Celebrating 50 Years - Precious Memories

There are just a few more pictures from our wedding album from September 21, 1968, that are great captures of family and friends that I love. The first is from just after the ceremony as our parents came out and we began to form our reception line in the church hallway. That's Mom in the blue dress kissing me and Bob is extending his hand to my father who looks like he's about to grab him with both hands.

The one that stands out there though is my brother. He was sixteen at the time and I can't explain the look that he seems to be giving Bob. Is it You'd-Better-Take-Care-Of-My-Sister? Or Am-I-Really-Gaining-A-Brother? Strange as it may seem I think I've seen that look more than once through the years but now it's more a Is-He-Kidding? look. After all to know Bob is to know there's a strange sense of humor sometimes.

Reception line all set up, the photographer caught another great picture. On one end of the line my new father-in-law is wiping his eyes and blowing his nose. On the other end is my maid of honor wiping tears. And there in the middle is that famous Bob grin. White hair (and a little less) today but that grin still holds true.

And I end The wedding pictures with the one of the bridal party dancing. There in the background is Bob's twin dancing with my maid of honor. I have no idea what prompted that expression on his face. I've seen that expression a few times over the years. I still can't explain it.

We had only three days for a honeymoon and had chosen Lake Hope in the Hocking Hills in southern Ohio as our destination. Close enough to get home quickly and cheap enough to fit into our budget. We had a little cabin on the park grounds near the lodge. What we didn't count on was that there would be a convention of park rangers there as well. We stood out and learned we were dubbed the honeymooners.

It was a lovely three days in the fall. I mention fall because that's what the acorns were doing--falling. Behind our cabin was a propane tank that was used to heat the cabin in winter. With the window open we could hear an acorn smack against each leaf as it fell and then ping as it hit the propane tank. It was almost rhythmic. We'd hear the sound of the leaves and wait for the ping. I collected one of the acorns and later preserved it in plastic. It's the only souvenir we have.

This acorn is 50 years old and while it never grew into a mighty oak tree, you might say it was the beginning of a strong and sturdy marriage.

Wordless Wednesday

Celebrating 50 Years - Fun Wedding Memories

There are a few memories from our wedding day that stand out. One is forgetting the cake knife at home. Now my memory is that my brother who had just gotten his driver's license went home to get it but Bob seems to think he drove back home to get it. Maybe they went together.

In addition to making the wedding dress and a brides maid dress and veils and, oh yes, the garter, there were also car decorations to make. Mom had seen or heard about decorating the wedding car with pom poms made of nylon netting. I'm not sure who all was involved in the making of them. I don't recall making a lot so Mom must have done most of them. Maybe she had a friend help out too. I do know that all of those nylon pom poms were saved and used for years as scrubbers for washing dishes.

For some reason the photographer had not gotten a picture of us with Pastor Fish at the church so we arranged to have one taken at the reception. The photographer, as my mother says, had already made several trips to the bar so he might not have been thinking straight by that time. He took us back to the bar area and posed us there against a wall. It wasn't until we looked at the proofs that we realized there was a picture of a bawdy bar maid right behind the Bob's head. I wanted to have it erased from the picture. (Today we would photo shop it.) Bob held his ground. He thought it was funny and insisted it be kept in. My mother would do anything for him. I lost the battle.

While not so funny at the time, the best memory that night came after we left the reception. Here we were escaping from my cousin (or so we thought) and we rushed home so that we could change clothes and make our final getaway. The problem was that the house was locked up tighter than a drum and my parents were not in the habit of leaving a hidden key.

My parents had a small poodle and she was barking her fool head off as Bob ran around the house trying to figure out how we could get in. We knew if we went back to the reception, my cousin would catch on to our leaving. He found my bedroom window was open. The problem was that it was about six or seven feet above the ground.

Somehow Bob managed to hoist himself up, tuxedo and all, into and over the window sill and fight off a poodle who was barking at the intruder until she recognized him and then kept getting in the way as she was so excited to see someone she recognized. Eventually he made it in and went around to open the door for me.

We changed quickly and left leaving Suzy, the poodle, wondering what was going on.

