The Book of Me, Part 10: Unexplained Memories

This is my entry prompted by The Book of Me, Written By You project created by Julie Goucher of the Anglers Rest blog. The concept: a series of blogging and writing prompts that help family historians capture their own memories and write about themselves. Go to http://www.anglers-rest.net for more information.

This week's assignment:

The continuation of the 15 month, weekly writing project about my life and memories, created by Julie Goucher.
This week’s (Week 10) prompt is Unexplained Memories

Do you have an unexplained memory or memories?
Items
Places
People

Things and times you can remember, but you are not sure where they fit into your past.

Wow, another hard one.

The first thing that pops into my head when addressing this assignment is the image of my father, standing in the doorway of my bedroom one night, the lit end of his cigarette glowing in the dark.  I am pretending to be asleep, so that he will leave.  There were times when his alcoholism would get the best of him and he'd drag me out of bed for a beating, so I guess that's why this memory has stayed with me.  It was a volatile household, at the mercy of my father's wild mood swings, so we always held our breath, waiting for something to happen.  But, Dad didn't drag me out of bed frequently (only a few times that I specifically recall), so I'm not sure why I remember this incident.  I have no memory of anything happening other than my father just standing there.  I shared a room with my sister, so I'm fairly certain there was nothing of a more sinister nature associated with it.  I don't know how old I was, but I do know it was after we moved into our second house, so I was at least 8.  I'm sure Freud would have something to say about this, but I think it was just a coincidence that I happened to be awake one night when my father popped his head in to check on us.

What's weird is that this triggers another memory, one that I do remember so vividly.  I guess it's because it involves me being in bed at night. It was July 1970. Our beloved Grandpa had been out for a visit the previous weekend to celebrate the Fourth of July.  My brother was in bed in his room, and I in mine, both lying awake when we heard the phone ring at about 9:30 pm.  We heard our mother cry out, "Oh no!" and knew instinctively that something was wrong.  I don't know which one of us said it, but we wondered aloud, "Do you think it could be Grandpa?"  Deep down, we knew it probably was, but we really didn't want to go downstairs and find out.  We wanted to sleep one more night believing that Grandpa was still with us.  In the morning, we found out that the very thing we were dreading was true...Grandpa had died from a massive heart attack.  My brother and I remember that night so vividly--what was playing on the television (Hawaii Five-0), the time, the tone of our mother's voice, and that sense of foreboding we both had regarding the loss of our sweet Grandpa.  Life would never be the same.  I think for both me and my brother, it changed our view of the world, forever. 

I can't think of anything that I haven't figured out an explanation for, or a complete story to go with.   I have questions about things I remember, but alas, no one to answer them for me.  I just need to leave those in the past.

The Book of Me, Part 9: Halloween -- Bah Humbug!

This is my entry prompted by The Book of Me, Written By You project created by Julie Goucher of the Anglers Rest blog. The concept: a series of blogging and writing prompts that help family historians capture their own memories and write about themselves. Go to http://www.anglers-rest.net for more information.

This week's assignment:

The continuation of the 15 month, weekly writing project about my life and memories, created by Julie Goucher.This week’s (Week 9) prompt is Halloween

Have you ever participated in a Halloween event?
When was it?
Where was it?
What did you dress as?
Trick or treat?

image courtesy of franky242
at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

I don't have happy memories of Halloween.  It must be due to the humiliating ridicule I received from my fifth grade classmates over a cheap witch costume I was wearing.  They actually named me as a finalist for best costume so I could receive critiques, then proceeded with the best insults possible from kids of that age.  I'll never forget how that felt.

So, for kids today, getting ready to trick or treat, or hosts preparing for the onslaught, I offer the following requests and tips:

1)  Kids, don't reach in and grab handfuls from the bowl of candy.  Leave some for the kids coming after you and remember that behind the doorbell you just rang lives a family who paid for that candy.  Hosts: Offer them one piece and that's it, or you'll run out before you know it.  I've thought of offering pencils or some other non-edible item, but my husband won't let me.

