Who Are These Guys?

1.  Winchester Cathedral by The New Vaudeville Band

2.  I'm A Believer by The Monkees

3.  Kind of a Drag by The Buckinghams

4.  Penny Lane by The Beatles

5.  Happy Together by The Turtles

6.  Georgy Girl by The Seekers

7.  Windy by The Association

8.  Groovin' by The Young Rascals

9.  Light My Fire by The Doors

10. Then You Can Tell Me Goodbye by Casinos & The Casinos

11. To Sir With Love by Lulu

12. The Letter by The Box Tops

13. Can't Take My Eyes Off You by Frankie Valli

14. Never My Love by The Association

As soon as I got home from the hospital I knew something was different.  Call it intuition or that uncanny ability that children have for discernment.  Such as - to be able to hear "ice cream" but never hear "pick up your toys."  In any case, my home had changed.  Not physically, but emotionally and spiritually.  And it was almost tangible.

We had been members of the Evangelical United Brethren church, whose meetinghouse was right across the street from our house on Main Street in Clarendon.  I was friends with Pastor Swift's daughter, Janet.  It was a darling little church with stained glass windows and smelled of Murphy's Oil Soap and all things old. I loved Christmas time here because of how beautiful and magical the chapel was with all the candles lit and the organ music.  There was always a pageant and then they handed out little folded cardboard boxes of hard candies to the kids.  

The regular sermon service was held upstairs and then the kids would go downstairs for Sunday School.  I can still picture the room where I met for my classes.  I would also take piano lessons there someday.  I remember a woman who would sit in there and do hand-piece work for quilts.  Odd what sticks in your mind.  I don't know what her job was but she sat in there with us children and the teacher and did her piece work.  If you got up to some mischief she would stop her work and give you this "look" and let us know that Jesus was watching us and keeping track of all our misdeeds.  In my little girl mind I could just picture Him up there with a huge tome with my name printed across the front and on the spine.  He'd see me do one of the million wrong things that I always seemed to be doing and shake His head, give me a stern look, open my book, take a pen and make yet another mark against me.  Jesus did this alot in my mind.  I was pretty sure I was going to have some pretty big explaining to do.  Not only was He watching me, but this woman was sure to give Him a heads up if He happened to miss something.  It wasn't always fun down there in Sunday School.

My father taught Sunday School and was well-liked.  He was a true people person and could strike up a conversation with anyone.  Shortly before going into the hospital I remember Pastor Swift telling my father what a good job he was doing with the lessons and how he'd presented a different approach to a scriptural topic which he'd found fascinating.  All was well at the EUB church - or so I had supposed.

It ends up that my paternal grandparents, Charles and Gertrude Alspaugh, had recently converted to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.  They lived out in Baker, Oregon.  My Aunt Mary had also converted.  They wanted to share their new beliefs with my father and sent him all sorts of literature - pamphlets, books, magazines.  My dad, being a voracious reader, read it all and liked what he read.  He started realizing that so much of this new material would go well with his Sunday School lessons at the EUB so he slowly started using passages and thoughts from books like "A Marvelous Work and A Wonder" in his lessons.  These were the "approaches" which Pastor Swift found so enlightening!  My father didn't share right away where the material was coming from as he was still deciding in his mind about whether this was a direction he should go or not.  But, eventually, when he knew that what he was reading was true, he did inform the pastor as to the source of his new enlightenment.  Needless to say, Pastor Swift was not amused.  

This studying phase had been going on for almost a year before when I went into the hospital for my surgery.  While I was in the hospital the missionaries started coming to the house and my family started taking the discussions.  My father had done so much studying on his own and he had lots of questions for the young men, Elder Stanley Miller and Elder Kerry Law.  To accept the gospel meant some big life changes for them.  My father was pretty much a chain smoker - he even coiled the leftover string on the end of his guitar and fashioned it into a cigarette holder while playing a job.  The bands that my parents played in meant every weekend was spent in bars and nightclubs where smoking and drinking was par for the course.  That whole scene was a big part of their life.  Just how much were they going to have to give up in order to join this new church? And was it worth it?  Ultimately, he had developed a testimony that what he had been reading was true and he knew that the path down which it would lead our family was the one we should take.  He quit smoking cold turkey if my memory serves me correct.  He also gave up the alcohol and coffee.  My mom didn't smoke, if my memory serves me correct, but she also gave up the coffee and tea and alcohol.  My whole family had made the decision to be baptized and, as all were of age, that's exactly what they did - and this came to pass right before I was to come home.