Celebrating 50 Years - Dancing With Dad

When my mother hired the DJ for our reception I'm not sure she knew exactly what he was going to do. Thankfully he didn't try anything way out of order and he stuck pretty much to a traditional kind of agenda. When he called for the bridal party to gather on the dance floor, I don't think any of us knew exactly what he was going to do--least of all my father.

My dad was a great outdoors man. He loved to fish and hunt. Some of the favorite stories my mother told about their dating days were about her having to learn how to bait a hook with a worm as my dad threatened to put it down her back if she didn't put it on the hook. She learned to bait a hook and catch a fish but it took her seven years to finally catch my dad. When she did, the story goes that he used her wedding veil to make a minnow net to catch minnows for bait. Now, never once in all that dating time did Mom ever mention his taking her dancing. And in all the time that I lived at home, there was never any dancing that I saw.

All of that leads to one of my favorite memories of our reception. Bob and I did our bridal couple dance and then the DJ told my mom and dad that they needed to break into the dance and partner with us. My dad walked up to me and I put my hands on him in dance position. He looked at me with a crooked smile and said, "What do I do?"

"Just move your feet," I said and he did. It was a special moment. I'd grown up learning to fish and had special memories of ice fishing with him as well as fishing from his boat and the shore. But this was different. He did something for me that was way out of his comfort zone. I look at the picture and  his smile and I can't help but think he had fun doing it for me.

Truly it was a special moment.

Celebrating 50 Years - The Reception

September 21, 1968, was a hot day. At least we remember it being hot. Apparently the temperature was only 81 but maybe it was humid as well. All I know is our house didn't have A/C yet and we spent the afternoon there, mostly with out-of-town guests in the backyard. The reception was not to start until around 6 I believe. With all my layers of lace and long sleeves, I was melting. I ended up taking a shower before it was time to leave for the reception.

Our reception was held at a place called Rockside Gardens which was right next to the VFW hall in Independence. Rockside Gardens is no longer there but I think the VFW hall still stands. The caterer had managed to double book. By that I mean they were not only doing our buffet but they were providing a BBQ event for the VFW as well. My mother was fuming when our dinner was delayed.

Again, I cannot remember what we had for dinner. I'm sure I was nervous enough not to eat very much anyway. I was never a very good scrapbook keeper so much of what I should have recorded I didn't.

Once dinner was done, the reception went into full swing. We opened gifts at my insistence. I figured if people took the time to pick them out and bring them they should see us open them. The DJ pretty much led us through all the formalities like the cake cutting (neither of us were cake smashers when we fed each other), the first dance, the bridal party dance, and a toast that we did do with glasses that amazingly enough have survived the 50 years.

Of course there was the tossing of the bouquet and the ever popular search for the garter as well as tossing it to the single guys. Yes, I made the garter as well.

We did not stay to the end of the reception. I look back now and think it was kind of rude but there were two things that made us leave early. The first was that we only had three days to honeymoon before we had to start classes again at OSU. The second and more important at the time was that my cousin who was a great prankster had vowed that she would find out where we were spending the night and make a visit. At the time I had no doubt that she would do it although now I think it was all bluster and talk.

We quietly said goodbye to our parents who knew we would leave early and were sworn to secrecy about it as well as our destination. The photographer almost missed the opportunity to get a picture as we left. He wasn't prepared for the quick departure. It all ended well. No one tailed us from the reception.

Celebrating 50 Years -- I Do, I Do

There are wedding vows and then there are wedding vows. We had no desire to be original or creative. I guess you might say we were traditionalists then and probably still are. Love, honor and obey works for both of us and we are in it for a lifetime.

Dad walked me down the aisle although I don't remember much about the walk. I don't recall being nervous but I do remember keeping my eyes on Bob and his grin. My dad said his line when asked and carefully stepped back to sit with my mother.

Our ceremony was officiated by two pastors, the pastor of the church who had allowed us to hold the ceremony in their sanctuary and the pastor of Bob's church where we were attending while going to school. Pastor Fish had done our premarital counseling and I do remember that. His talk about the love triangle sticks with me to this day. Think of an isosceles triangle with God at the top and each of us at the bottom angles. As long as we were both striving to get closer to God, we would move up the triangle and get closer to each other as well. Good lesson.

