Vaudeville Show: Christmas Season; Store Windows; Decorations with Blue Lights.

November 29, 2011.

My parents took us to a Vaudeville Show in Wilkes-Barre, and one of the ‘acts’ of the show was with some trained dogs. There was a white poodle pushing a doll carriage. He was ‘walking’ on his hind legs. That was so remarkable to me that I can still see that little scene in my mind. There were some dogs going up and down ladders.

There were several scenes with dogs dressed in costumes. In one scene, a few poodles had on ballet tutus, and they stood on their hind legs, and twirled a little as ballerinas. This was at Christmas time, and before going into the theater, we would walk on the sidewalks looking at all the displays.

The department store always showed something in their show windows. Around the Christmas season, they were always so beautiful and complex. So wonderful for young children to see! I know also, that grown-ups really enjoy those dressed show windows too. Some stores had a Santa Claus in the front window, most of the time a large mechanical Santa, but now and then a real Santa Claus would sit in the window and wave his hand and do the “Ho-Ho-Ho” for the children outside who could hear him from the loudspeaker.

Each store tried to do better than the others. They had model trains in railroad layouts, complete with tunnels, bridges, farmland, forests, villages and cities with schools, churches, and gas stations, and more. The train would go through the tunnel, and come out a short distance away in the ‘forest’, then go over the bridge, over and over again. It was always enthralling to look at, when we children were taken to town. The excitement and joy was very high.

The Lackawanna Valley and Susquehanna Valley were home to many people whose forebears came from Europe. They especially loved decorating their homes with outdoor Christmas lighting, and a drive in the dark evenings was such a satisfying thing to do. We all really loved looking at Christmas lights. It seems that the most favorite color of lights was blue. Riding through the streets to see the blue lights was so beautiful.

When we would come back from visiting my Mom’s parents and family, who lived on a farm near Nicholson, we went through a well-to-do residential area where the Christmas lighting decorations were ‘bigger and better’ than those in our neighborhood. How exciting that was to see! Blue lights and many more, as we drove toward home. It was so pleasant and exciting, that we wouldn’t and couldn’t fall asleep in the back seat. 

I'll see you at the Corner Post... 

Oh You Beautiful Doll; Layettes; Victory Gardens; Oh Johnny, Oh Johnny, Oh!

There was a time when all ages of children were permitted to go into Buttonwood School during the late afternoon and evening. I don’t remember exactly why or for how long this took place. It seems to me that it was a community project to keep children busy, to have a bit of social activities, or to keep the children busy when surplus foods were distributed. Parents couldn’t afford to hire baby-sitters for certain appointments.

An adult was writing on the blackboard, and putting on the words to the popular song “Oh, You Beautiful Doll”. We were taught how to sing that song, and perhaps other songs, too. [I just listened to it on YouTube, and it is so pretty.] Since I was a little girl, I have often thought of that song then sang it.

Oh, you beautiful doll, you great big beautiful doll.

Let me put my arms about you, I don't want to live without you.

Oh,you beautiful doll, you great big beautiful doll.

If you ever leave me, how my heart would ache.

I want to hug you, but I fear you'd break.

Oh, oh, oh, oh. Oh, you beautiful doll......

Oh, oh, oh, oh.

Oh, you beautiful doll.

There were also hand-outs of foods. I remember our having large cans of grapefruit juice, canned milk, and other surplus foods which were given to parents in the Buttonwood School. Perhaps the school was used as a central place to do this, and we children may have been kept busy while the surplus foods were distributed to the parents. 

There was also a project in the community to make baby layettes for distribution to the needy parents. My mom had made a few sets of these baby clothes, and I insisted that she was making them for our new baby. I was told that these clothes were for other new babies, but I still insisted they were for OUR baby, although my mother was not expecting a baby…

It may have been when I was very young that I decided I wanted to be a mommy when I grew up. My mother told me that is all I wanted to be.

I remember seeing the 1936 floodwaters from our neighborhood on Buttonwood Street and farther up on higher land. We could see from this vantage point, the floodwaters on the other side of the river into Wilkes-Barre and Lynnwood.

The Victory Gardens were plots of land that people could use in the flats area near the Susquehanna River between Plymouth and South Wilkes-Barre. I remember going in the car with my Dad to do some garden work. Each family had a certain amount of land to grow vegetables. As we were driving to and from the garden plots, I would be singing. I remember one day that I sang “You Are My Sunshine” over and over, because I loved it so much. I still like it very much.

When we all went on little trips to visit my maternal grandparents or a few other relatives, my baby sister Regina would sing her little heart out as she stood up on the front seat between my Dad and my Mom. Dad would drive the car and Mom would make sure that little Regina wouldn’t fall over as the car stopped at stop signs. My brother Joe and I would be sitting in the back seat.

There was a lovely song that became so popular – it was “Oh Johnny, Oh Johnny, Oh Johnny, Oh!” and little Regina would sing it to her heart’s content: Oh Johnny, Oh Johnny, Oh Johnny, Oh Johnny, Oh Johnny, Oh Johnny, Oh Johnny, Oh Johnny, ... and that is all she knew of the song, so she sang the first part over and over and over and over until Mom or Dad would distract her to think of something else.

Oh Johnny, Oh Johnny, how you can love


Oh Johnny, Oh Johnny, heavens above!