The missionaries were a fixture in our home now.  I didn't know who they were but I knew I liked the new feeling in our home and I really liked these new guys.  They brought laughter and good times.  Everything about them was for the good.  They joked with my brothers and teased and played with me.  They were wonderful!  Elders Miller and Law were the ones to baptize my parents and brothers.  I was only six so I would have to wait a couple years to be baptized.  

Our new church was far away up in Jamestown, New York.  Quite a change from walking across the street! But we soon learned that there were other members closer to us and we became fast friends with them - the McNutt family lived just a couple miles up the road in Stoneham and the Mortenson's lived in Sugar Grove. There were others, too, but these families would become a big part of our lives.

As all new members learn, missionaries come and missionaries go.  We would be saying goodbye to Elder Law and meeting a new missionary named Elder Clayton Sharer.  I loved Elder Sharer.  And, to this day, hope to see him again someday hereafter.  He was a good singer and loved to sing, which worked well with our musical family.  He would serenade me with his renditions of Hey There, Georgy Girl and Windy.  He also would sing Can't Take My Eyes Off You and I would giggle tee-hee!  At what age do we girls begin to develop crushes?  It seems sort of young to me but I KNOW I had a crush on Elder Sharer!  He must have had little sisters or something because he always knew how to talk to me on my level.  I loved Elder Miller, too, and he was so good with telling us stories.  I remember once that, for some reason, we had gone up to Jamestown for a meeting of some sort and it was just my mother and us kids.  It was winter time and my mother had car problems.  We realized the missionaries lived fairly close so we trudged through the snow to their apartment to get some help.  I just remember that while help was being dispatched to our car, us kids were piled into one of the elder's beds to get warm and Elder Miller plopped himself down in the middle of us and started telling us stories.  It was warmth, it was love, it was Christ-like in every way and I feel so blessed to have had these particular missionaries around at such an impressionable time in my life.  I learned first hand about living the gospel from the missionaries that came and went during this time.  We would have Elders Miller and Law at crossroads in our lives in the next couple years, but those are other stories! Sadly, soon after he returned home from his mission we received a call from Elder Sharer's family telling us that he had been killed in a truck accident.  Our grief was acute, to be sure.  My little heart just broke.  I had so looked forward to seeing him when our family made our way out west to go to the temple for the first time.  Now our reunion would have to wait . . . 

The changes in our life were many.  I had always said my prayers at my bedside with my parents - "Now I lay me down to sleep . . ." - but now the prayers were to be more personal - a dialogue, if you will - not formula.  No more "God is great, God is good, and we thank Him for our food" - it was, again, praying to our Heavenly Father through Jesus Christ, His Son.  Church was not just a Sunday thing - it was an every day way of life.  My Sunday School teachers talked about Jesus and Heavenly Father as kind individuals who loved me and had done all they could to prepare a way for me to return to them.  The people at the new church were friendly and soon it felt like I had tons of aunts and uncles!  

Me in the parking lot of the Jamestown Branch

I remember the first Christmas with the missionaries and countless Christmases after that with many, many wonderful missionaries to follow.  I was then, am now, and will always be cognizant of the fact that the gospel had invited the Spirit of Christ into our home.  I felt it in the most real sense of the word and can't deny it no matter how frustrated I get sometimes.  I thank my parents for making this decision to lead our family this way.  It was the best thing possible for me.

This playlist reflects the songs which Elder Sharer sang to me and songs which were hits during this first year in the church.  It was good times, good memories, and good living.

Thank You Zem Zem Shriners'!!

1.  Daydream by The Lovin' Spoonful

2.  Hanky Panky by Tommy James & The Shondells

3.  Monday, Monday by The Mamas & The Papas

4.  Barbara Ann by The Beach Boys

5.  Cherish by The Association

6.  Red Rubber Ball by The Cyrkle

7.  Secret Agent Man by Johnny Rivers

8.  See You In September by The Happenings

9.  Spanish Flea by Herb Alpert & The Tijuana Brass

10. Sweet Pea by Tommy Roe

11. Tijuana Taxi by Herb Alpert & The Tijuana Brass

12. Wild Thing by The Troggs

13. Working My Way Back to You by Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons

14. You Don't Have to Say You Love Me by Dusty Springfield

15. You're My Soul and My Inspiration by Righteous Brothers

16. The Ballad of the Green Berets by Sgt. Barry Sadler

17. California Dreamin' by The Mamas & The Papas

18. Yellow Submarine by The Beatles

19. Sunny by Bobby Hebb

20. Summer In the City by The Lovin' Spoonful

I haven't mentioned this yet, but I was born pigeon-toed.  It's an orthopedic condition where the feet turn inwards, thus you walk like you're a pigeon, I suppose!  Mine was pretty severe from what I understand and recollect.  I had a hard time walking without tripping over my feet. My Dad gave me alot of rides up on his shoulders, my little hands clasped firmly around his large Adam's apple.  I'd sort of guide him around as you would a horse, giving a little tug to the right or left.  He was very patient and happy to do my bidding.  It sure beat being sprawled out on the ground!  I was seen by Dr. Juliani in Erie.  I'm pretty sure that he did some sort of traveling clinics as I remember seeing him in different locations.  Erie was about 1 1/2 hours away from Clarendon and hard to get to in the days when you only had one car per family.  

