enjoy...

Bill Kennedy at the Movies 

News Article

Detroit Memories 

Kennedy Video

 

Zeke Beauregard Clifton

Zeke Beauregard Clifton was not typical. In fact, he was far from ordinary. He had soulful brown eyes and soft, wavy, fawn colored hair. He had the soul of a warrior and the grace of an Olympic athlete. He had a wonderful sense of humor. He showed courage, generosity and kindness towards others.

He also had long floppy ears and a large black snoot. Zeke Beauregard Clifton was a red-bone hound dog.

My new husband had rescued him from the animal shelter seven years before, in the late summer of 1993 Zeke was estimated to be about 5-6 months and at that time was so malnourished and in such bad condition that the women at the shelter begged him not to adopt the animal. But, of coarse, he did.

Over a period of a year my husband nursed Zeke through red mange, fattened him up a bit and gave him lots of love.  They had become inseparable best friends. Zeke loved to ride in the truck and often sat quietly waiting (in the drivers seat) for his masters return.

Zeke was a good father and helped his mate, Elle with the birth of their eight offspring. Freckle (soon to be Moose), Brownie, Thor, Heidi, Biscuit, Zeke Jr, Whitie, and Blackie. He cleaned them up as they emerged and snooted them over to her to feed. He was gentle with them even as they nipped at his ears and tail. One of the puppies that were kept, Brownie grew to have a father-daughter relationship with him. He grieved when she later died of heart worms.

I met Zeke when he was 7 years old. Zeke had gotten into a “territorial” fight with his son, Moose. A battle he nearly lost. He had been badly injured and could not live in peace with his son.  His mate, Ellie (a black lab) and his son Moose.  Moose looked like a large dog-shaped Gateway computer box. The renter in the house knew and loved all three of  the dogs, and was a good caregiver to each. She realized at that time, there was no way the 2 dogs would get along together.

In December of 2001, we were living in a small 2 bedroom apartment. We were upstairs and Zeke had to learn to climb up and down the stairs when we took him for walks. He also had to adjust to wearing a leash. He was very patient with us and he loved parading down the street. In a short time, he grew to know the neighborhood well, especially the other dogs.

We managed to find a small “postage-stamp-size” trailer on a couple a acres of land. It had lots of trees, which made both Zeke and my husband very happy. My husband worked a rotating shift and would often be gone nights. Zeke was very protective of both myself and my kitty Soffie, whom he would play with as if he were a puppy. I never had a restless night with Zeke there to protect me.

One evening, soon after we moved I heard a strange scratching noise at the front door. Then a gentle whimper. This was not like Zeke who could bring down the house with his woof. I ran to the front door to witness Zeke with a large slice of pizza in his mouth. He held it by the crust very gently as not tdamage it. He very gently placed it cheese-side-up at my feet. I was so touched that I was both laughing and crying at the same time. That was the moment that I knew how much I was loved.

A few years later when we would build a home on our land, Zeke was there to supervise and approve. He did hate to lose some of his trees, though.

Zeke loved to sing, especially Christmas music. He had a very good ear for tones and could actually harmonize with others. He really liked “The Chipmunk Song.”

On one occasion, we had come to a meeting that included  the mayor of town. She also happened to run the local animal shelter. We had adopted our lab, Sally from the shelter, a few months prior.  The dogs were excited to see her and we all ended up at the tail gate of the truck. They were licking her face and wagging their tails.  When a police siren sounded and Zeke began to softly bay. Soon we all (including the mayor) held up our heads and howled along.

Zeke was approaching his 15th year when he developed a very serious liver disorder. Which, along with the arthritis he was already battling was a nasty combination.

Our veterinarian, who tried his very best to help, worked tirelessly until he found a combination of drugs that enabled Zeke to have one last summer with us. By July 23, 2009 the inevitable had come and the drugs were no longer working. He was in a lot of pain and could no longer keep food down.

We drove to the animal clinic with him in the back. Just as we were passing the bridge in Cedar Bluff he turned completely around and sat down. He gazed back at the water for a minute as if to get one last look. Then he slowly turned around and licked my face. He knew he would not be coming home.

He was shaking with fear and in so very much pain he had to be lifted onto the table. I held onto his head and my husband and I tried to comfort him while the deadly medicine was administered. I felt him relax  and soon the life would leave his body.