You make my sad heart jump with joy


And when you’re near


I just can’t sit still a minute, I’m so



Oh Johnny, Oh Johnny,


Please tell me, dear,


What makes me love you so


You’re not handsome, it‘s true,


But when I look at you


I just "oh", Johnny, oh, Johnny, oh...



You’re not handsome, it‘s true


But when I look at you


Oh, Johnny


Oh, Johnny


Oh, Johnny


Oh...!

Do you remember falling asleep in your parents’ car, because of the ‘lullaby’ of their voices in quiet conversation? We would want to stay awake to watch the road, or look at houses along the way, but it was almost always in the evening when it became dark, and we got tired, and slowly the ‘lullaby’ of the quiet conversation and the hum of the car motor would put us to sleep. It is so peaceful to go to sleep that way. Then at our destination, our Dad and Mom had to pick us up and take us into the house, to our beds. So, G’Night…

I’ll see you at the Corner Post… 

The baloney store; Vaccination for smallpox; Eyeglasses; Tonsils and ice cream.

On Buttonwood Street, where I attended first and second grade, there were two stores on the same side of the street. If my memory serves me well, one was run by Mary Millo (?) and in my memory it was The Baloney Store. Many times of an evening, I was asked to go to the store for baloney for my Dad's sandwiches when he left in the early morning to go to work in the coal mine. We had a running bill there, which my parents paid at payday from my Dad's work. It wasn't every week, as I remember, and I don't know how long they had to wait for their pay. With the running bill, or tick - I think it was called, and we kids could go to the store with no money to lose and bring back the one or two items that my parents needed.

I remember when I had to have an eye test at the age of seven, and had to have my pupils dilated. We came home from the eye doctor's, and I was permitted to go to visit some friends. They had comic books. I was so delighted to be able to look at those books and read them. Well, you know what pupil dilation does! I was so unable to read those comic books, and was utterly disappointed! I just couldn't focus properly. So much for the comic books!

I remember being put in the front row of desks in my elementary years, because I was near-sighted and couldn't see the blackboards. And I wore glasses since the age of seven! What a thrill it was when I got old and had to have cataracts removed which permitted me to see well without glasses! I couldn't believe it, and I felt sort of naked without my glasses! Let me correct myself: it definitely was not a thrill to have my cataracts removed, but the thrill came when I could see without glasses.

Vaccination for smallpox is usually done on the upper arm just below the shoulder, and sometimes develops into a large scar which shows up if you wear sleeveless shirts or blouses. So my mother requested that the doctor put mine on my upper left thigh near the hip joint. He agreed, and put a dome of clear hard material something like plastic today is. He put adhesive tapes around it to keep it in place.

Perhaps a couple of days later, I went to play with one of my friends, Dorothy or Dolores Malesky. I can't quite remember which name. They lived in the alley that runs from Poplar through Buttonwood Streets; the back of their house was right next to the alley. Their latticed back porch was just several inches away from the alley fence. She and I were playing tag, or hide and seek, or just going around the house, running in a hurry. We went around the back porch, through that narrow space, and my thigh rubbed against the fence post protruding on the inner side of the fence, yanking off my little clear dome that was supposed to protect my vaccination. Of course, I had to get home quickly because of the blood oozing out, and I guess I panicked. My mother gave me a good scolding (it didn't sound good to me!), and washed off the booboo and cover, and replaced it with more adhesive tape. I don't know if I was permitted to go to play again, or if I just sat on the front step brooding. The vaccination DID develop into a large scar almost the size of a fifty-cent piece, by the way.

In those days, it was not unusual to have the tonsils removed. Because I had sore throats and swollen tonsils so often, mine were removed when I was seven years old. I wonder if that was really necessary. People today wonder about that, because tonsils have a purpose.

My throat was sore from the surgery, and the doctor and nurse said that I should have popsicles and ice cream when I got home. Wow! lucky me! I loved popsicles and ice cream!... so I had my fill of popsicles and ice cream, then.




I'll see you at the Corner Post...

Bill's Gig; rainy weather for four days; my trip to Memory Land again.

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 19, 2011

Bill's gig; rainy weather for four days; my trip to Memory Land again.

Bill's gig last night at the Overland venue on Cooper Avenue was a success. There is a whole backdrop of floor-to ceiling windows on one side of the room, and the performers sit with their backs to the street and facing their audience. I like the view, except for the street lights 'shining me right in the eye', as I've heard it said.

The audience seemed to like Bill's four songs very much, especially the first one "My Lover Loves Liver". The lighting was very good, the sound system very good, and the audience was well-behaved. In my opinion of Bill's gig, it was the best I have ever heard of his program. In a couple of his songs, there are so many quick phrases, which are difficult to enunciate, but he did an excellent job. We want more, Bill Shipper!

There were quite a few performers in groups of two or three, and it would have taken much longer to see the rest of them. I wish we could have seen them all, but with a half-hour drive home, we had to leave at 10:30; work, you know, for Bill.

The weather forecast indicates that we will have four days of rain and some thunderstorms. I hope that it will be on and off rain so the excess can run away. I hope the weather will be good for all the people going to and fro for Thanksgiving.

Now for my trip to Memory Land. I think I told you that I made a New Year's Resolution that I would write a page or two in my notebook every evening. It's a great thing to do. I thought of so many memories and people and places. I want you to know that it worked for just over a whole month! Maybe next New Year's Day will see me making that resolution and keep it for a longer period.

Let's see, I think we were talking about Christmas Trees and how families were invited to go to see their friends' Christmas Tree Village underneath the Christmas Tree.