They tried different sorts of treatments to try to get my legs straightened.  I wore braces and contraptions of all kinds. The one I remember most vividly were the twister straps.  I could never wear pretty, girly shoes.  They all had to be these corrective shoes that had hardware on which you could attach these thick straps then wind them up and around my legs.  They'd pull my feet outward and they did help.  However, for as long as I wore them, they just didn't seem to be straightening out the bones.  It was finally decided that the only option left was surgery.

The surgery was quite involved.  What they did was break the bone in the shin area (tibia), rotate the bottom half outward then put the bones back together in the new position.  They placed pins in the bones to secure them together then casted the entire leg from hip to toe.  As I was pigeon-toed in both legs, both legs were corrected.  They do not do the surgery in this manner today.  If they do it at all, the correction is made down closer to the ankle area.  I get incredible leg cramps to this day and I've always wondered if it was due to the realignment of the muscles when they turned the bones out.  I don't know, just my own musings.   

              My Dad the day of surgery

As the whole surgery and healing process required months in the hospital it was decided that I would have the surgery in the summer between Kindgergarten and First grade.  So this was how I spent the summer of 1966!  I had the surgery in Hamot Hospital in Erie, PA.  I stayed there about a week or two and was then transferred to Zem Zem Shriner's Hospital, also in Erie, for the following months.  Like I said, the casts went from hip to toe.  They changed my casts periodically as I needed to learn to walk again and the original casts had too much bend to allow that.  I needed straighter ones for that.  

I have many vivid memories from this time as you can probably imagine.  One memory is of them trying to give me shots post-surgery.  I mean, if they'd have been there when Dr. Walters tried to give me my vaccination for Kindergarten they would have known what they were in for! But they were none the wiser.  Both legs in casts notwithstanding, it took two interns to hold me down for the simple shots in the rump, which I presume were for pain.  I had a very strong aversion to needles!  I envision them out at the nurse's station drawing straws for who had to go give the Alspaugh girl her shots.  I'm pretty sure they soon reasoned that a girl who could fight like that probably didn't need the shots.  And I'd have to say that, knowing me today as I do, I have a high pain threshold and most likely did not need the shots in the first place.  But, still, there you have it! 

Another memory is when they put me under anesthesia for the surgery.  I remember the operating room having a funny smell.  They appeared over my head with this mask and asked if I could count to 100.  I'm not sure I could but I know they found a number to which I could count and asked me to start counting as they placed the mask over my face.  Did it take 100 counts?  No! But I remember that almost instantly after they placed the mask on my face I could see way up inside the mask and something was swirling round and round as it slowly fell toward me.  When it finally got close enough for me to see what it was I discovered it was actually me!  My arms and legs were stretched outward and I was spinning and spinning, closer and closer.  Just as I was about to land on my face, they were waking me up and I was so nauseous!  Now another thing about myself - I absolutely, positively hate to vomit!  And I will go to great lengths to keep from doing so!  This was not good news to be awoken and having the need to vomit.  I hurt and was in a strange place and had to vomit.  My legs felt like bricks and it was just not fun.  The first couple of days were indeed rough.  They came and gave their shots as they pleased.  But, then, enough was enough!