2) Hosts: Better yet, leave your light off and don't answer the door.  Of course, you run the risk of being vandalized, but this is my preferred option.  (My husband won't let me do this, however.)

3) Hosts: Set a time limit.  We shut off the lights at 9:00 pm.  After that, you kids should be at home, it's a school night!

4)  Kids:  Say thank you. Wait your turn to get to the front of the line.  You wouldn't want someone to shove you out of the way, would you?

5)  Kids:  Wear a costume.  Put more effort into it than wearing a t-shirt that says "This is my costume."  Seriously. And if you're ringing my bell, don't dress up as Green Bay Packer.  Just sayin'.

6)  Kids: If you're older than say, 14 or 15, go to a haunted house or a party.  In my opinion, trick-or-treaters should be little kids, not greedy teenagers.  Go the grocery store and buy candy if you're that old.  Leave this for the ones who still find wonder in the event.  It's like a teenager going to sit on Santa's lap.  

Yeah, I know.  I'm a crabby old lady.  I've never been a big Halloween fan, though.  When my daughter was young, we usually did Halloween at church, where the weather was never a factor, and each room had a theme and plenty of candy to offer without us walking around in the dark.  We did the neighborhood thing a few times, but she enjoyed dressing up in her costume for her school party more than anything else.  

To anyone reading who is a huge fan of Halloween, I offer my apologies.  I don't like the scary stuff, I don't like the occasional episodes of vandalism, and I really dislike dealing with kids who have no manners.  I know they're not all bad, but I think that incident back in fifth grade really tarnished my entire view of Halloween. I also don't like the dark undertones to Halloween.  You may say I'm overreacting to that factor, but that's my opinion and I'm entitled to it. Please don't love me less because I don't love Halloween...it's just not my thing.  Bah Humbug! 

The Book of Me, Part 8: My Techie Time Capsule

This is my entry prompted by The Book of Me, Written By You project created by Julie Goucher of the Anglers Rest blog. The concept: a series of blogging and writing prompts that help family historians capture their own memories and write about themselves. Go to http://www.anglers-rest.net for more information.

This week's assignment:

The continuation of the 15 month, weekly writing project about my life and memories, created by Julie Goucher.

The prompt for week 8 is Time Capsule

1. You can choose who to create the time capsule for as that will influence what you put (or would put into your time capsule)

2. The creation of a time capsule
a. you can do this in the literal sense or
b. you can simply write what you would place into your time capsule and why. It is much more fun to create though!

* You may choose to create a time capsule for your children, or a niece/nephew, for grandchildren – A physical item that you will give to a named person.

*Why have you chosen that person and when do you intend for them to have it?

*You may choose to create a time capsule of your home and leave it for someone in the future to find.

*You may want to create a time capsule relating to an actual event or anniversary

*If you create a physical time capsule, what did you choose to use as your capsule and why?

OK, so I struggled with this one at first.  Having survived some adversity, I don't place much importance on "stuff."  That's a good thing, for me personally.  So initially, I couldn't really think of much that was worthy of a time capsule project.  For me, it would be, at the most, pictures and notes to ones who come after me, hoping that they knew who I was and that they knew the things that were most important to me were the ones I loved.

Image courtesy of hin255 at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

I didn't worry about the pictures, though.  Most of my photographs have been scanned and are on my computer, a backup hard drive, the cloud, an off-line backup service, etc.  I've also distributed them to family members on CD.  My friend gave me the idea of putting current technology in a Time Capsule, to show what we're using in the present day to communicate, research, preserve, and, well, do just about anything.

In the spirit of being a techie geek, here's what I would put in my Time Capsule:

1)  My MacBook Pro.

Image courtesy Apple Inc.

 It's on my lap more hours of the day than it's not.  It's my link to so many things--social media, research for my genealogy, the virtual friends I've made, the long-distance friends I don't see as often as I'd like, and too many games when I'm not in the mood to do something constructive.