The Akromis family had a large room for their Christmas Tree, and a very large layout which extended to some distance away from the Tree. The Akromises lived at the corner of Chestnut and Poplar Streets and had a large yard. They were good friends.

On Chestnut Street near Buttonwood Street (which runs parallel to Poplar) there was a small store. All I remember was the candy showcase and the large low freezer containing cylindrical ice cream buckets. I'd say each of these buckets held at least three gallons of ice cream. The owner of the store would dip into the flavor you chose, to fill your ice cream cone. In grocery stores today, you see large standing freezer showcases with many different sizes of containers of ice cream. You pick your ice cream and close the door.

You do not have that most wonderful pleasure of watching the Dipper Lady put her dipper into your favorite flavor, while you are 'drooling', and you can hardly wait to have that ice cream in your hand for your first lick! There is nothing more exquisite for a child to look forward to.

This same lady would have in stock, her ice-cube trays full of frozen flavored ice with sticks in them, for a penny each. These were home-made Kool-Aid popsicles that she made to sell. In those days long ago,'times were tough' and you had to make some money somehow.

I was friends with Mildred Alexis, who lived next door to that store, or maybe two doors away, and she was my age. We would often get together to go to get ice cream, or play with our dolls, or color in our coloring books. We almost always had a good time together.


Now I wonder if we were the best of friends, because once in a while we 
would have an argument. I'll tell you about that: 

           The Black-and-Blue Shin

I had a friend named Mildred Alexis

And here's the thing that will perplex us:

We had a fight and she kicked me hard,

But the very next day I was back in her yard.

The thing that made her anger rise

Was enough to bring the tears to my eyes,

Were enough to raise my cries to a din

After she kicked me in the shin.

I went home, then, to tell my mom,

Her hugs and kisses made me calm,

And then, of course, I was back at play

With Mildred Alexis, the very next day.

        -- Allegra, aka Anna Mae Schroeder.

        -- written on October 23, 1992.

I wrote that poem one night when I just couldn't sleep. I lay back down in my bed to try to fall asleep, but within five minutes I got up again, and couldn't get Mildred off my mind:

          The Black-and-Blue Shin II

Mildred Alexis! That name rings a bell.

I remember a story that I'd like to tell:

One day we were playing in her front yard,

And we had a big fight, and she kicked me hard.

She kicked me hard on my little shin,

I started to cry and made quite a din.

I was, no doubt, sent home to my mother,

To play there with my little brother.

That kick did hurt! I can tell you true,

It made my poor leg black and blue.

But it must have gotten better fast,

And the fight retreated into the past,

Because although she kicked me hard,

The next day I was back in her yard

Playing so well with our dolls and such,

Because I liked her, oh, so much!

         -- Allegra, aka Anna Mae Schroeder.

          -- written on October 23, 1992.

 I’ll see you at the Corner Post…

 

DeSoto Arts Council; an apology; as black as coal; Christmas time.

Volunteers are the heart and soul of the DeSoto Arts Council, and they have worked very hard and joyfully to hold an Open House on November 13, just a few days ago, to introduce the public to the arts group’s new headquarters in Hernando, MS.

In my blog of November 15, 2011,  I was using the wrong name of  “The Art Museum Collection” and “Art Museum” – I am very sorry.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the 1940s, we lived in a few places in Larksville, a coal town adjacent to Plymouth, in the northeastern part of Pennsylvania. Two small apartments on Buttonwood Street, and a bigger place on Poplar Street, one street north of Buttonwood Street. It was a coalmining area, with culm banks in the neighborhood, in several places. Some homes were right at the very edges of the culm banks.

The streets and alleys were dusty with coal dust: porches and steps, porch railings, everything was layered with coal dust. We children would get very dirty from playing outdoors.

Sometimes we would even play at the edges of the culm banks, and we would look like the miners, somewhat dirty, but not as black.  

Our Dad would come home from the mines all dirty, clothes almost black from the grime of the coal. He would take a bath in the kitchen, in a round galvanized bath tub. He would take off his shirt and undershirt, and kneel down on the floor by the tub, and lean over the warm water in the tub to wash his face, then arms, and then his torso. I remember how he would wash his hair. Fascinating, to a child.

Then we would have to go into the other room or outdoors to play, while he washed the rest of his body.

A memory of him, walking home from work, comes to mind – he was carrying his lunch pail, with almost black hands, his cap was so dirty, his pants and shoes, shirt, and his jacket, and his face, everything, being grimy black, truly as black as coal.

I was playing outside and saw him coming up the alley. As I came closer to him, I could see his eyes and nostrils and lips. His eyelids were dirty but the whites of his eyes shone white and there was a very thin pink line on the insides of his eyelids.  His nose was as dirty as his cheeks, with the nostrils black as coal from breathing in all that coal dust. His lips, face, chin, were black – all except the pink inside of his lips. His ears were black, and the inner parts of his ears were even blacker.

He came home from work always looking very tired.

On Poplar Street, we lived in a duplex: one side was ours, with basement, first floor, and second floor, with a yard on one side, our side, to play in. The duplex did not face Poplar Street, although our address was Poplar Street. The front of our  house faced an alley parallel to both Poplar Street and Buttonwood Street. We lived between the two main streets, with the alley between the two streets.

The people on the other side were the Durkesh family. There were Mike and Alvina, the parents, and their three sons Tommy, Mickey, and Vincey. There was a space of a few years between the older boys and Vincey. He was just about my age, I think. Their dad worked in the mines, too. I remember that Alvina (Mrs. Durkesh) had red hair and lots of freckles. She was a lovely woman, and kind.