The next vivid recollection was when I had to have the pins removed.  They tried to explain to me what was about to happen.  They didn't do a very good job.  I'm just not sure it's a good idea to sugar coat things with children.  This was the era when they would try to convince you that things wouldn't hurt, but they always did.  By this time, I was on to their scheme.  The more they tried to convince me something wasn't going to hurt, the more it did hurt!  So, when they came to explain that the removing of the pins wasn't painful at all I knew I was in for torture! So I got myself all ready for it.  Bring it on!  They wheeled me down to this room for "the procedure".  They broke out the cast saw - been there done that already when they had to make a window in the cast for them to check the stitches.  I knew that it didn't hurt but I had to make a good show so I whimpered alot.  They made a cut into the cast to expose the pins or maybe they took the cast off completey?  Not sure.  Do you have any idea how freaky it is for a six year old kid to look up and see these bolts protruding out of their skin?  Let the show begin!  Above my hollering they were trying to explain that the gizmo they were going to use to extract the pins made a loud noise but it was just loud, not painful. Again with the "no pain" claim - this was going to be really bad!!  They turned it on and, yes, it was indeed loud.  But not louder than me!  They sternly cautioned me as to how important it was for me to be still.  Yeah, whatever! But, I did try to hold still and all the interns laying on my body were a big help in that endeavor.  As soon as the contraption was applied to the pins I could tell that they were maybe not lying this time.  It was more like a vibration and, to be quite honest, sort of tickled as it vibrated the pins out of my bones.  But - then - there it was - - BLOOD!  Blood streaming down as the pins came out.  I HAD to scream now!  What respectable six year old child wouldn't scream in this situation, I ask you?  None, unless they were anesthetized, I say.  So I continued on with what I considered my modem operandus at the time.  I carried on until I exhausted myself, or someone slipped a hypo into my rump.  Either way, I quieted down and they finished their work.  Until they came to this one pin - there were four in all.  They had tried to remove this pin at first but it wasn't being very cooperative so they left it to come back to.  When they did, it did hurt as they had to work on it more than the others.  It was being stubborn.  And, to this day, that scar area hurts to the touch.  Weird.

I remember the day they transferred me to Zem Zem.  You see, Erie was quite a drive from my home and my parents weren't able to be there all the time, every day.  I know they came as often as they could.  I had three older brothers who needed to be cared for as well.  But neither of my parents nor anyone else, for that matter, was around the day they made the transfer. They came up to my room, loaded me and my belongings on a gurney, and took me down to a sort of ambulance and whisked me away.  I remember crying and asking where my parents were.  They just told me not to worry.  They didn't say anything like,  "Oh, they know where you will be" or "We've already told them about it."  They just carted me away.  I arrived at Zem Zem in quite a state of shock.  This place was very different from Hamot.  Instead of rooms they had wards and each ward had many beds in them.  Girls were in one ward and boys in another. They wheeled me into this large room as all these other girls just looked on.  I could see that everyone else had some sort of problem of their own - many more involved than what I was dealing with.  But it was all so strange.  They set me in my new bed, placed my belongings nearby and left me.  The staff at Zem Zem came around and tried to get me to talk but I found I couldn't talk.  I was so scared I literally couldn't speak.  But I cried - not loudly as before, but quietly and deeply.  I just knew that I would never see my parents or brothers ever again. Grandma and Grandpa didn't know where I was.  Aunt Gwen or Uncle Jeff didn't either.  No aunts and uncles at all.  Just those girls there in the room and the nurse with the atrociously long, sharp fingernails.  I believe that they finally ended up calling my parents and suggested that they come up to see if they could get me to talk.  You can imagine the flood of joy I had when they walked into the ward.  They DID know where I was, after all!  I was so happy to see them!  Of course, I talked after that, which the staff would soon realize I knew how to do very well, indeed.  

I made friends with the other girls in the ward, especially a tiny girl at the end of the room. Her name was Betsy and she was in a sort of crib.  I don't know what was wrong with Betsy to put her in the hospital but her sweet, tiny voice was always so cheerful.  On visiting days they would reel a rack of dresses into the center of the ward and we would each take turns being the first to choose which dress we wanted to wear to greet our visitors.  There was a plaid number that both I and Betsy really liked.  There was a little competition to see who would get to choose it first!  

After the trauma of my transfer the family made sure I had visitors on a regular basis.  I don't know if they set up a schedule per se but I know that they seemed to come in regular intervals, spaced out, grandparents one day, Gwen and Jeff another, Mom, Dad, aunts, uncles, the Lawtons.  It was great.  They'd come and play cards with me, Old Maid being a favorite.  My hands were too small to hold all the cards in the deck so they showed me how to use a box to hold them.

