Tag: family

Legacy Writing 365:45


Everyone seems very happy to see there’s a sale “NOW THRU CHRISTMAS.”

Here, Daniel and his grandfather are in my parents’ kitchen. If I’m not mistaken (in these old photos, I can’t go by how colors appear), they’d repainted the yellow cabinets green. Certainly I’m spying a green electric can opener and green Tupperware canisters. I love that Mother has a stack of hand-loomed potholders, though my nieces/nephews will have to tell me if they made them. I have potholders like that, but mine are from Jess, and from time to time, he still makes them for Lynne and me. And of course, the coppertone stove is there. If they hadn’t moved into an apartment after selling their house, and then my mother hadn’t moved more than twenty times after Daddy died, that damn stove would probably be in my garage right now–and still working.

The ad is from Fred’s, and until I looked online, I had no idea those discount stores are still operating in the Southeast. Way to go, Fred’s, serving the small-town bargain hunter since 1947!

I thought I’d see if I could find any sales flyers from Fred’s from the past Christmas season to compare to this one, circa 1978.

  • Nordic Fast Fry in 1978 was $9.97. In 2011, the stainless steel Elite Fryer was $19.95.
  • In 1978, the Santa Claus Gumball Bank was 97 cents. In 2011, the Dubble Bubble Gumball Bank was $6.95.
  • In 1978, a Wilson football was $9.44. In 2011, a Baden basketball was $5.95.
  • In 1978, the “Decorative Cookie Jar” was $5.00. In 2011, the one-gallon glass “Decorative Jar” was $8.00.
  • In 1978, the BB Pellet Rifle was $35.84. Forget it, kids. Now you get the Soft Dart Safety Shooting 3-gun set for $6.95 or the Military Mission set (2 guns) for $5.95 (there is no ammo).
  • In 1978, a Hot Cycle was $19.76. In 2011, a Super Cycle or Big Wheel was $19.95.
  • Too bad the clothes prices aren’t listed in the 1978 sales ad, because in 2011, items of apparel are mostly less than $10.00.

Dear Fred’s: BRING BACK THE $9.99 METAL TOOL BOX so we can all smile again.

Legacy Writing 365:42

I believe my nephew Josh came into the world performing. He loved being the center of attention and could talk a blue streak to keep our focus on him. He also loved money, so occasionally we’d say, “Josh, if you can be quiet for five minutes, you’ll get five bucks.” He never lasted that long.

He loved music from birth and began playing the drums and being in talent shows when he was still in elementary school (his father is also a drummer). However, it was about that time that he stopped letting me take endless photos of him.

So I got a lot of grumpy:

and goofy:

Fortunately, he outgrew that phase and began letting me shoot him again. When I used to wonder if he’d remember his doting old aunt when he became rich and famous, he said he’d send me an autograph. He even autographed the leather patch from a pair of jeans to get in practice:

I don’t know if he’s rich and famous, but he’s recorded CDs with his bands, played several years at the Chicago Blues Festival, and shared the stage with some pretty impressive talent. I think he’s still okay with being related to me, but I haven’t received a recent autograph to prove it.

Legacy Writing 365:41

When she was four and her mother told her that Tom and I lost both of our dachshunds within five days of each other, she wanted to do something to make us feel better. Her mother went online and found dachshund illustrations to print so she could color and send them to us. She came up with the stained glass effect on her own. The coloring she used on the dogs makes them look very much like our pups, and these drawings have been displayed in our house ever since.

When she was twelve, after my mother’s memorial service, more than 30 adults and 12 kids gathered at a restaurant. The restaurant had set up a long table for the kids, and without being asked, she and my nephew Aaron (who was 14) took charge of the kids’ table, keeping them occupied with colors and conversation so the grown-ups could talk. They probably never knew that I noticed, but I did, and appreciated their thoughtfulness so much.

When she was fourteen and Tom and I got to spend a week with family in the mountains of Arkansas, I had the best time teasing her in the pool and having long conversations with her about books and school and whatever stuff popped into our heads.

She makes great grades. She donates her time to help other people. She’ll stand up for someone who’s being picked on. She has tons of friends. She loves to ride horses. She loves her dogs. She’s a kind, smart, beautiful young lady. Anyone would be proud to have her as a daughter, and Tom and I are blessed to have her as a niece.

We love her very much, and today she turns sixteen. Happy birthday, Toni!

Legacy Writing 365:40


In our small town there was a women’s dress shop owned and run by a group of elderly ladies. In the days before Lynne and I would spend Saturdays on the town square going from store to store trying to figure out what we could buy with our limited funds (and my limited funds often came from her father, because if she hit him up for a few dollars, he seemed to think he needed to give me money, too–THANKS, I.J.!), I’d wander in and out of stores on my own while my parents were shopping.