I knew I had lost a friend that day. My husband was beside himself as we both grieved. Our other animals, Sally and Soffie, were very quiet for several days after.

We had Zeke cremated and in a pagan fashion. My husband assembled a funeral pyre for his ashes and said one last farewell to one of our family member and very best friend. His spirit is forever free to roam the woods he loved.

My love affair with Betsey Johnson

Even as a child, I was always into fashion. I loved going through my mother’s closets and putting together outfits. I used to “design” outfits for my Tammy doll. Mother was an excellent seamstress and would stitch them together. Tammy had several “Sally-contour” outfits including an aqua leather jacket and skirt and several monogrammed dresses.

At that time when my father drove a cab on the weekends, to help pay for my private school education, he would stop at the huge newspaper stand in downtown Detroit and pick up a Sunday New York Times. When he would finally make it home from driving all night, I would literally attack him for the fashion section.

I loved looking at the latest in haute couture from Givenchy, Pucci, Lavin, and Chanel. The 1960s seemed to be a turning point in fashion. The shift from couture to ready-to-wear for designers was in full swing. It seemed the “average” woman no longer wanted to be average.

Betsey Johnson began her career in fashion in London by using non traditional materials such as car lining and shower curtain fabrics. Her designs were soon sought after by the likes of Twiggy, Julie Christie and Brigitte Bardot.

In 1971, at age 28, she won the Coty award for her influence on American fashion. In the early 1970’s she founded Alley Cat line and her ready-to-wear became very hot items. In 2003 Betsey branched out and began her accessories lines. Her bags and jewelry are well sought after. Her bubbly style, childlike enthusiasm and end-of-show cartwheels  have  influenced countless young designers and continues to do so.

I first saw Betsey Johnsons’ work in Seventeen magazine in the early 1970’s. It was a full  (and I do mean FULL) color article featuring her “Alley Cat” clothing line. It included pictures and a bio. It also had some of her “doodles”. I read it, I drooled over it, I slept with it under my pillow. Her work was everything I had been searching for!

Soon after, I discovered that Butterick had produced Betsey Johnson Alley Cat sewing patterns. My mother and I headed to the fabric store to purchase one (or 2, I think) and select the perfect fabric. That particular trip took 3 hours. Pairing just the right fabric (without breaking our budget) was time consuming. I found a bright apple green knit for the skirt and an apple print for the top. The suit fabric was to be a floral knit with a bone background and tiny flowers in muted pastel colors. The halter top was in a sea blue nylon.

I was so excited about the impending outfits I could hardly sleep--for days!

With my very first paycheck from my full-time job at Hudson’s in 1972,  I purchased an Alley Cat top and skirt that was on markdown. My mom wasn’t even mad. As a matter of fact, she loved it. My dad thought it was “too damn short!”

As soon as I could grow my hair long enough, I wore it braided up like hers with clips and barrettes.

Betsy Johnson’s vintage designs are still much loved. Her looks remain whimsical, fun, and current. A nice variety of vintage Betsy Johnson Alley Cat items can be found online at Etsy and Ebay.

Links:
Betsey Johnson’s Official site: http://www.betseyjohnson.com/category/index.jsp?categoryId=4399316

Etsy:
http://www.etsy.com/?ref=si_home

Boomer Christmas Memories

Some of my very favorite memories of Christmas have nothing to do with the cost of presents. In fact, most of the best of these tales have nothing at all to do with money. 

The sights and smells of my holiday have changed considerably over the years.

I am far too busy to stay at home and bake homemade goodies. In the 1960’s my mother had a litany of Christmas cookies, candies and even fruitcake. As she progressed in age, she felt guilty that she did not have the energy and time to prepare these. Especially her “Swedish Gems” cookies. Hers was the only fruitcake known to man, that did not cause recipients to run away in horror!

In the very early years of my childhood, after I had been adopted by my father and moved into the Edgevale house. Christmas eve was a very busy event as we always visited friends and neighbors. Of coarse, that was back when people actually purchased  put their trees up on Christmas eve. It was also a time when everyone knew all their neighbors. 