My hair was really long when I went in to the hospital.  My mother would usually brush it up into a high ponytail and make it into a bun.  Shortly after arriving at Zem Zem, though, my mother was approached by the staff and told that the care for my long hair was too time-consuming for them to have to deal with.  That my hair was an issue was not a surprise to me. When they'd come in to give me my bath and do my hair this one nurse would repeatedly let the rubber band snap my ear as she'd put it in pig tails, muttering the whole time about what a nuisance it was.  So when my mother told me we'd have to cut my hair I knew who was the instigator of it all.  Most of the nurses were very nice - but this particular one, the ear-snapping Miss Trunchbull-esque woman with the sharp fingernails - well she was not very nice at all. Turning me was a laborious exercise and when she did so it seemed as though she'd stick her long nails into my skin and  flip me much like being on a roasting spit.  The other nurses, much smaller than the meany, seemed to do it effortlessly.  To her, though, it was an ordeal. Perhaps she's just one of those individuals for which all things are an ordeal.  I know you know what I'm talking about.  So my hair was to be cut off.  The Lawton's (my Aunt Linda's in-laws) had a daughter, Nancy, who cut hair.  My mom gave her a call and she agreed to come up to Hamot with my mom and cut my hair.  I remember it still.  They wheeled me into the bathing room and she cut my hair in there.  My mother had her roll up a segment and secure it on a curler. Then Nancy cut off the curler and gave it to my mom.  I still have it.  On the back of one of the pictures my mother wrote of the hair-cutting sadly and proclaimed that we'd have to start all over again when I was home.

Zem Zem had a screened-in outdoor patio area to which we could be wheeled in our beds to enjoy some outdoor air.  I hadn't seen my brothers in months and my parents agreed to bring them up for a visit but they were too young to come into the ward area.  So I was wheeled out to the patio area and my brothers walked around to the grounds just outside the patio and I got to see them through the screen.  I was soooooo happy to see them!  We chatted back and forth and it seemed to me that they had changed so much - grown so much bigger!  I also remember thinking that they sounded so different, too.  Let's see, Ed would have been eleven, Kevin ten, and Marvin eight.  My heart, even now, pondering this day, gets all happy.  

That was also the summer that my Uncle Bruce was in a terrible car accident.  Bruce is the Lawton's son - the ones who had me over to their house for weekends.  He was so handsome.  I thought he and my Aunt Linda were such a beautiful couple.  When my parents told me about the accident I remembered being very sad.  I asked about how he was doing.  They told me had several cuts on his face, nearly lost his nose and an ear.  One day, when he was finally getting better he came to visit me.  At first I was afraid of the scars.  But, then, I saw that he was still handsome and still my funny uncle.  It was good to see him again.  Even his brother, Denny, who was in the Navy, I believe, came to visit me in the hospital in his uniform.  Yep - everyone thought I was pretty cool for that one!  And I got to wear the plaid dress that day!

After finally leaving the hospital at the end of the summer I kept tabs on Betsy as she was still there.  My mother would call and check on her from time to time.  One day my mother and I were in Erie for something and I asked if we could please go visit Betsy.  My mother agreed that that would be a good idea.  We went to the lobby and asked if we could please visit Betsy.  The nurses looked at each other and then quietly asked to speak to my mother alone.  I waited with the other nurses and when my mother came out of the room I could see that she had been crying.  How do you tell a little girl that her little friend has passed away?  It had to have been hard for my mother.  Yet, she was very gentle as she explained that Betsy was no longer with us. I think I instinctively knew what had happened by reading the nurses' faces.  I understood what had happened to her, I just never understood how.  To this day I don't know what Betsy's condition was.  But I'm glad to have known her and am thankful for her cheerful disposition and how it lifted so many of us who were so sad to be away from home.  In my heart I hope she was buried in her favorite plaid dress.

They took the casts off not too long before I was to go home.  Something about making sure the bones had knitted back together well enough.  I had been learning to walk again with regular physical therapy with my casts on.  But when those casts came off it was such a surprise to me at how weak my legs were.  They had shriveled up and were covered with the most disgusting long hair.  I was not a large child by any means, but I had always had amazingly chubby little legs.  The chubbiness was gone (yes, the chubs found their way back, no worries!) and I had some serious scars to show off.  If you looked at my legs sideways, they looked like a smiley face - the pins being the eyes and the incision the mouth.  Walking without the casts was super hard.  They kept a helmet on me just to make sure I didn't fall and damage my head.  They also supported me in the back with a harness as a precaution.  Needless to say, I got the knack of walking sans support quickly.  My mother would fret now and again about my being careful so as not to undo all that had been done.  But I could walk without stumbling over my feet!  

At my grandparents house, hospital bracelet still on my wrist!

I well remember my Aunt Gwen taking me to buy shoes for school that fall (and all the falls after that).  I could wear regular shoes now!  Oh, I looked at patent leather ones of all colors and styles.  It was wonderful!  One year the shoe salesman tried to sell us a pair of shoes that didn't quite fit correctly, suggesting that we stuff a little tissue into the toe.  My aunt brought herself up to her full height and let the salesman know, in no uncertain terms, that after all that her grandniece had been through with her legs, she certainly deserved a pair of shoes that fit her properly, thank you very much!