We began our vows. The "I dos" were easy. Just answer the question but the repeat-after-me part gave Bob a little scare. I spaced out for a moment. Somewhere in the middle of the promising, I suddenly realized that this was it. I was getting married. I wasn't frightened. I just paused to relish the moment. When I repeated the words that I needed to, there was a collective sigh of relief I'm sure but I didn't notice. I was just happy. I was marrying the man I loved.

On our silver anniversary we repeated our vows but we decided that if they've held up for fifty years, we're still good to go. No need to repeat them. We've got them down.

Wordless Wednesday

Celebrating 50 Years - Oh, The Flowers

It's been 50 years but I do remember that Mom had found someone who was working out of her home to do the flowers for the wedding. When I look at the flowers in the sanctuary pictures, I cringe. Maybe that was part of what made me want to become a florist. (I had my own shop for six years.)

The wedding baskets were not much different from funeral baskets--full of white gladiolas. At the time I didn't really notice. I was in love, in love with Bob and getting married and beginning a life I'd always dreamed of.

I do remember the bouquets though. The florist did a nice job with them. They fit the fall theme well. She had designed my bouquet so that I could remove a going away corsage from the enter before I tossed the rest of it to the waiting crowd of single women. When I was a florist, we always made a throw away bokay so that the bride could preserve her own bouquet if she so desired. And I never used white glads in funeral baskets for a wedding.

I love the picture of me tossing the bouquet. Mouth wide open. I think it was my cousin who caught it. It looks like it sails through the hands of my maid of honor.

One good thing about the flowers was that the boutonnieres made it easier for people to distinguish between Bob and his brother--that's if they paid attention to the fact that Bob's was a white rose not a carnation.

Celebrating 50 Years - Don't Forget The Cake

Some things are a little fuzzy after 50 years and getting the cake is one of them. I can't remember if Mom found someone who was working out of her home or if we actually went to a bakery. I kind of think it was a bakery. I do remember looking through lots of pictures of wedding cakes.

Unlike the present-day wedding planners, we didn't get to taste a lot of cakes. It was going to be white cake, standard buttercream icing but there was going to be a special element. It seemed to me that having a fountain in the cake was something new or a wedding fad of sorts. It didn't take much for the baker to talk my mother and me into it.

As I look at the picture now, I realize there were bridesmaids and groomsmen on the cake and a few swans. All I have left is the cake topper and one swan so I must have given the bridesmaids the other swans and figures.

I am amazed that the cake topper held up as well as it did for 50 years. The skirting is a bit yellowed and the flowers a little squished but the bride and groom still look fresh. For the  anniversary celebration train dinner, we got a two layer cake so that we could use the cake topper. To make it a bit more appropriate for the 50th, I took off the old rose leaves and replaced them with gold leaves. The two white bells looked a bit speckled with some black spots so I replaced them with new gold bells.

While Bob kept insisting I should make the groom's hair white to match his, I refused. After all we are still young at heart and in that we match the lovely couple on the top of the cake.

Celebrating 50 Years - The Bridesmaid Dresses

Choosing the colors for our wedding wasn't hard. I wanted to go with something that was autumn and popular colors back in 1968 were burnt orange and deep olive green. Several of my bridesmaids could sew so we found a pattern and the materials we needed and I delivered the goods to the girls who could sew and set about sewing for the one who couldn't thread a needle.

Yes, in addition to making my own gown I was now making a bridesmaid dress and to be sure that all the headpieces would be the same, I made those as well. As I look back, I shake my head. How in the world did I get it all done?

A penny in the shoe for luck.

Amazingly the dresses all came out pretty much the same even though there were multiple seamstresses. My maid of honor was designated by a little different color in her dress.

Like all bridesmaid dresses, I'm sure they were never worn again.

Celebrating 50 Years -- Remembering The Dress

Once the wedding date was set, my mother went about securing a church that would welcome Bob's pastor who had agreed to marry us and then of course the venue for the reception. I was still at school in Columbus so she did the majority of work and checked in with me when she found the places. A lot of work for her but I think she enjoyed it.