The older, more established neighbors  had a sort-of open house with lots of food and drink. Mother made either fruitcake or her famous Swedish gem cookies, which she presented in colorful holiday tins. She would get dressed up in her finest holiday gear  and we always ate too much and laughed and talked and shared.

In 1963, My mother worked keeping books for the man across the way who owned a five and dime shop after his wife suffered a stroke. Mother scrimped and saved every extra bit of money. She brought a baby doll, and lots of scraps of different fabric, from which she made and entire layette for my “baby Susie” as I named her. Daddy made a darling little rocking cradle for her and mother painted it pink.

In 1965, My father was laid off from his job at Chrysler and had to resort to driving a cab and tending bar. Both of these jobs were working for good family friends who knew my daddy needed a job and would work hard. Mom supplemented her income by working cleaning local houses. I now remember how very unhappy this made my father. However, we managed to have a very joyous Christmas. 

The Christmas of 1968, I managed to save a bit of money from my first real job at the five and dime and went shopping at Sears and Roebuck. I bought my mother a lovely blue woolen scarf and matching gloves. I brought daddy a nice red tartan plaid woolen shirt. Both of these items were $5.00 each. I even bought a Beatles album (I think Sgt Pepper?) for my best friend and a new dog dish for our poodle, Pierre.

By the time the 70s came around I was in high school and abhorred spending time with any member of my family. By then all of our established neighbors had moved to the suburbs or passed away.  We were the very last to leave our little subdivision. Soon, I would  have a family of my own. Being in the Air Force, we always seemed to be elsewhere for the holidays. On the years we did make it home, we had to endure no less than 4 Christmas dinners.

Which brings us to the present. My children have grown and have busy lives of their own. We seldom spend the holidays together. My hubby and I usually spend  December 24th and 25th working. This year, for the first time in years, he will be home and available until after the new year. We will have a quiet Christmas eve with our 4-legged-children enjoying our fireplace, some brandy and most likely, an episode of Sherlock Holmes.

I wish all my readers and friends the very best holiday! I would love to hear from you, please feel free to leave comments. See you in 2012!

Leap of Faith

Have you ever taken a “leap of faith?“ Recently my husband and I had toyed with the idea of opening up our own shop. I had been gathering fixtures and even went so far as to share a space with another gal in her shop.

My husband looked at me very seriously one evening and asked, “Why don’t you just open up a shop of your own?” I threw my head back and laughed. I used the excuse that it would be too much work, too expensive, etc. I came up with a million excuses, which he shot down, one by one.

I had been looking for buildings in and around the small southern town I live, with the intention of opening a small ladies consignment shop for quite sometime. I have been selling vintage jewelry online for many years and had recently begun to include vintage clothing.

In one of our meetings with a local realtor, she expressed that owning and running my own shop was a “dream”. Again, I laughed. At my advanced age I have had to let go of many, many dreams.

I am not afraid of a little hard work, and certainly have a lot of experience on the selling floor. I had actually begun my journey into the exciting world of retail in 1968. I lived across the street from an actual five-and-dime store. For you “young-uns” Yes, there were really item for sale at that price.

When I got out of high school I got a job offer for the very first job I applied for at JL Hudson’s at Northland shopping center. Thus began my illustrious career in retailing. I have since worked for JC Penneys, Sears, Kmart, AAFES, and many other companies. In fact, I have served the public for over 30 years.

Soon we found a building, which was actually located in the same shopping center as another consignment shop. We discussed the location and decided that JC Penney and Sears often locate in a center where each is a pull for the other. I did not seem an issue in the beginning. It became a bit sticky later on.

My hubby spent his weekends working tirelessly on fixtures and displays. He built fitting room out of cedar wood, in keeping with our cedar “theme.”

The day before we opened, I looked around the little shop and realized, this was my dream. I also realized that the very act of actually opening up the doors of my own shop, meant I was a huge success. Every other moment after would only be gravy. As I stood there with tears in my eyes, I felt a very different kind of security. We had built a business, but much more. We had built a dream.

We have come a very long way from the first day we started to where we are today, but it is definitely full circle. We have created a comfortable, and pleasant place to shop and my customers are very pleased to have me in the town.

CUSTOMER SERVICE ?

Whether Americans like it or not, capitalism is what keeps this country going. Supply and demand for goods and services. Exchange of monies for anything and everything available in the vast marketplace that is our country.