While in the hospital for such a long time I received many gifts.  Have I mentioned what a spoiled little girl I was?  One of my favorite gifts I received while still in Hamot was this stuffed black poodle dog which was actually a little radio.  You can see it in the background of this picture behind my beloved Pebbles doll.

I would listen to that radio for as long as the batteries would hold out!  And I would listen to the songs on this entry's playlist.  My favorite of these were See You In September and Cherish.  I was to become a big fan of The Association.  The Ballad of the Green Berets was a big hit with my family as well and my grandparents (Ristau) bought the album and would play it often on that fabulous stereo system of theirs and we could hear it all through their house and garage.  I also loved The Mamas & The Papas.  Cass Elliot's voice was like honey to me. Secret Agent Man was a favorite of my brothers as well, which I would find out when I got home at the end of the summer.  Hanky Panky was a fun song to sing and I would learn the dance that went with it within the next year after my surgery.  I love this playlist.  It has so many classic songs on it.  Look at the artists represented - The Beatles, The Beach Boys, The Mamas & The Papas, Tommy James, The Lovin' Spoonful, Herb Alpert, Frankie Valli - these are iconic groups of the era.  My little poodle sang well that summer!

I will forever be indebted to the Shriner's organization.  They help children get the medical care they need when they can't quite afford it.  If I'm out and about and see them with a fundraising effort, I stop and help them out.  They are the charity that is nearest and dearest to my heart.  I have firsthand knowledge of the great capacity of their love and concern.  Even after my surgery, for years they would include me in their annual circus adventure.  They'd bus kids in from all over and treat us to an amazing day of fun at the circus.  They'd feed us and take good care of us.  I mingled with many children who were not as fortunate as I to have a condition which could easily be taken care of with surgery.  Thank you Zem Zem Shriners and all Shriners everywhere.  You're good men!

Marvelous Matriarchal Mentors

1.  I Love How You Love Me by Bobby Vinton

2.  Can't Help Falling In Love by Elvis Presley

3.  Delilah by Tom Jones

4.  Release Me by Engelbert Humperdinck

5.  Round and Round by Perry Como

6.  It's Not For Me to Say by Johnny Mathis

7.  Green, Green Grass of Home by Tom Jones

8.  Don't Be Cruel by Elvis Presley

9.  Peg O' My Heart by Buddy Clark

10. Moon River by Liberace

11. Love Me Tender by Elvis Presley

12. There Goes My Everything by Engelbert Humperdinck

13. Love Potion No. 9 by the Searchers

14. Danke Schoen by Wayne Newton

You know how it is - you usually don't recognize the greater blessings in your life right at first. It's usually after time and, unfortunately, often after you don't have those blessings in your life that you realize just how lucky you are/were.  Such is the case with my being raised by a most marvelous group of women.  We all know the saying, "It takes a village."  In my case, it took a matriarchy - a mother, grandmothers, great aunts, maternal aunts, paternal aunts, and even people who weren't directly related to me.  My memories of these amazing women and their powerful impact on my becoming who I am are some of my most cherished.  

I was the oldest granddaughter on my mother's side of the family and the first daughter born to my parents.  I remember being surrounded by a swarm of women who genuinely seemed interested in me.  It wasn't unusual for me to go spend the night at other people's homes.  I served as flower girl for several weddings.  There were always get-togethers for one reason or another and I always had the best times.  We would have BBQ's at the house on Keenan Street. This is not the same house I spoke of last time where I did my summer of laundry.  This is a smaller house just down the street, a much smaller house.  It is where my mother was born as well.  There was a pit out in the yard which was perfect for cook-outs and aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents would come and it would be a fun evening.  After a delicious meal (my aunts and uncles are great cooks!) the men would go off on their own - probably playing horseshoes - and the women would congregate in chairs close to the fire pit.  The kids would run around and play and as it got dark we'd go in search of the perfect stick which we could put in the fire pit and get the tip all fiery ember red.  Then we'd swoosh our stick through the air and make designs, the lit tip tracing our patterns for all to see.  We'd do figure eights and circles and swoops.  The older kids would write their names.  When we'd tire of the sticks we'd begin our chase of the lightning bugs.  It was all magical and full of wonder for me - and it remains as such in my mind - full of fantasy and warm fuzzies.  