Then there was the challenge of finding a dress. It seems to me we went out twice looking for one. Once in Columbus and once nearer home. Back in the day, I was quite a seamstress. I had made my prom dress and my graduation dress for high school and lots of other clothes including a suit for homecoming at OSU. Back then we actually got dressed up for homecoming football games. When we found the dress that I liked, we both got very quiet. Mom understood my creative bent. "You think you can make it?" she asked.

I twirled around then began to examine how it was put together. "Maybe," I said.

We told the attendant we would think about the dress and left. Later, putting our heads together, Mom offered to buy a dress form for me and we planned to price out the lace and taffeta or satin we would need. The more we looked at materials, the more excited I got. The only problem--I was going to spend a good part of the summer at school because I needed a couple more courses to complete so I could graduate at the same time Bob would finish his Master's Degree.

Now this is where I have to say my mother really toughed it out. She had to have worried over whether I would get the dress done. And of course I was notorious for waiting for the last minute to finish my projects. For High School graduation I came home from graduation practice in the morning and had my dress made in the afternoon by the time we left for the ceremony. This was a lot bigger project though.

Once home from school that summer, I plunged in and began my dress. I took the pattern I'd used for my prom dress and used that as the basis for the wedding gown. I had to enlarge the skirt to make it full for a hoop. (Cinderella style was popular back then.) I used another pattern to form the long sleeves. There was a lot of hand sewing once the basic dress was made.

The back of the dress is a cascade of layers of puffy lace. Each row was hand sewn. With the dress form, I could just sit and sew each layer and see it all come together. Sewing the little pearls on the front took a lot of time and the long veil for church was another challenge. But by the time September arrived, the dress was finished.

The dress has been in a box for 50 years and I decided to take it out to display for the kids and grandkids. After all, it's never going to see the light of day again and I figured it would probably fall apart. To my surprise, except for some wear and tear from our wedding day, the dress held up quite well. Since the hoop slip was borrowed, I didn't have one to put under it but it displayed quite well on the dress form I borrowed from a friend.

Someday I hope my beautiful granddaughters will find someone to share a lifetime with and my handsome grandsons will be the perfect mates who will honor and love their brides.

Wordless Wednesday

Celebrating 50 Years - How It Began

Back then, in the early 60s, Put In Bay had old antique cars that they used as taxi service. The taxi stand was right in front of the Round House, the middle of the main street of the town. And right next to the Round House was a little enclosed area of the front porch that housed Mrs. Ohlamacher's Pizza place--my first summer job.

It was actually the second year I'd worked the pizza place and early in the summer I began to notice that the taxi drivers were beginning their summers as well. It was unusual for drivers to work more than one year. You really had to hustle and it wasn't always a pleasant job in those late night hours with overindulgent drinkers from the bars. Suddenly I noticed a familiar face. It was a driver from the year before.

Now that would have been curious enough as I watched him drive a white convertible taxi past the pizza place. The next thing I knew, he was driving a red Cadillac convertible in the other direction past me and now he was wearing a hat. This continued for a while until suddenly the two cars crossed slowly in front of me and I realized I was seeing double! Dick had returned and he had a twin brother, Bob!

One of my most vivid memories of that summer is Bob walking down the street from his boss's shop with a big wad of cotton candy on a stick. I smiled and thought he had cute knees (he still does).

Our first date was the free open house at the Ohio State University Lab on Gibraltor Island in the bay. We explored lots of stuff in jars. Little did I know then how big OSU would loom in my future.

Gibraltor Island-OSU lab

As the summer progressed so did our interest in each other. Lots of rides home after work and just rides around the island for fun. Bob's favorite memory is the night he walked me to my door and was about to kiss me good night (for the first time, if I remember correctly). Don't know what made my mother open the door but when she saw the two of us there she got embarrassed and called out, "Oh, it's you two. Well go to it!" Then she closed the door.

He reminded her often that she'd told him to "go to it".

When summer ended neither of us had any idea that our relationship would continue. We began writing every day and visited several times over that year--my first at Kent State. When the year ended, and it seemed that this was getting serious I petitioned my dad to let me transfer to OSU so I could get to know this guy better since it seemed that it was going to be serious.

I guess you could say the rest is history. Wow, that makes me feel really old. By Christmas of '67 we were engaged and when Bob's job commitment gave us an income, we planned our wedding for September.