As some of you may know I have spent over 30 years in retail sales/management. Nothing in the whole world ticks me off more than bad Customer Service. I received my training from some of the finest companies in the business world. Including Dayton Hudson, J.C. Penney and The Federated Group. When I entered the exciting world of retail, I was still in high school.

Customer Service was always the companies’ number one concern. It was stressed to all trainees that without the customers, there would be no jobs. We were given 3 weeks of paid training and a manual. There was a test.

We were not only instructed on professional dress and make up, but also had lessons in telephone courtesy. We were put into groups and given real situations that helped us learn to interact with customers. We were taught product knowledge and eventually would earn raises and promotions biased on our expertise.

When we “trainees” passed the training course, we had real knowledge and were proud to take our place on the sales floor. We were respected. For the first time in our young lives, we had self respect.

The store trainer was second only in authority to the store manager. She was our mother and mentor. Companies realized what a valued component customer service representatives were to its organization.

Companies have long abandoned the idea. The customer is no longer important. Customer service representatives are no longer valued. The financial aspects of training became too much for them to bear. 
 
The evolution came in the 1950’s with the innovation of “self-serve”. It was more convenient for the customer. Television advertising had allowed the average consumer much more product knowledge. This could not be more false. 
 
I had a very bad experience in a Staples store this passed weekend. I asked for a product they did not have on their shelf. The assistant store manager told me she had received the item on the truck, but did not have time to go in the stockroom and look for it. She told me to call her back tomorrow and she would have it. I called back (7 working hours later) and she giggled and said she was still busy. She told me to call back in an hour. When I called back, she had gone home for the day and no one there had a clue about the item. There was no apology, no offer to find the item, nothing! 
 
This is an example of BAD customer service, but not the end of the story. I called the Staples Customer Service line and was told, after I had given the whole story, that I should understand that ‘sometimes people get busy!” Really??? Really??? 
 
Needless to say STAPLES does NOT get it. Nor will they get another penny of my money.

GREENSTAMP REDEMPTION

I guess I’m really showing my age here. I remember S&H Green Stamps. For all the younger crowd out there, S & H (Sperry and Hutchinson) Green Stamps were given out at your local grocery, department store or gas station as a bonus. The stores purchased the stamps from S&H and used them to build customer loyalty. I believe you received one stamp for every 10 cents you spent. Of coarse, that was when a loaf of bread was 20 cents. You would then paste them in books and redeem the books for items in a catalog. In the early 1960s S &H distributed more stamps than the United States Post Office.

Saturday afternoon around 4 pm--somewhere between American Bandstand and Speed Racer, my mother’s radar told her it was time to come into my room, turn off my Sears Silvertone TV, dump the shoebox full of stamps on desk and tell me to “earn my keep.”  I hated this job. I prayed for a baby brother to come along so it would be his job.

The necessary tools for the job included a damp sponge on a plate to moisten the backs of the stamps. I almost always got them too wet. After an hour or so of the tedium, I would announce that I was finished by yelling,“I’m done!“ Invariably, there would be a vacant spot of 2-3 stamps in a book. I was thusly dispatched to the nearest store to buy a case of Faygo.

Filling the books was a chore, but nothing compared to the civil war that erupted when deciding what to redeem them on. Even the Brady kids had a problem regarding that expenditure.

I remember my mother being the authorized decision maker regarding the stamp books. She would almost always decide that she could not make a decision until she saw the item “in person.” We drove from 6 mile road to 26 mile road to the center. It was huge and in the middle of nowhere. It smelled like a new car.

My father pointed out that we needed a new carpet sweeper. My mother had her eye on an  Italian pottery lazy-susan. Mother dutifully tried out the carpet sweeper on the small piece of carpet laid out for demos. She decided to “look around.” Her eye then caught the object of her lust. The lovely Italian pottery lazy-susan she had seen in the full color catalog.  It was shinny and brightly painted with its round faux fruit bowl in the center. Dad knew he was out of luck. For weeks to follow friends and neighbors came to view the divine new centerpiece on the kitchen table. It was never used for food service, but it made a great catch all.

A  series of recessions during the 1970s decreased sales of green stamps and the stamp programs of their competitors.It was the end of an era. An end of dreams of possibilities.