I'd run and play with the kids but my favorite place was staying close to the circle of my mom, grandma and aunts and listen to them visit and laugh.  These were my mom's sisters and sisters-in-law - Emily, Linda, Bev, and Sandy.  They'd smoke their cigarettes and share stories and opinions and the light of the fire lit up their faces.  I felt safe with them.  To this day the smell of fresh cigarette smoke fills me with warmth and a sense of security.  Add in some fresh cut grass and I am locked in Keenan Street.  Aside from Tabu, it is the strongest scent-to-memory connection I have.  At times, I have been moved to tears even.  That is just how sweet those memories are.  Most people think I'm crazy for enjoying the smell of cigarette smoke, but I can't help it.  It is what it is.  I didn't choose it, I didn't plan it, but there it is! 

 My grandma, Mildred Isabelle Schmutz Ristau, and I (on the left) with my

 cousins Shelly Ristau (on grandma's lap) and Tammy Lawton by our house 

         in Clarendon.

My Aunt Linda's mother-in-law, Ruth Lawton, was also part of this group of women who hovered over and around me.  At the time, I thought nothing extraordinary at all about going and spending a night or two with her at her home.  I just always thought she was another relative.  I guess in a round about way she is, but she's my aunt's relatives, really.  I try to put it in perspective nowadays and I just don't think it happens often.  It would be like my kids going and staying with one of my or my husband's siblings in-laws.  I just don't see that happening. Anyway, it did for me.  Ruth would have me over and would make a fuss over me.  It was great fun.  I'd help her with her laundry (again, with the laundry and the water shaker bottle) and she lived in town so we'd go on walks around the streets and she'd greet her neighbors and introduce me.  My Uncle Bruce (this was his parents) had a sister, Nancy, and some brothers, Larry and Denny.  The brothers were about high school age, I think, and they'd all just be so kind to me.  I loved going there.  Ruth even had a photographer come and take my pictures in their back yard once.  It's amazing the attention I received.  I would have to concede I was probably a bit spoiled.  I don't understand why this all happened, but I'll always be glad for it and the memories I have.

                                                                                       Myself with Ruth Lawton and my mother at Chapman's Dam.  I really wish 

                                                                                            I had gotten those legs from my mother.  Look at her!  She's a goddess!

My father's sisters were also great fun.  I especially remember his sister, Emily, coming to the house.  Both my mom and dad had sisters named Emily but this one is my dad's sister.  We had a van at the time, I want to say a Chevy or a Ford, and it was big and red.  In between the two front seats was this large hump inside which I think the engine or some important part of the car resided.  But it was the perfect perch for a little one my size.  This was waaaaay before car seats, mind you.  My mom and Aunt Emily would have to run an errand and we'd climb in and they'd put me on that hump between them.  We'd turn on the radio and we'd sing and sing as we went on our way.  A very popular song at this one time was Love Potion No. 9 and my Aunt Emily loved this song.  She made sure to teach me every word and thought it the biggest laugh to have her little niece belting out the words to this song - and I have to agree, it was probably pretty funny!  But I knew(know) them all!  And we'd be flying down Rt. 6 singing about Madame Ruth, the gypsy with the gold-capped tooth, and her wonderful potion.  Sublime!  Oh, how I wish we could rewind and relive some moments.  This would be on my list for sure.  This same Aunt Emily loved to play Solitaire.  My mom thought it a waste of time but I was intrigued how Emily could sit at the table and play this game over and over again.  I watched and asked questions and figured out how to play it eventually.  I never play it without thinking of her. Dad's other sisters, Mary, Waneta, and Dolly were also so special to me.  Mary lived far away most of the time, but when I was about eight years old, she would come into my life in a big way and capture my heart as much as the others.  Waneta and Dolly lived out in the Russell or Scandia area, I think, and we'd go visit them.  They had horses and lived a more rural life.  We'd sit and visit in the kitchen and I remember them getting out their little roller machines and rolling their own cigarettes while we all visited and laughed.  They all had such great laughs.  I loved how they would just laugh without abandon.  I learned from them that there was always a way to find humor in a situation.  And why not laugh instead of cry?

As I've said in earlier blogs, my aunts nearly swooned over certain recording artists.  Some of them I understand, others, well, not quite so much.  I adore Bobby Vinton.  I also appreciated Elvis Presley.  I loved watching his silly romance movies when they'd come on late at night on the weekends.  I also thought Engelbert had a dreamy voice and I thought he looked alot like my Uncle Tom, which is funny, considering that it was my Aunt Bev, Tom's wife, who was the biggest Engelbert fan.  But I could never understand the Tom Jones fascination nor the Johnny Mathis.  Tom Jones always seemed to be all sweaty.  As a little girl I couldn't even remotely figure out why that wouldn't repulse everyone.  Yet, still, they swooned.  I'd ask them what the big deal was and they'd just pass one of those knowing smiles between themselves as if to say, someday you'll know, sweetie.  Well, I think I know what they were hinting at now, but he still escapes my scope of appreciation.  Different strokes for different folks.  It's much like my thing for Sting.  I get those same looks from my girls when I talk about him.  They just don't get it. And that's OK!  Johnny Mathis just had this funny, breathless sort of voice that I've never developed an appreciation for.  Yet this playlist would not be complete if he and Tom weren't on it.  