Copyright Microsoft Corporation.

2)  My husband's laptop PC.  It's a reminder to me of why I switched to Mac--mostly because of Internet Explorer and Windows' Vista operating system, both of which required me to frequently boot my computer and utter very bad words.  I don't miss it, and though my Mac did cost me more, what it saves me in aggravation and stress reduction is priceless.

3) My phone.  I remember my first cell phone, about 1993, and the difference between it and my current "smartphone" is amazing.  The functionality on a typical smartphone is mind-blowing.

Image courtesy of Harmonix

4) My tv.  It connects to the internet, allows me to play Rock Band, play 3-D movies, and even serves as a monitor for my Mac if I should want to share a video or some other content from my computer with the family. 

Image courtesy of kangshutters
at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

5) My satellite dish/DVR. Out of date now, IMO.












I studied Computer Technology in college.  This was at a time where the programming languages being taught included Cobol, Assembler, Fortran, etc. I had to use what was called a punch-card machine to write my code.  Each line of code went onto a punch card.  The assembled stack of cards with all of my code would be fed into a card reader, which then input my program to the computer, where it was "compiled" and executed.  

The computer that was used back then (late 70's), taking up an entire room, had less power than my Mac.  Pretty amazing.  And nowadays, a new chipset, processor, etc., comes out so frequently that if you wanted to have the latest technology, you'd be buying a new computer, phone, tablet, etc., all the time.

That is the point of my Time Capsule project--to show the changes in technology.  It's not sentimental or personal, really, but reflects my passion for all things techie.  For a long time, especially before the invention of computers and the availability of personal computers (early 80's), technology advanced much more slowly.  Now, change is explosively rapid--and I can only imagine what kinds of gadgets and toys will be available to future generations.

Dr. Jekyll (The "Good" Dad) Makes Some Appearances

This blogging project has prompted a flood of memories and I realize, reviewing my posts, that I have focused on much of the more negative aspects of my childhood.  It wasn't a constant war zone, it was just volatile and unpredictable, but there were happy times, and I feel that it would be only fair to share some of them.

 

Budding musician, age 8
Copyright © 2013 Linda O'Donnell All Rights Reserved

 My father loved music, especially anything played on the organ.  As the first born, and being a girl, I was a prime candidate for learning to play the organ.  Dad played, but he could not read music.  He had an especially good ear, and after hearing a song he liked, he could sit down and play a bit of it on his own, just from memory.  He insisted that I take lessons, which I started when I was about 8. I don't remember loving it, especially since I had to practice so much, but apparently I had a natural ability and I progressed fairly quickly.  I gave it up by the time I reached high school, but I'm grateful for having had those lessons.  I learned so much--not only about the structure of music--but I also gained a love for music of almost all genres (I still hate rap) and knowledge of old songs.  It was also something that was shared between just me and my father, and that was special to me.  I remember waking up on Sunday mornings to the stereo being on, and old music soundtracks were one of the favorites.  I am blessed to have the love of music within me, and I owe that to my dad.

My daughter getting lessons from her grandpa, cir. 1991
Copyright © 2013 Linda O'Donnell All Rights Reserved

My father loved his Chicago sports.  In the 60's and 70's, our NFL team, the Bears, pretty much sucked.  As a result, the games were not always sold out, so the game would not be broadcast on the local Chicago station on those Sundays.  Ever the die-hard fan, my dad would climb up on the roof and adjust the TV antenna until he could pick up even the slightest signal from Milwaukee, so we could watch the game.  Now that's dedication! It may have been a snowy, fuzzy picture, but we were watching the game. It cracks me up, even to this day, to recall the memory of my dad working on that antenna for a team that was lousy.