At Christmas time, people would invite their friends to come to their homes to see the Christmas Tree and the usual layout beneath the Christmas Tree. Almost everyone would have some decorations under the tree, most of the time it was a miniature village or two with trees, little model railroad sets, some with mirror ‘ponds’ and ‘lakes’, houses, school, fire station, and miniature people.

It was always so lovely to see the different layouts, different styles, at all these homes. There was a large, and I mean it took up almost all of the room... layout at the home of the Akromis family, and a medium-size layout at the Durkesh house.

There was the Griscavage family, too, we were friendly with them. They had a girl named Dorothy and she and I would put on a show for each other for entertainment, usually in the summertime. Their house was situated on a little incline, with the first  floor at the Poplar Street level on the front of the house, and the basement level at the back of the house. They used the basement door as their usual entrance to their house. In that area, there was a porch swing where Dorothy would sit and I would sing or dance, and she would clap her hands when the “performance” was over.

Then we would switch places and there would be another ‘act’, of singing, dancing, or a game of some kind. Sometimes we would try to name automobiles by saying a name beginning with A, then B, and so on. Or movie stars, using the alphabet again. I remember Sonja Henie, and some other of the movie stars of the time. I think I remember that Dorothy’s dad was Stanley, and her mom was Helen.  Dorothy’s house and my house were back-to-back with a little bit of yard for both houses, with a fence separating the yards. You might say that our little neighborhood was a bit crowded.

Elaine Mock was another friend in my neighborhood, on Poplar Street. Her dad was Joe Mock. He had a brother named John Mock who lived one or two doors up the hill on Poplar Street, from the Griscavages. I think Mr. John Mock was a policeman or police chief.

I’ll see you at the Corner Post . . .

Lovely warm rain; A summer-time poem.

Today is November 15, 2011. We've been expecting rain for a couple of days, and it had rained a little in my neighborhood overnight. Today it looked like rain for quite some time, and it finally did rain a lot. There were raindrops on the kitchen window, as it rained in the early afternoon. But tonight a thunderstorm is threatening to appear, and the forecast indicates rain for tomorrow.

It has been very windy for a few days, with much warm air coming from the southwest. Cold rainy days are not very pleasant.

I was in the back of the house, and looked out through the closed blinds on the short high window there to see  if it was raining. It didn't appear to be raining, and for a minute I couldn't see out very well. It was dusk by then, and I saw a reflection in the glass of two white columns. I glanced at my left arm, thinking I had something white on, but it was still the maroon turtleneck shirt that I had put on this morning. This all took place inside several seconds... I opened the slit of blinds a little bigger, all I wanted was a quick look, and those two white columns which I thought were reflections, were the front feet of a white cat who took shelter on the outside ledge of the window! It rather startled me, never expecting the cat to be there, ever. It is a neighborhood cat who roams around, looking for moles, I think. The window sill is probably six feet high, no problem for a strong white cat! It was sitting there, nonchalantly, then licked clean its paw. No wonder I couldn't see out very well!

Continuing the perusal of some of my notebooks in the past couple of days, I came across a poem that I had written on July 8th, 1993. It is quite appropriate for today, with a nice rainy day behind us, although it's not summer.
             

            Trickle, Trickle

Trickle, trickle, goes the sweat;
This is the hottest heat wave yet.

Trickle, trickle, down my back,
Goes the sweat in a single track.

Moisture building up so high
Thunderstorms will soon come by.

Pitter, patter come the drops,
Hoping that it never stops;

Comes the thunder, then the lightning -
Makes the rainstorm so exciting.

Trickle, trickle down the pane,
Comes the lovely summer rain.

Trickle, trickle comes the rain,
Washing down the dusty train.

Falling gently through the hours,
Refreshing all the lovely flowers.

Making honey for the bees,
Giving moisture to the trees.

               -- Allegra, July 8, 1993.



I'll see you at the Corner Post...

Hernando Art Museum; Open House; Music.

The Art Museum Collection in Hernando, Mississippi, was housed in a little house, and the house was beginning to need some expensive repair. The council decided to move the Art Museum to a different house instead of putting the money into the smaller one. The building that they bought is a big OLD house that was built in 1910. 


In June, the work began of preparing the big OLD home for the Art Museum collection. There had been scheduled a small meeting of a songwriters' group one night several weeks ago, and my son Bill invited me to go with him for that. Of course, I was delighted to go. There were only a half dozen men who came, and they spent some time discussing songwriting and some episodes that had happened in their group. (One could see that the renovating was still in progress, in that main room.)

One of the fellows played his guitar and sang a few of his songs; they discussed the songs, etcetera; then Bill played a few of his songs for them. They discussed them, also. I listened eagerly to their critiques, and to me, it was an interesting meeting. 

Yesterday, Nov. 13, there was an Open House at the 'new' Art Museum, in that same place I had been with Bill, and I was quite excited to be attending with Bill and Jennifer, his wife. The Art Museum council haven't done enough with the second floor yet, that will take some more time, but the first floor is quite lovely. Old, warm, informal, but beautiful. So many great, interesting, different, and lovely paintings, I couldn't get enough of such wonderful paintings!