Through My Lens - CVNP The Towpath

Through My Lens - Maria's Field Of Hope

Maria's Field Of Hope

It had rained for several days so when the first day that promised to be sunny and pleasant came along, we decided to do something I've wanted to do for a long time--see the field of sunflowers that borders Interstate 90 in Avon, Ohio. The field of sunflowers was begun in 2014 by the Prayers from Maria Foundation as a way to gracefully draw attention to the lack of funding for childhood cancer.

Maria McNamara was a six year old girl who in 2006 was given the awful diagnosis of an aggressive and fatal brain tumor. Like many families who stand up and try to fight against the odds, they researched and exhausted all the avenues they could find to give them hope. In the end, they discovered that there was a lack of funding for this type of cancerous tumor called a glioma that strikes youngsters and takes their lives much too soon. Their beautiful Maria suffered through 14 months before she died. Her full story can be found at the Foundation website.

The foundation the family established is called Prayers From Maria because though she was so very ill, she still wanted to pray for other children who were suffering as well. The foundation is dedicated to funding global research into the causes, prevention, treatments and cure for childhood brain tumors known as gliomas. The family is dedicated to raising public awareness and funds to give as grants for research to bring hope to those families who are or will be affected by this awful disease.

The 25 acre field bloomed a little early this year. Each year it is planted in June and the blossoms usually emerge early September. The media each year covers the news of the blooms and this year reported that new construction in the area may be the end of the field of hope if a new location cannot be found. I think many would be sad to see that happen. Hopefully someone will step up with a solution.

We couldn't walk through the field as the pathway was a mud pit from all the rain we'd had that week. Volunteers were putting down a mulch so that you could at least get closer to the field up front. There were signs we could see off in the distance along the path but we couldn't read them from our vantage point. Some sunflowers had dedications attached to them (tags were available at the gift shop).

It was an awesome experience. The sunflowers were stunning. The message deep. There is always hope.

Wordless Wednesday

Toolboxes And Toolbelts

[My "toolbox" closet is still full of toys and games nine years after I wrote this. Now there are lots of memories for our grandkids as well. They remember the toys they played with years ago.]

            Most people think of a toolbox as a place for hammers, screwdrivers, wrenches, and pliers. But toolboxes are created in various shapes, sizes, and venues and for a plethora of needs. I have a little toolbox for all my sewing machine parts that are interchangeable to create embroidery designs. Then there’s the toolbox for my crochet hooks. On my computer there are several “toolboxes” for different programs that I run. And then of course there’s the grandkids toolbox—the one that houses all those little necessities for interaction with the grands when they come to visit.

            This toolbox is pretty big. As a matter of fact, it’s grown to the size of the closet in the hall. It contains games, toys, coloring books and crayons, Play-Doh, plastic plates and food, stuffed animals, Happy Meal toys, trains, cars—the list goes on. The last time we had grands, there was a trail of winter clothing leading to the toolbox. Boots came off in the mudroom, gloves lay on the kitchen floor, jackets in the hall in front of the powder room, and the hats landed somewhere in the foyer as they passed it.

The toolbox is great but sometimes you need more mobility. Here’s where a grandmother’s apron should be replaced by a tool belt. Think of it. You could put crayons and a coloring book in one pocket, several small cars in another. Then slip a small brush in one of the loops—just in case Barbie’s hair gets mussed. Tuck in a few moist-wipe packets, a couple of Fruit Rollups, and a remote control preprogrammed with parent approved children’s programs and you’re ready to roll.

One of the must-have tools on that belt is a magnifying glass. It is good for all seasons. In winter, for looking at snowflakes, in spring, for examining the buds on the trees, in summer, for the insect world, and in the fall, leaf skeletons. Now if you don’t live in a place that has seasons, there are still plenty of uses: looking for pollen on flowers, examining the hairs on an arm or leg, looking more closely at the fibers in a rug, or seeing the grains of sand that make up the beach. Next to chocolate chip cookies, this might be one of the best tools in the whole grandparenting toolbox!

What’s in your toolbox? And is it keeping up with the age level and abilities of your grands? Maybe it’s time to do a little “garage-saling” to find some new things or swapping with other grandparents whose needs are changing too. For years I heard my husband say, “If I have to fix this, I’ll need a new [insert name of tool].” Now it’s my turn. “The grands are coming. I need a new [insert name of ‘tool’].”