As much as Dad loved the Bears, he was an even bigger Blackhawks fan (hockey).  He wanted my brother to play, and enrolled Tommy into pee-wee leagues in the area.  We spent many a weekend at local rinks so Tommy could practice skating, and of course watch the games he played in.  Dad built an ice rink in our backyard every winter, using lumber, heavy plastic sheeting and edging to that we had the daily ability to skate.  It was a labor of love and though I never ended up being much of a skater, it was a pretty cool thing to have your own personal ice rink.  I also remember going to a Blackhawks game, during the playoffs.  Bobby Hull, a prolific Hawks player from the 1960's, had scored a hat trick (3 goals).  Joining the crowd in a customary response, my dad threw his hat down towards the ice.  This was not just a ball cap.  It was a nice, formal wool hat.  Miraculously, someone threw it back in our direction.  I grabbed it and held on to it tightly, because I didn't want my mother to be mad that my dad lost a perfectly good hat.  He wanted to throw it again, though, and I had to hold on tightly so he wouldn't be able to do it.  That memory makes me smile.

Among other good things my dad did for me:

1) Helped me get my first stereo
2) Co-signed on my first car loan
3) Helped me make a replica of the Washington Monument for an art project
4) Took me to see the Ice Capades
5) Taught me how to change the oil and spark plugs in my car
6) Helped me get my first job
7) Taught me morals, a strong work ethic and a love for my country
8) Walked me down the aisle at both of my weddings

Living with Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde as a parent is a difficult experience, and I would have to say Dad usually presented himself more frequently as Mr. Hyde than Dr. Jekyll (bad Dad vs. good Dad).  But there were glimpses of what I would describe as the "real" Dad, the one who was funny, kind and loving, and I absolutely treasure every experience I had with that Dad.  It's just too bad that that his demons and inability to cope with life's struggles brought out the other version of my dad so often.

The Book of Me, Part 6 -- Journals & Diaries

This is my entry prompted by The Book of Me, Written By You project created by Julie Goucher of the Anglers Rest blog. The concept: a series of blogging and writing prompts that help family historians capture their own memories and write about themselves. Go to http://www.anglers-rest.net for more information.

This week's assignment:

The continuation of the 15 month, weekly writing project about my life and memories, created by Julie Goucher.

The prompt for week 6 is Journals and Diaries

• Do you keep a journal or diary?
• How far back do they go? What do you record?
• Where do you keep them?
• Do you always buy the same one or vary them?
• Have you inherited any?
• Do you intend to pass along your journals or destroy them?
• Pictures
• Do you have a favorite?
• What do you use to write with – biro, pencil, ink or fountain pen?

A tortured soul no more...but there was a time when I was mired in misery and my only outlet was a journal.

I never kept a diary when I was a child.  I was always worried that someone would find it, and the thought of someone reading about my dreams and fears was just too horrifying to bear.

If you've read of any of my previous posts, you know that my childhood was less than idyllic.  I moved out as soon as I was old enough to do so, but yet continued to make every effort I could to please my parents and win their love and approval.  I even married my first husband partly because they liked him so much.  I knew, when walking down the aisle, that I should have turned and fled, but I lacked the courage and self-esteem to do so.  I can't say I'm sorry I married him, because it's through that union that I had my daughter.  But the unhappiness of the marriage led me to begin counseling, and that's when I started journaling.

At first, I kept a book of things I remembered, being careful not to share any personal feelings or sense of vulnerabilities.  When my daughter was born, I started a baby book for her, and it sparked so many feelings for me that I began to write a journal on my computer.  After all, I could protect it with a password, so no one could see the real me--a deeply insecure and wounded soul who was an over-achiever in life who exuded confidence so no one would see the scared little girl inside.

When I got divorced, I went through even more counseling, not only to deal with the failure of my marriage, but also to deal with many of the childhood hurts I was still carrying around.  When I started dating my current husband, we both had emotional baggage from our previous relationships and childhoods, so we went to counseling before we got married, to improve our chances of making the relationship work.  We wrote letters to each other that we read in the therapist's office, and I wish I still had them...because writing things down somehow demonstrates a truth and commitment to those words. And I am happy to report that we are approaching our 25th anniversary.