There were so many people there, milling about seeing the art works, having conversations with their friends and acquaintances, and enjoying snacks and hors d'oeuvres from several tables. I, of course, sampled several of the plentiful and delicious foods. I heard one woman saying that the crowd had been larger, but some had gone home earlier. I am very pleased  that so many people attended the Open House. I congratulate the committees for all their work with food and other items.


A tall woman was singing and playing her instrument as we arrived, and after her turn was over, the directress of a dance studio presented her group of beautiful young ballerinas from four- or five-year olds, to teens. All were dressed in such lovely dance costumes. There wasn't much space in the main room for them to dance to their fullest ability, but it was well done, nonetheless. Their dancing, and each one's hair done in the traditional 'bun' in the back brought me to tears, suddenly filled with nostalgia, as I had watched my eldest grandchild Megan in her many years of studying ballet. 

After they were done and curtsied, they were to meet the directress out on the porch. Then it was Bill's turn to play. There were several groups of people around, talking together, people walking to and fro throughout the main room and adjacent ones. Bill played several of his own songs, and a few people came up to him and spoke with him several times. It's such a pleasure to hear him. One that he sang, was quite funny: My Lover Loves Liver. Another that he wrote but didn't sing yesterday, is Vicki, the Vicious Vegan. He is also known for his songs of the business world.

Jennifer and Bill were talking with friends, and I went around looking at all the paintings again and shooting some pictures of them. I hope the photos came out well. I haven't had much of an opportunity today to see them. 


I am in awe of some of the furnishings in the big OLD house (I use this term because I love the  old building very much). The decor is lovely. I am wishing to visit there again.


By the way, that big OLD house was built in the same year that my maternal grandparents were married, in Pennsylvania.

We then left and stopped at Velvet Cream, or as it's usually called, DIP. I got a huge banana split. I ate a little on the way home, and put it in the freezer when Bill and Jennifer dropped me off at my house. They came in for a few minutes, but had to leave to do some chores in the few hours before bedtime. I told them that I would finish off the banana split during this week -- in about five installments! It was a really big one, and so delicious! That Velvet Cream ice cream place has very good, polite employees with service to your liking, and good food, and I'm sure we will stop there again.





I'll see you at the Corner Post...

Nail Polish; Ball and Jacks; The Bobbsey Twins.

My first and second grades were spent in Buttonwood School, just a hop and a skip up the street from where we lived. It was a square building, housing grades one through eight. It seems to me that each room had two grades. Going to that school was very good for me. My memories are precious.

When it came time for us as Roman Catholics for our First Holy Communion, my brother and I needed instruction in the Catholic faith so we could receive communion. So we spent two years at the parochial school down the little hill to 'downtown' Plymouth. Larksville and Plymouth were located adjacent to each other. We lived on the very edge of Larksville. He and I had to walk to school and then back home. It seems to be quite a distance because we were very young. It was perhaps almost a mile to our school, St. Stephen's School. Nearby was St. Stephen's Church, a Slovak church, perhaps.

On our walk to school we passed the Lance Colliery, the bridge to Lynnwood across the river, the Polish National Church, Bull Run which was a big intersection with a street leading to the town of Larksville farther up a hill, Woolworth's 5c and 10c Store on the same side of the street, a couple of movie theaters, a couple of furniture stores, and many more buildings.

It was third and fourth grades for me, and second and third grades for Joe. There was the regular saying of the Rosary, I don't remember what time of day, perhaps the first thing in the morning. We had to stand in the hallway as a large group to say the Rosary, and I would frequently be so tired of standing for such a long time. I had a heart murmur as a child and I wonder if that is why I was so tired.

Spelling was one of my favorite lessons. We would have a spelling bee very often, and had to spell all of our words. That was fun for me. I'm sure we also had lessons in which we were taught about many of the saints. I don't remember other classes, but I'm sure that there were others. Perhaps I didn't care for those subjects.

One weekend our family went to visit my maternal grandparents and family. That was always a lot of fun for me, my grandmother had young children during the same years my mother did, so there were three kids our age to play with. Three of my older aunts were so interesting, some in their early 'teens'. We may have stayed overnight, or just for the whole day of Sunday, sometimes overnight on Saturday.

My teenage aunts were doing the nail polish thing. How special! They put polish on my fingernails, also. Wow! Such excitement! I felt important, of course.

Another thing they would do was to listen to the Hit Parade on Saturdays. If the girls would go out for the evening to the local dance, they would give my Grandma a sheet of paper and a pencil, and begged her to write down all the songs of the Hit Parade while they were gone to the dance. She would be ironing clothes with the radio right there, with the piece of paper very handy. We younger kids would be playing quietly, having fun, at the same time. From time to time I would see her writing on that paper.

Back to school on Monday, my brother and I. As soon as I got into my classroom, Sister came to my desk, handed me a pair of scissors, and demanded that I scrape every single bit of that nail polish off my finger nails! What a shock that was to me! Apparently I did not know that wearing nail polish was forbidden.

Recess always was a nice experience, because I could play Jacks. I really loved those jacks. We would play Jacks on the concrete steps in front of the school, or on the sidewalk. The little ball which was about an inch in diameter had a good bounce to it. You 'throw' the jacks out onto the surface, and bounce the ball, pick up a jack and catch the ball before would bounce again. Then you pick up two jacks before the ball would bounce again, and then three, and so on. It does take a little practice before you can be very good at it. I still have my jacks!

I wasn't fond of running games, or racing, or ball games where you must run bases, because I would get a 'stitch' in my side.