In the back of this particular dress shop was a vanity where women could sit and retouch their lipstick, powder their noses, and add another coat of hairspray to their helmet hair. I remember once testing some perfume and hairspray and hearing the old ladies in front whispering about my shameless use of their resources. My mother would have been mortified, but she and my father were long-accustomed to my wandering ways–plus I always told them all the gossip I learned on my excursions. I don’t think they gave a rat’s ass about the gossip, but since I could go days without speaking from behind a book, my voice reassured them I was still alive.

We didn’t purchase things from this shop. For one thing, we could shop at the PX. For another, the clothes were too old for my sister and me and too expensive for my mother. Mother had a friend named Nancy who had contacts all over the Southeast from whom she could buy clothes that hadn’t sold or clothes with small flaws at deep discounts (there were no “outlet malls” in those days). Nancy sold her clothes in a couple of shops, so buying from Nancy, along with being able to sew, enabled Mother to furnish me a season’s worth of clothes for a frugal sum. Even high-ranking NCOs didn’t make a lot of money, and we all know schoolteachers didn’t/don’t.

At some point when I was a little older, my mother and I were walking down the sidewalk, and she stopped to look at a blouse in this store’s window. I could tell she wanted it, so I talked her into going in and trying it on. She balked at the price tag: EIGHTEEN DOLLARS! Doesn’t that seem ridiculous now? But she could feed us for two weeks on eighteen dollars, and she rarely spent money on herself. The blouse went back on the hanger, and we left the store.

BUT… It wasn’t long before her birthday, and I was finally old enough to realize that most husbands are clueless about buying gifts. So I told my father, and we made a secret shopping trip of our own. Looking back, I wonder if I was so excited about the blouse that I gave it away long before she opened it. If so, she sure acted surprised, and my father knew he was off the hook until April (anniversary) and December.


The brown and orange striped blouse in the photo above is THE blouse. She could wear it alone, buttoned up, or over other shirts or shells, with orange pants and brown pants. She had it for years, and sometimes I wore it, too: as seen in this tenth-grade yearbook photo (hi, Vic! hi, Nick!), under my brown suede, fringed jacket that I just recently discovered my sister still has in her closet.

I think we got our, i.e., my father’s, money’s worth out of the birthday blouse. Now if I could only fit into that suede jacket again.

ETA: Original photo of my mother in the blouse was replaced because I found a better one.

In and Around The Compound


I know you’ll all be glad to hear that both my watches have been re-batteried and are up and running. The one on the right, by the way, is the one whose dead battery all those years ago prompted the purchase of the one on the left, as described in my previous post. I had the new batteries put in at Silverlust, one of my favorite shops in Montrose. I have a ring from there that Tom bought me, and another ring that my mother and parents-in-law jointly gave me one birthday. Not only does Herschel custom-make some incredible jewelry, but he’s a longtime donator of merchandise for Scout’s Honor’s silent auction fundraisers. I was lucky enough to win a silver pendant with a citrine stone (LOVE citrine) in 2010.

Several years ago when I took in the watch on the right (it was a Christmas present from Tom about twenty years ago) for a battery, Herschel also replaced some of the marcasite. He takes great care of his customers.

Another Houston place I’ve been meaning to talk about is Happy Fatz Cafe in The Heights. If you love hotdogs, you HAVE to visit this place. And if you don’t love hotdogs, be aware that one of the owners originally got into the food industry by making some TO-DIE-FOR desserts. You can visit their Facebook page for more information and to see their menu. They will substitute veggie dogs for their Hebrew National Kosher Beef dogs. Kathy S has treated me to great lunches there twice.


A sample of their delicious desserts.


Walking in to order at the counter.


Kathy S’s Lotus Blossom.


I like my dogs basic (mustard and ketchup); their scrumptious bread makes this a real treat.


Happy Fatz also supports local artists; I’m working on a series that I hope to hang there later this year.

Just off of Heights Boulevard on White Oak, Happy Fatz is the place for desserts and dogs.

Speaking of dogs, when my sister was here in November, we had a talk about foster dog Penny. As those of you with dogs and cats know, the annual cost of caring for a companion animal can be a little daunting. Tom and I budget for Margot and Guinness, and Tim budgets for Rex and Pixie, and it didn’t seem possible that we could make sure another dog would always have the care s/he needs. My sister told me that if we decided to adopt Penny, she would pay dog support. That was generous, but I still wasn’t sure we were Penny’s best option. All of The Compound foster dogs have gone to what I think were the perfect forever homes for their needs and personalities.

Then a few nights ago, Tom, Tim, and I were talking, and I said, “Seriously, who can offer Penny a better home than the one she has here?” She adores Pixie and Rex, and their level of play is just what she needs. She and Guinness are good napping buddies, and even Margot has almost played with her on occasion, which is HUGE. She has come a long way from being a dog of the streets, skittish around people and reluctant to accept affection, to being a full member of the pack at The Compound. She even plays with Sugar when she visits, lets Jim, Lynne, Rhonda, and Lindsey (her original rescuer!) give her affection, and happily curls up next to Kathy S for a good scratching.