THE END OF THE RIGHT STUFF

On July 20, 1969 Astronaut Neil Armstrong was the first man to set foot on the surface of the moon. I remember sitting in my living room in Detroit with my parents, watching on TV, along with almost every American. My father scoffed and believed it was a total waste of tax dollars. My mother thought it was faked and said it could not possibly be happening. That was 42 years ago. It was a time in our county when Americans had big dreams. It was a time when we truly asked, “Why not?” We did aim high and we made it happen.

There are many conspiracy theories surrounding the moon landing. It has been said that the whole thing was produced on a Hollywood soundstage. Having participated in the Space Program and interacting with numerous technicians. I actually met many of  the astronauts. I have to declare that, without a doubt, it did occur.

I was lucky to have witnessed the first landing of the Space Shuttle Columbia at Edwards Air Force base in 1981. I still remember that day as a highlight of my life. It is reported that there were 200,000 people there on that day. When the Air Force Band stuck up the Star Spangled Banner, everyone present was overcome by tears, pride, and relief simultaneously.

I understand a lot of Americans believe the space program is an enormous waste of time and money, but I must respectfully disagree. The technology that had to be formulated to make the moon landing possible has completely changed our daily lives. Because of NASA research and developments we have smoke detectors, cordless tools, laptop computers, cell phones, MRI machines, and microwave ovens.

As a child I was lucky to have seen the birth of NASA and the Space Program. I watched as, in 1961, Alan Shepard piloted Freedom 7. I witnessed, in 1986, the terrible heartbreak of the Challenger tragedy. Now, as an adult, in 2011, I am witnessing the end of not only the Space Program, but America’s future. It feels to me like the end of a dream.

AMERICA THE BEAUTIFUL

First off, allow me share some thoughts about my country. Although, I am not associated with a particular religion, this country was founded by a group of men who had a profound belief in their creator. They believed in divine providence. They believed in “American Exceptionalism.”  Call it whatever you want, this country is unique among all the other nations in the world. We are blessed to be framed  on either side by water, (in my opinion is the future of the world economy) which will become much more important than oil ever was.

For those who wonder why the world seems to hate America and Americans, here is the reason. Simply because we hold so much power. We have not only a powerful government, but we are a strong people. These countries have lost, indeed given up, their powers. More often, they have allowed groups and factions to remove it from them. They have redistributed wealth and financed one after another “Government Program” until they have simply bankrupted. The European Union is a perfect example of how these type of programs suck the life out of an economy.

Our founding fathers pledged “our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor “ as they signed the Declaration of Independence  that instantly made them traitors to the King of England. Many suffered greatly to break away from the tyranny they endured. How many ordinary Americans would pledge the same?

Here at home, liberals laugh at those who favor a limited government. While celebrities with way too much money hold awards and fundraisers for global warming, saving whales and other “problems” all the while wearing $300,000.00 ball gowns as their entourage rides around in gas guzzling limos, as they all condemn us for the type of light bulb we use. They allow themselves to become enslaved to their vision, either through acceptance of monies or beliefs. They depend on our “guilt” to make us ashamed of not only our heritage, but our country.

It all boils down to--America=bad.

I still believe in AMERICA THE BEAUTIFUL. I believe this country can be a great world power again. If we can unite and pull together, we will not fall and fail.

Any man can be a Father

What is the difference between a father and a dad? Any man can be a father. A  dad stays up all night when you have the flu. He buys you a cute pair of jammies when you have been in bed with the mumps. He picks you up gently from his bed and carries you to your own when he gets home from working at 6 am. He drives you all the way to your favorite record store when a new Beatles album comes out.

My dad adopted me when he and my mother married. I was 3 years old. My mother had been divorced from my biological father. My uncle frequented the bar where my dad worked weekends to supplement his income as a plant guard for Chrysler. My uncle introduced them one evening and it was love at first sight according to both.

I went everywhere with my dad. I learned to love hardware and Army/Navy surplus stores. My dad and I used to ride around town in his Chrysler. Everywhere we went folks would say, “She looks just like you!” My daddy would always wink.