One of my very favorite things to do was to read. I've always loved reading, even unto this moment! The Bobbsey Twins! Oh, how much I loved that series of books. I would read the book in about two days, and then I would have to wait until I could get to the library again. Tuesdays and Thursdays were the days that I could go; or perhaps were the days that the library was open.

One day when the parochial school was not in session, I visited the Buttonwood public school and I was so thrilled to be able to sit in the back of the room where the books were located on shelves. I remember books like The Gingerbread Man, and other books of that genre. It was blissful to be so close to those books and pick them out to read while I was visiting. It may have been the first and second grade room.



I'll see you at the Corner Post...

My Sister Was Born; Vegetarian Vegetable Soup; Two Little Roses.

We had moved from one side of Buttonwood Street to the other side, diagonally across the street, to an apartment upstairs. I have a couple of sad memories of that apartment. One of those brings back a feeling of sadness, and I was hiding on a lower shelf in the pantry. I said that I wanted my daddy. Had I been scolded for something? Was I really missing my daddy? Or was I unhappy about something else? I don't remember that part. One time I was under the table and didn't want to come out.

This is the house where my brother Joe's buddy Georgie lived, in a basement apartment, it seems. We remember things, but often don't get details correctly. They played a great deal together -- they may have been the same age. They were hardy little boys.

One day, my brother Joe and I were being cared for by Mrs. Dula, who lived next door on the first floor. I remember vividly that we two children were having lunch of a bowl of Campbell's Vegetarian Vegetable soup, and it seems that I didn't care much for the soup. Was it because I didn't want to be in her house, or didn't I really like the soup? It was strange to be there, and the soup was served in flat-like adult size soup dishes. Or was it because I didn't know why she was caring for us on that day?

All three of us children were born at home, which was probably the way it was done in those 'olden days'. The reason we were being cared for by Mrs. Dula was that a new baby was coming to our house!

My sister Regina was born with the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck and she was turning blue. Luckily everything turned out all right, and she was a beautiful little baby, with a sweet personality. She was and is well-loved. She was born on the Fourth of July, and we were very happy to have her come to live with us. My Dad frequently called her his little Firecracker. She was an active little girl, wanting to do everything. When she got older, I think she liked playing with my brother, who was closer in age to her.
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I don't remember the date that I entered first grade at Buttonwood School. I always loved school, and liked learning, very much. This may have been the year that I colored the line-drawing of a pumpkin! I will never forget coloring that pumpkin with an orange crayon! To this day, I really love the color orange, but I have several other favorite colors, too. And I love pumpkins very, very much.

I remember Miss Stapleton, she was my teacher. I would love those stories she told or read, and I was a good student. As time went on, my passion for reading grew and grew. We also learned how to write in cursive, via the Palmer Method. I am still very grateful that I was taught the Palmer Method, as it makes one's handwriting very legible and neat.

I'm not sure when exactly, but I learned to sing a very pretty song in the Buttonwood School, Two Little Roses. It was in an Elementary Song Book, and I really loved that song. It tells about two little roses that creep up on the fence and into the child's window to say Good Morning. I'll write some more about that song in another posting.



I'll see you at the Corner Post...

Notebooks; limericks are great - sometimes; what a history!

Some of my notebooks posing as journals / diaries are lined up on a shelf in my bedroom. As I pick one up and peruse a bit, I find it amazing that there is so much written in it. Poems that I've copied from books, because I liked them so much; mention of phone calls from family and friends; bits of conversation of those calls; found recipes that were important to me, to keep; things I did that day or another; my deepest feelings in those trying years; -- it is endless. Those notebooks are jumbled histories of some of my years. 

Oh, what a surprise THIS is! I see an entry that I chanced upon without even trying! A serendipitous paragraph written exactly seventeen years ago today! November 11, 1994, birthday of my sixth and last child, Ger. 

This is what I wrote about his birthday: "I called Gerald for his birthday, and sang 'Happy Birthday' a la The Hallelujah Chorus. He liked it. He received as gifts, a popcorn bowl very large, candy, a gift certificate to Barnes and Noble Book Stores, and a plunger for his trumpet. Maybe more. I forget."

Happy Birthday AGAIN, Ger!

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On February First, 1995, at two o'clock in the afternoon, I wrote this poem: 

                             Little Bird

There once was a bird who spoke not a word, 

        But I didn't seem to care; 

             For it really pleased me 

             As I watched him with glee 

        While he flew 'round and 'round in the air. 

He spoke not a word, this brown little bird, 

        For in fact he wasn't that kind; 

             It just didn't matter 

             That he couldn't chatter ~~ 

        It would drive me right out of my mind. 

Instead, he would whistle, I'm positive this'll 

        Explain what I'm trying to say:

             He'd sing all day long 

             His enchanting sweet song, 

        And I wish he'd come back here to stay.

I'd even plant thistle, so he'd sit there and whistle

        As I'd hoe all my beans and my peas; 

             Little bird, come to me, 

             Won't you come, sing to me? 

        Won't you please sing for me, pretty please? 

                                  -- Anna Mae Schroeder

                                      February 1, 1995. 

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So, you can see what all my notebooks mean to me. They are full of odds and ends, important things, 

sad things, deliriously happy things, and quite unexpected things, What A History! 

I'll see you around the Corner Post...

Milkman's horses; "Cherry" nose; a haircut; coal mines.