So really, Tim’s post today just made it official.

And now Pixie has a true forever sister to cuddle with.


Pixie P. Lambert and Penny D. Lambert.

Legacy Writing 365:38


Mary Jane and Papa

I simply can’t do a better job of talking about Miss Mary Jane than I did several years ago in this post. This is my father’s father and stepmother, and this photo was taken the year my brother was born. Now my father being youngest, and marrying “late” (he was already out of his twenties–ancient!), it had been a while since there were grandBABIES on his side of the family. As Jane-Jane was a spinster until she became my widowed grandfather’s second wife, she got to enjoy with Papa the fun part of small children, i.e., you get to spoil then return them. They didn’t spoil us with things; they spoiled us with affection. Jane-Jane was just crazy about my brother, and I can remember times when all she wanted in the world was to kiss his cheek, but he was such a freaking boy and would run away from her. She kept right on adoring him, though.

I’ve heard that in old photographs, everyone looks so solemn because they had to be motionless for what seemed like forever for the photographer to get a good shot. And honestly, these two could not look more misleadingly grim. I’m not saying they were people who usually wore big smiles. Life was serious business when you endured world wars, cold wars, stock market crashes, rural poverty, the Depression, and a late arrival to indoor plumbing. But I remember Jane-Jane and Papa as good and loving people. They were the only grandparents I got to know, and I still have a few stories to tell about them, just not nearly as many as I wish I could have.

If you have living grandparents, you are so fortunate. Cherish them and let them know you love them. Most of all, give them a chance to tell you their stories. We should all endure as more than names on stones.

And if you have children and grandchildren, we don’t always appreciate or take the time to hear those stories. Write them down. Make videos or tapes. Someday your children and grandchildren may be wiser and will want to hear them.

Legacy Writing 365:37


Here’s a wall of the rock house I loved so much that a part of me still lives there in my memory. Apparently a jonquil has pushed its way into spring and requires its chance at posterity. In the corner is the shadow of someone, most certainly my mother, taking the photo.

There’s still enough of a chill, even on that sunny day, for my father to be wearing a blue/gray sweater (that matches his socks, which seem crazy light for his dark pants) over his shirt and tie and under his wool coat. He is roughly the age in this photo that I am now (you know, thirty-five a few times). I have no idea what My Age Him and This Age Me would talk about. His world and my world are so different.

People say I look like my mother. But I tell you this. Even though the distorted angle of this photo makes his head look larger than it was, he did have long ears, as did his father, and my ears hark right back to that genetic variant. So whatever we might talk about, we’d be sure to HEAR each other.

Legacy Writing 365:35

My nephew Daniel had this photo taken by his other half- Aimee, and she was generous enough to send it to me and say I could share it here.

Daniel said the reason he folded himself into this car is because the happy dog reminded him of their recently adopted Lamar. Aimee added, “This is what adopted dogs and their families feel like when the dogs get ‘sprung’ from shelters and rescues!”

Aimee knows, because here are their three rescues:


Millie.


Max.


Lamar.

I agree with Aimee. Rescue dogs and their forever families do experience a unique joy. But as far as Daniel getting into the little car, I think a part of him is still this youngster:


Daniel with his mom, Terri.


Daniel with his grandmother, Dorothy.

My happy family is made up of rescued dogs and great nephews and nieces. =)

Legacy Writing 365:33

I could swear I posted this story on my blog before, but a search has turned up nothing. One time my parents spent a vacation at Callaway Gardens. In order not to have to endure the bored and surly teenager forced to go with them, they let me invite Lynne to join us. This was GENIUS, as it meant they got to see all the flowers and crap they wanted to while Lynne and I swam, hung out, found boys to flirt with, etc.

We made only one mistake.

We remembered to take a cassette player along with us so we’d have music. But we failed to pack any tapes. Therefore, all we had was the tape that was already in the player. I was reminded of this by an episode of 30 Rock that Tim and I watched last night.


Here’s a really crappy picture my mother took of Lynne and me that week. Photoshopping has actually enabled me to see things I can’t see on the original photo, like the embroidery Lynne did on her work shirt (our term for chambray shirts–those suckers are expensive as hell now; who works in them?), the way I’m holding my sunglasses in my hand instead of wearing them (I still do this), and the flowered shirt I’m wearing over my knit shirt. That flowered shirt belonged to Lynne’s Cousin George. She stole it from him. In an act of karmic retribution, I stole it from her. I don’t think anyone stole it from me. I think it fell apart from over-wearing and over-washing. I loved that shirt.

If you want to see a better picture from that vacation, I put one on my blog in 2007 in Lynne’s birthday post.


(Dear Jim: I’m pretty sure my mother must have said something like, “Why don’t you ever smile?” before she took this photo.)

Oh, yeah. The tape was Aqualung. I never wanted to hear it again after that vacation, although I did force myself to go to a Jethro Tull concert a few years later.