My father had a college education and had joined the Army Air Corps during the war.  He literally could do anything. He could take a car apart and put it back together. He could do electrical wiring and repair plumbing. He was a math genius. Not to mention he could grow any vegetable  from seed. He taught me to think for myself. He believed in God, but abhorred organized religion. He raised me Catholic and sent me to parochial school, even though he did not agree with the theology.

He was a quiet man and very moral. Only rarely did I hear a “cuss” word out of him. He had the most wonderful garden in all the neighborhood. My mother spent much time after the harvest, canning and freezing vegetables for the winter. All of the other weekend farmers envied his green thumb.

I never knew either of my own Grandfathers. My children used to work in the garden with grandpa and they both have wonderful memories of that time. He was a huge influence on them. They talk about working all day for $1. Of coarse, he would take them to Toys R Us, or out for ice cream to supplement.

When my dad had open heart surgery the year before his death, I came to the small farm to take care of him while he recovered. We very rarely spoke at that time and his family hated my very existence. I was glad to get a chance to re-connect and for him to acknowledge that I was not the person he thought I was. We had some wonderful conversations about many subjects.  We spoke about my mother for the first time since she passed. He told me about her last minutes with tears in his eyes. He told me that he loved me and called me his daughter. I knew he meant it.

I miss my dad very much and remember him fondly.  I’m glad we had a chance to clear the air. My mother was his very best friend. They loved to “gallivant.“ When he retired and they moved south, they very often spent the day shopping, going to flea markets, or visiting local attractions together. I know somewhere, somehow they are out there gallivanting through the universe.

What’s it like to be your age, Mom?

You know the old saying…“If I had known I was gonna live this long, I would have taken better care of myself.” These days I have a difficult  time remembering just how old I am. I'm pretty sure that has some deep psychological meaning.  I believe, my views and opinions are basically the same as when I was 25. I look in the mirror and gasp!  It’s my mother looking  back at me. When the heck did that happen?

I have never had a problem with age, until very recently. Not even when I turned 30 and my adorable 16 year old babysitter gushed, “I hope I look as good as you do, when I am your age.” I have instigated a proper curse.

Getting older now means more visits to the doctor and medication for things that seem rather copiously invented by the drug companies. How can I be perfectly fine, walking around humming one minute and seconds away from death, the next?  I’m pretty certain that it is a HUGE scam. I'm still investigating.

I can  remember a time when if the phone (we only had one) rang during dinner, we let it ring. I remember my dad deciding what the family watched on TV after dinner. I can remember the dramatic shift my mothers' wardrobe made when she stopped wearing dresses and began wearing  pantsuits. I can remember "Dime Stores." I guess that really makes me old. What can you buy for a dime today?

I remember watching the Beatles for the first time on Ed Sullivan with my cousin, Suzie and sitting on the floor screaming at the TV. I remember wearing go-go boots with my Catholic school uniform. I remember watching the clips from the Viet Nam war and crying.

There is a physiological theory that time actually does go faster the older you get. I’m not a scientist, but I can tell you--its true.

My daughter recently asked, ”What’s it like to be your age?” I remember asking my mother that same question. She threw her head back,  laughed and said, ”Just wait.” I’m certain she’s having a good chuckle, wherever she is.

Getting older puts you closer to that final countdown--death. Having made a life-long study of religion, I’m still not certain what (if anything) lies beyond.  I do know 2 things to be true.
#1 You will reap what you sow.
#2  Refer to #1

Take me out to the Ballgame...My love affair with baseball

The world recently lost one of Baseballs’ all time great players, Harmon Kilebrew. It gave me pause to recall my experiences with the game, my love affair, if you will.

Many would argue that baseball is no longer America’s pastime. I respectfully disagree. Rarely do you hear of baseball players overdosing at clubs, beating up their wives or getting DUI’s. Oh sure, you can consider Pete Rose. Although, you have to respect what he brought to the game prior to all that.

I grew up in Detroit, which has always been a big baseball town. Tiger Stadium was  a cathedral dedicated to the game. Baseball was as much a part of my childhood as school or church or breathing.  I can remember watching Game of the Week on a Sears Silvertone black and white portable TV. I knew the players names, hometowns, and batting averages  from the backs of the baseball cards I collected and traded. My best friend, who lived across the alley had a brother who became a professional baseball player.