I've continued counseling and a big tool used to work through old issues is journaling.  I have many large journal entries that I've kept over the years.  I found that as I started writing, old memories that I hadn't given a thought in many years began to surface.  Some were good, some not so much.  But, I have found that the process of writing has been therapeutic.  I can now recall the bad experiences without pain.  I am able to share the details of family experiences without sinking into a deep funk.  These things helped make me who I am.  I turned out fairly well.  Yes, I'm still insecure but much better than I used to be.  I realize these important things:

1) I'm not like my parents (at least not the bad stuff.)

2) I'm a survivor.

3) I'm compassionate and caring.

4) I'm an encourager.

5) I'm intelligent and honest, and sometimes funny.

But also,

6) I care too much about what other people think.

7) I dislike being dependent on others because of my illness.

8) I hate that I'm a Chicago Cub fan.

9) I often wish I could go back and do things differently.

Ah, but we all know hindsight has 20/20 vision, and as of this writing, there are no time machines.  Writing journals/diaries, for me, has been a way to formally recognize the abuses and tragedies I've survived, the triumphs I've achieved, the ways I've been blessed, and put them into the context they deserve.  As Popeye says, "I yam who I yam," and that's the way it is.  Love me, hate me, or in between, with me, what you see is what you get.  I didn't know who I really was for a long time, and keeping a journal has helped me immensely.

I don't have any specific plans on what to do with my journal entries.  If I thought I could turn them into a book that would be remotely entertaining, I would do so, but who wants to hear about a dysfunctional family's trials and tribulations?  I would need to interject some humor and inspiration, and that could be a huge amount of work!  

My advice to anyone with negative feelings, or even overwhelming joy--write it down.  It's always interesting to go back later and read how you were feeling and the situation you were experiencing.  Nothing is permanent, and in almost all cases, things improve.  Embrace who you are, what you're living, and chronicle the book of you.  It may help you, and it may inspire someone else too.

Good luck with your writing, and thanks for reading my entry.

Blessings,

Linda

The Book Of Me, Written by Me, Part 4

This is my entry prompted by The Book of Me, Written By You project created by Julie Goucher of the Anglers Rest blog. The concept: a series of blogging and writing prompts that help family historians capture their own memories and write about themselves. Go to http://www.anglers-rest.net for more information.

This week's assignment:

Prompt 4 - Favorite Season

Do you have one?

Why?

A Happy Memory or association

Close your eyes and imagine your favorite season – write down what you see, feel, hear.


Another difficult assignment...mixed feelings on this one.


When I was a child, I always enjoyed the holidays--especially Christmas.  I loved the anticipation of my grandpa coming over to spend time with us.  We lived in the suburbs of Chicago, and Grandpa still had his apartment in the city.  He would either take the train, or my dad would drive in to get him, and whenever he arrived, he was loaded down with packages, all carefully gift-wrapped, and hand-picked by him, for me, my brother and sister. This was unlike my grandmother, who sent a check each year and had my mother get us something...usually cheap.

Grandpa worked for the CTA -- Chicago Transit Authority -- and had his office in the Merchandise Mart.  This is where many of the major department stores bought their clothing lines.  Grandpa would get sample clothes for me, and I had some amazing dresses and outfits that were made so well, they were handed down to my sister, 7 years younger than me.

Modeling a stylish outfit from Grandpa, cir. 1965
Copyright © 2013 Linda O'Donnell All Rights Reserved

It wasn't really about the gifts, though.  It was about Grandpa.  He would help my parents on Christmas Eve, making sure Santa's gifts were assembled properly and the cookies we'd left were eaten.  One year, there was an especially difficult assembly of Barbie's Model Runway that Santa had left for me, a project which required Grandpa and Dad working into the wee hours of the night.  Yet, no matter how tired he was, Grandpa was there, watching us open our gifts, playing our new games with us, and always expressing his admiration for our new outfits.  He was infinitely patient, unconditionally loving, and definitely had the most profound positive influence on my childhood.  I lost him when I was 12, and I can still cry as I remember getting the news that he was gone.  