My New Year's resolution at the beginning of the year 2011 was to jot down some of my memories each day. I was so glad that I could keep this resolution, it seemed so easy. I would write a short account of one or two of my memories each night before I'd go to sleep. Well, I kept that resolution for one month and two days! Perhaps I'll do a little better with the 2012 New Year's resolution.

My very first jotting:
When I was very young, I would run screaming toward my daddy and/or my mommy when I heard horses' hooves outside coming up the cobblestoned street. This happened every single day, because this was the milkman with his deliveries to the neighborhood, in his horse-drawn little milk truck.

We lived in a pair of small rooms in a house on Drinker Street in Dunmore, Pennsylvania. In 1934 my brother Joe was born in this house, but I doubt that I remember anything about that. I am a year and a half older than he is, and we usually don't remember much at that age. Anyway, it was probably a very private affair, because we, all three of us siblings, were born at home. My birth took place just one street over from Drinker, on Warren Avenue.

My daddy would say that I had a "cherry" nose; it was red from the cold air of winter, he said. And he told me how scared I would be of the sound of the horse's hoofs as the milkman came nearer and nearer to our house.

My parents told me that I used to play with the little girl, Marie, who lived in the house. I think her parents owned the house. There was a baseball field across the street from our house, just one or two doors down.

My brother and I were baptized in All Saints Church a few streets away. My father worked in the coal mines in Dunmore. Not very long afterwards, the miners were working infrequently, so my parents had to move to another town for work. This other town was Larksville/Plymouth, near Wilkes-Barre.

(About the "cherry"nose, just a week after I wrote about this memory, I read about Johnny Marks who wrote "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer ". The article mentioned the cherry proboscis. This article was in the Autumn 2010 copy of the Colgate SCENE publication.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My parents had to move to Plymouth/Larksville, because of lack of work in Dunmore, but I don't know what year that was. Probably about a couple of years later. We lived on Buttonwood Street, in our first home which was a small apartment. I am not sure who owned the house, but there was an older lady Mrs. Rudnitski, who lived very near. (It could have been Mrs. Rudnitski who owned the house.) I used to love going into her kitchen, because she had a large shelf clock in there. I liked the way it looked, large, pretty, and up on the shelf. And most of all, I liked the way it ticked so loud!

My mother asked Mrs. Rudnitski to cut my hair one day, saying something like "po' ooshi" meaning 'just below the ears'. Well, Mrs. Rudnitski cut it above the ears, which was not a pretty sight! Who knows? maybe she was hard of hearing, and didn't hear the instructions right, that it should be below my ears, but I don't think my hair was cut by her, ever again...    My mother told me about it many years later.

My father worked in the Lance Colliery, which is at the corner of Main Street and Chestnut Street. The men walked to the mines, deep under Lance Colliery. There were 'cages' for carrying the men, that were pulley-ed down from the surface to the deep mine, and pulley-ed up when the whistle blew signifying the end of the work day. Just like the elevators in an office building, but the 'cages' were open-air with a grill around them, and the 'cages' were full of grimy-black men with grimy-black clothes.  No business suits on men going to their offices, or pretty dresses on women going shopping.  My parents were not well off, many times barely making it.  Money was not plentiful, as the miners didn't work every day even though they wanted to.

This is the house where my brother Joe locked himself in the bathroom, and they were trying to get him out of there. I was so concerned that he hadn't eaten his cooked egg, so I brought his plate to him, and told my parents that he has to eat. (How? with the door locked!)

I'll see around the Corner Post...

Fifth grade; Dimock library; Fairy Tales.

When I was in fifth grade, I was a new-comer, rather shy and withdrawn, and didn't know the routine at my public school. Fifth and sixth grades were in the same room; it was a rural school in a small town. People knew each other, but of course, I didn't know anyone there except our neighbors who lived on the same dirt road that we did. We knew them just a few months, as we moved there in April, so very long ago, from 'the city' to a farming area.

I remember with embarrassment, it could have been the first day of school, or that week, that I began to eat my lunch when it was time for recess. I thought it was lunch time. As I nibbled at my sandwich, a sixth-grade boy passed by my desk and said, "It's not lunch time." Pretending I knew all about it, I said, "I know." I took one more little bite of my sandwich and put it back in my lunch box or bag, and put it back in the drawer under my seat. So nonchalantly, I thought. I could have crawled under my desk or hid in the cloak room, I was so embarrassed.

Dimock was a very small town, and we were allowed to walk from the school to the library near the crossroads on certain days. As I try to remember now, it must have been a distance of perhaps a quarter of a mile, perhaps less.

It was such a wonderful place to be in, that library! I have always loved books, and couldn't get enough of them. Reading was a passion. At that particular time, I was quite interested in the Fairy Tales. The Brothers Grimm I remember so well. I liked almost all of the Fairy Tales that I came across. They fed my imagination!

Let me explain a bit about the library. To me, it was the greatest place that I could visit. In reality, it was one small room, with no apparent attic, and probably only one door, the single front door. The librarian was the third-and fourth-grade teacher. There were bookcases lining the walls except for perhaps two windows, and probably a few bookcases in the middle of the room. It was no bigger than a very small garage. It was a cute little 'house', much smaller than the other houses on that street. It was a very small room but it was extremely important to me. It lives in my memory and takes up a big area...

Around this time three years ago, I was thinking about fairies. They could do anything, you know. I began to imagine their coming out into the meadow at the edge of their woods, and having a lovely time, especially playing music and dancing.