I remember sitting on the glider on a hot summer evening with my father in our backyard under the cherry tree. The aroma of freshly cut grass in the air. Neighbors passing by asking, “What’s the score?“ He would have a cold Stroh’s beer and I would have a Faygo Rock & Rye pop. I can still recall the voice of the Detroit Tigers, Ernie Harwell and his partner, George Kell.

Baseball players may not be better educated or exceptional men, but from personal experience, the players I have met have been darn nice guys. One of my sweetest memories happened at Comerica Park after a game. My son wanted an autograph from one of his favorite players, Lance Parrish, who was now a coach for the Tigers. After the game, we went to the designated area in the parking lot and waited for at least an hour. Slowly, the players emerged from the clubhouse. A few put their heads down and made a beeline for their vehicles. My son spotted Lance. There were quiet pleas from the well behaved crowd of “Lance, Lance, please Lance”. Lance Parrish looked tired. He walked over to his vehicle, put down his soda can and wallet and came over to the excited crowd. My son not only got his autograph and also a picture, but he took the time to speak with at least 20 others who were gathered.  He was not the only player to do so. There were 5 or 6 others who took a few minutes to appreciate their fans.

Baseball is an “All American” game. Wherever the players are from. Cincinnati or the Dominican Republic. The tiny “T-ball” players or Minor Leaguers. From the singing of the National Anthem to the 7th inning stretch. From the first pitch to the last out. Abner Doubleday would still be delighted to play his game.

Ya'll come on down......

Yard Sales in the south are as traditional as sweet tea and fried green tomatoes. Here in Alabama, yard and garage sales can be found about 9 months out of the year. Bargain hunters young and old, embark in search of clothing, toys, furnishings, and sundries that the owner no longer wishes to keep. Proving the old adage that “one man’s trash is another mans treasure.”

The discriminating hunter can find antiques and bargains galore. Some items are beautifully displayed, some are merely tossed haphazardly on blankets on the ground. Still others are found in  stacks of plastic totes or cardboard boxes.  My key advice is dress comfortably and be prepared to dig.

Comfort is most important. The weather in the south can be very unpredictable. Ranging from quite cool to very hot in a matter of hours. It is best to be prepared for rain or shine. Layering is a must. Start with a good sunscreen add a tank or tee shirt, then add an over-shirt or sweatshirt. Don’t forget hats and  sunglasses. Its an excellent idea to bring along a change of shoes.

Stay hydrated. Drink plenty of water. Soda Pop and Beer DO NOT hydrate your body. Water or a sports drink will do the job. If you have ever suffered from dehydration--you will know what I mean.

In many areas there will not be rest stops or bathroom facilities. Many of the gas stations along the way are not prepared to handle a crowd. They will be marked “out of order”. Be prepared for porta-potties with antibacterial wipes, extra toilet paper and hand sanitizer.

Always have a plan. Bring a list of item you are searching for. Bring cash. Most vendors do not accept checks and are not prepared for credit cards. If you are traveling more than 50 miles it is a good idea to make lodging arrangements.

It is a great idea to  print out a “route” complete with maps, especially if you are traveling into unfamiliar territory. This is in addition to a your GPS. However, don’t be afraid to go off the beaten path.

Always remember to bring sunscreen, a first aid kit, toilet paper, an ice chest, string or twine, Ziploc bags, measuring tape, and CASH. None of these take up a lot of room and you WILL need at least one of them, trust me.

Be prepared to “dicker”. If you see an item and its more than you want to pay, make an offer. The seller can always refuse. If you spot an item you must have--buy it when you see it. It will not be there when you go back.

Don’t overlook the many organizations along the way that will have fresh fruit, vegetables and home baked goodies. Most will be selling for church groups and charities.

Most importantly, have fun!

The worlds longest yard sale is held August 4-7 this year. It runs along Hwy 127 from Hudson, Michigan to Gadsden, Alabama. Maps and vendor information can be accessed at
http://www.discoverlookoutmountain.com/yardsale.shtml

The 411 yard sale is held  annually from the last Wednesday in September through the first Saturday in October. It runs from Leeds, Alabama to Knoxville, Tennessee.
Information is available at the Cherokee County Chamber of Commerce website.
http://www.cherokee-chamber.org/