For many years, we had an aluminum Christmas tree.  It was turquoise, with white satin ornaments.  Once the 60's were over, we finally got a traditional, although still artificial tree.  I took the top of the turquoise tree and set it up in my bedroom.  I would string lights on the walls of my room, make construction paper chains, and hang candy canes all over.

My best friend, Carol, and I would switch off spending the night at each other's house on December 23rd every year.  We'd go to bed saying, "Happy Eve Before Christmas Eve," and then wake in the morning to say, "Happy Christmas Eve."  We shared many a happy holiday, and to this day, we make a point to keep up the tradition of recognizing the "Eve Before Christmas Eve," coming up on our 48th time this year, no matter how many miles separate us.  She was one of the only friends my parents would allow to spend the night at our house.

Once Grandpa was gone, the fun of the holidays began to wane for our family.  My father's alcoholism worsened, and with it, the mood swings, violent outbursts and physical abuse escalated.   I don't remember what started it, but we had a fight during the holiday season, and he destroyed the turquoise tree.  I remember cutting my hands on the aluminum strands as I tried to wrestle it away from him.  I was probably about 13.  But, on the other hand, I do have fond memories of my father taking me out on Christmas Eve to shop for my mother.  As I said, it was truly a mixed bag at our house.

Once the three of us reached adulthood, Christmas became one of the few times we got together as a family, and the mood had became strained.  My daughter later told me that my demeanor changed as we prepared to gather with my family, becoming tense and definitely not reflecting the joy of the season.  I know this is common with many families, but it was a particularly stressful time for me.

One good tradition we have as adults comes from my brother, Tommy.  (I'm the only one who still calls him that, but hey, I'm the big sister and I can get away with it!)  Ever the entertainer, Tommy made up an original game for the family to play each Christmas we got together.  It would vary from our own version of the "Newlywed Game," to a test of trivia modeled after "Jeopardy," and one year where he simply made a tape of funny scenes from movies, and the last one able to get through without laughing out loud won.  (I laughed first, so I was the loser that year.)  Tommy put weeks of effort into these games, showing tremendous creativity, and then serving as the emcee who had us all laughing.  It is the most positive thing I can say about Christmases with my family once I was an adult, but I thank God for it.  My sister became the heir apparent to Scrooge, eventually outlawing the exchange of gifts and the playing of games, and finally banning our presence.  (Don't ask why...I've never figured it out.)   I made a vow to change that for my family, and I think I can honestly say I have.

Now, I still like the holidays, but I celebrate with my husband, my daughter, my brother and his wife, and good friends that I choose as family.  I like to decorate the house, bake things that are not good for the waistline, sing Christmas carols at the top of my lungs, and wrap presents.  I like the smells of holiday foods, driving around to look at light displays, and lighting candles with scents like evergreen and cinnamon.  I like how people seem friendlier during the season, and I love it when there's a cold snap and I'm able to wear something warm and festive.  Last year, we actually had over a foot of snow here in Central Arkansas on Christmas Day--a beautiful, rare gift from Mother Nature.

My backyard in Conway, Arkansas, Christmas 2012
Copyright © 2013 Linda O'Donnell All Rights Reserved

Although my daughter is grown, I still get joy from finding just the right gift for her, and if I am able, surprising my husband with something he'd never expect me to think of (usually a techie gadget of some type).  It's also a time to miss those who have passed on, or who live far away, but I choose to count my blessings, which are many, especially at Christmastime.  After all, I have a husband who adores me, a beautiful daughter, an amazing brother and sister-in-law, and wonderful friends.  Celebrating the birth of my Savior with the ones I love...it's the most wonderful time of the year!

Blessings,
Linda

Dedicated to the memory of my beloved Grandpa
Carl Johnson (1903 - 1970)