                   Fairy Music

In the darkened linden wood
          The fairies come to play;
They appear at deepest night --
          And disappear by day.

Dressed in leaves and petals fresh,
          Making music to enmesh
Gathering from all around,
          All who listen to this sound.

Some have pipes between their lips,
          Others softly do their flips
Jumping, running, to and fro --
          Dancing, prancing as they go

Singing songs that they all know,
          Soon their repertoire will grow;
Blowing trumpet flowers they grew
          Makes soft, glad tunes so old, yet new.

Their melodies all known by man,
          Yet no one knows when this began...
                     
                          -- Allegra, October 9, 2008



I'll see you at the Corner Post...

Imagination; short story.

Does this ever happen to you, that all of a sudden your imagination comes alive and you're off into another world?

This morning, as I looked out the front door to say "Good morning, World", I was thinking of how lovely the sky was, the air looked so clear, but I also knew that later in the day or evening, we would be experiencing a thunderstorm.

And then, a fly came zooming in towards me, smack into the pane of glass. Within multi-seconds, this thought came to my mind, imaginary, but it became real to me. I'll tell you:


The Fly With the Bruised Nose

Freddie Fly had a sweet wife -- the best partner anyone could have. It was a good life that they shared.

She prepared his regular porridge for breakfast. They ate their porridge together and chatted the while.

They rubbed noses, and then he was off on his daily rounds.

Oh, what a beautiful day to begin the weekly chores in his neighborhood. They lived in a wealthy neighborhood with brick homes lining the streets. The Fly Colony was doing quite well there, sometimes they had abundant refuse piles to spend their days in.

As I said before, it was such a glorious sunny day, not too cool, not too hot. It was so lovely, Freddie Fly almost let go of the steering controls of his body because the currents he chose were almost carrying him without his help.

Meanwhile, as I was standing at my front door, drinking in the beauty of the day and looking through the pane of glass, I suddenly saw a large fly heading my way. In an instant, since he didn't know the pane was there, he rammed into the pane of glass.

I could almost feel the pain that he felt in his nose! He was flying so fast that it was like a brick wall to him! I didn't hear his expletives, since I was inside the door, but I could imagine what he said.

But, being as sturdy as his species is, he just flew away.

Later that evening as he arrived home, he asked his wife to fetch the band-aids. She looked at his bruised nose, and then kissed it to make it better.

                                                                                -- Allegra, 8:30 am. November 8, 2011.


I'll see you at the Corner Post...

The Dandelion; My Dad and A Pair of Young Horses; The Bull.

The Dandelion       (of November 1977)

Childhood favorite,
Thing of joy
To blow the seeds
As girl or boy

Who could've known
That it would be
A symbol of hope
To self-pitying me?

One cold and bleak
November day
When leaves were gone
And skies were gray

I felt alone
And sad inside --
I thought a walk
My tears would hide

A broken heart --
My daydreams shattered
It seemed to me
That nothing mattered

I trudged along
With eyes downcast
Wond'ring how long
This mood would last

There at the base
Of an old maple tree
Was a bright yellow dot
Waiting JUST for me

A dandelion!
At this time of year!
I knew at that moment --
The answer was clear --

It was the Almighty
Saying to me
"Your life will improve!
Just wait and see.

"No matter how bad
Your troubles may seem
Things will get better --
Hold onto your dream."

I've never forgotten
How on that dark day
That small spot of color
Has caused me to say:

Whenever there's trouble
Don't take too long a-sighin'
But try to remember
That bright dandelion.

       -- Allegra, April 20, 1986
          aka Anna Mae Schroeder


In the summer of 1990 I had to go to Dearborn to stay with my Mom for quite a while, because she was quite sick from chemotherapy. She then had bad moments and good ones. One day she was up to talking and reminiscing.

She was talking about Babe and Bill, a pair of young work horses. My Dad bought this particular pair of horses to work on our newly-purchased little farm in Springville. (I was only nine-and-a-half years old at this time, in 1942.) He wanted this pair because he desired young SPIRITED horses. In this case, spirited meant 'full of energy, enthusiasm, and determination'.

They were spirited, all right. Bill, especially, would prance around, resisting any attempts at being harnessed up. Someone had to stand in front of him while my Dad harnessed him. Dad's brother-in-law Uncle Stanley was going to help my Dad. They were going to show the horses that THEY (the men) were The Boss. They were going to hook the horses up to the road drag (my Dad was paid by the county to drag the dirt road and level out the bumps and holes).

The men finally got the horses harnessed and hooked up to the road drag, thinking it would temper them a little. The horses ran down the road with the drag, the men running after them. The horses were rearing up, the men hanging onto the reins, trying to calm them down. This probably happened more than once, as the horses were newly purchased, and had to be broken in. It's a miracle that no one got hurt during all of this 'calming them down'.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
One day my Dad took our bull about a quarter-mile on our narrow dirt road to the neighbor's place because his cow was ready to be serviced by the bull. Farmers know when the cow is ovulating. The bull was young, and probably spirited also, as in the above story. Dad tied the rope to the bull's neck or nose ring, and they started down the road. My Mom was watching from the kitchen window, a bit worried.

The bull would dance around, to and fro, and every once in a while he would attempt to 'boot' or 'attack'  Dad in the posterior with his horns, playfully, I would hope, but perhaps to express his annoyance at being tethered. My Mom was watching through the window, worried that the bull would knock Dad down. Nonetheless, it did make a beautiful picture.


I'll see you at the Corner Post...