           

To Listen Is To Love

[One of my favorite stories from 2007. Being a good listener never gets old.]

The first duty of love is to listen. ~ Paul Tillich

             A grandparent’s ears were made for listening but not all of us are good listeners. My husband tires of hearing me tell the story of his lesson in listening. We only had three boys at the time and they were all preschoolers. I longed for adult conversation by the end of the day and eagerly awaited Bob’s arrival home from work when we could sit down to dinner and talk.

Unfortunately, Bob was often preoccupied at dinner with his own thoughts about the new business venture he was beginning. He feigned a listening ear, nodding his head on occasion and murmuring “Uh-huh” when he felt it appropriate. I was not oblivious to the lack of attentive listening and decided it was time to act.

The next night he arrived home to find his wife and children all dressed up to go out to dinner. I met the surprised look on his face with, “So, where are we going? You didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t say we were going out to dinner tonight,” he replied.

“Sure you did,” I countered. “We were talking at dinner yesterday and I asked you if you wanted to go out to dinner tonight and you said, ‘Uh-huh.’ Then I asked if you wanted to bring the boys along, and you said, ‘Uh-huh.’ So, where are we going?”

We all piled in the car, drove to a restaurant, and ordered our meals. Half way through the main course, Bob said, “I didn’t really tell you we were going out to dinner tonight, did I?”

I smiled. “No but you better put your ‘uh-huhs’ in the right places when you’re listening to me from now on.”

The lesson worked. Bob has become a great listener and his grandchildren truly love him for it.

Listening attentively to your grandchildren makes them feel loved, appreciated, and encourages them in their development at any age. Young children need to have an audience to practice their language skills as they learn to talk. Listening to them can be difficult at times as their brains work faster than they are capable of speaking. By paying attention to what they are trying to say, we help them use vocabulary, put together sentences, formulate thoughts, and sequence events.

Older children are developing opinions, impressions of the world around them, and have a desire to express their ideas. They need to dream dreams and know that someone cares that they do. Their dreams may sound outlandish, impossible, but so did many others who had dreams at a young age and saw them fulfilled as adults. Without an encouraging listening ear, many of those dreams would fade.

The Writing (And Art) On The Wall

[This post was written 10 years ago. The amazing thing is that when our grands recently visited, they all took a moment to peruse the cork board that is full to overflowing with their contributions. And the littlest wanted to be sure she had something there so she drew a new picture for us.]

Decades ago, literally, I purchased a large cork board and divided it as evenly as I could with a black marker between five children. Each one had a space where their best drawings, writing, and/or exceptional test papers could be proudly displayed for family and visitors to see. It was a great place to stand and laud praise on the latest posting and to brag to whoever came in or went out the door by our kitchen hallway where the board hung.

            The board, full of the last remnants of high school graduation and one certificate for a Microsoft course one of the boys took as an adult, still hung there when it was time for my husband and me to move into our new smaller home. I took a trip down Memory Lane as I removed pictures and test papers and the Microsoft certificate—smiling at the thought that the now adult son still wanted to display his achievement. I considered getting rid of the corkboard. It had served its purpose and I wasn’t sure I had room for it at the new house. Pack rat that I am, I saved it and moved it with us.

            Not long after we were in the new home, I decided to hang the corkboard in our mud room where we go in and out to the garage and the side yard. I tacked up a picture or two of the new couples as my boys got married. Then came the wonderful news that we could expect our first grandchild. That first was to be followed by five more. I tacked up pictures of newborns. Then the first scribbles of crayoned papers. Then the first letters of the alphabet written in shaky uncertain script.

            My cork board collection has grown and cycled many times as new drawings, writings, and cards are sent to us or made for us during those special visits with grandchildren. It is the first thing our grandchildren see as they come in the door. Once in a while I catch them looking to see if something they have made is up there. Next to my grandma’s wall of portraits where they all smile out at us in the foyer, the corkboard collection is my favorite piece of decoration in my home.

            Is there a place in your home for your grandchildren’s creations? Their expressions of love to you? I guarantee that if you set aside a spot to display them, it will warm your heart every time you pass by.