Some might ask - "What gives with Liberace?"  Or, more likely, they are saying, "Who in the heck is Liberace?"  I included Liberace (lib-er-AH-chee) for my Aunt Gwen's sake.  She had attended his concerts and thought him quite the showman - and he was.  FYI - Liberace was an entertainer extraordinaire.  He played the piano - but not just any piano.  His pianos were ornately decorated and so far past gaudy!  He would dress in elaborate costumes, studded with rhinestones and feathers and silks and furs.  It was all about excess and fanfare.  And my Aunt Gwen ate it all up!  She would come back from her trips and tell us detail after detail about what he wore and what he played.  It makes me smile now.  I also included Perry Como for her. He is another that I would hear her talk about and when I'd go over to her place he'd be playing on the record player.  Perry and Liberace - from one end of the spectrum to the other!

My grandpa's nickname was Peg.  Don't know why.  His name was Emil.  But my grandma called him Peg.  Maybe it was because of this song.  I just know it was "their" song.  Peg O' My Heart is for my grandma.  She usually had a record on when I went up to her house and I thought it the coolest thing because she could put a record on in the dining room and you could hear it through speakers out in their garage where my grandpa worked on cabinets.  It was quite ahead of the time, I'd imagine.  She'd play kids records for us - "Oh , would you like to be an elephant . . " but mostly, she'd listen to instrumental orchestral music.  She obviously kept a good listen to the radio as my kids will attest to her doing a Michael Jackson-esque dance in her kitchen one afternoon.  My grandmother - well - she deserves her own entry.  It'd probably take more than one.  I love her, I cherish her imprint on my life, I miss her.

I now realize that one blog entry won't even come close to cover the entire topic of the women who shaped me.  I keep having floods of experiences that I want to share.  I'll just have to take them one at a time.  But know for now, I am who I am because of them.  And I think that that's a very good thing.

The Summer of Laundry

1.  Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone by Bill Withers

2.  You've Got A Friend by James Taylor

3.  How Can You Mend A Broken Heart by Bee Gees

4.  Treat Her Like a Lady by Cornelius Brothers & Sister Rose

5.  Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey by Paul & Linda McCartney

6.  My Sweet Lord by George Harrison

7.  Put Your Hand In the Hand by Ocean

8.  Chick-A-Boom by Daddy Dewdrop

9.  If You Could Read My Mind by Gordon Lightfoot

10. Rose Garden by Lynn Anderson

11. Don't Pull Your Love by Hamilton, Joe Frank & Reynolds

12. I Don't Know How to Love Him by Helen Reddy

13. Draggin' the Line by Tommy James

14. Sweet City Woman by The Stampeders

15. Me and You and a Dog Named Boo by Lobo

16. One Toke Over the Line by Brewer & Shipley

17. Never Ending Song of Love by Delaney & Bonnie

18. I Am ...I Said by Neil Diamond

19. American Pie by Don McLean

For some reason, of which I'm not sure, my mother decided that I needed to learn how to do laundry - in a BIG way.  I can't say exactly which summer it was but by doing some deductive reasoning I'm going to say it was 1971.  You know how you hear a song and it immediately puts you in a particular time and place?  Well, that's what happens with this playlist.  I hear them and I'm suddenly transported to the basement in our house on Keenan Street and I can swear I faintly smell laundry detergent and mustiness.  That's a strong connection!  So by finding the year that these songs would have been playing on the radio I deduced it to be 1971.  Could've been 1972 because my town always was far behind everyone else - and it also has a knack for hanging on to things - but I'm going to go with 1971.  I'd be willing to bet that you could go there today, turn on the radio, and still hear Debby Boone's You Light Up My Life getting air play.  Hmmmm.

Anyway, it's 1971 - I'm 11 years old.  We have moved back to Pennsylvania the previous fall from our one year in Arizona.  We are now up to seven children - Ed, Kevin, Marvin, Janice, Tina, Brenda, and Sam.  Our house is large and we fill all three levels (not including the basement.)  It is a fantastic house, built around  1900.  We are just down the street from my maternal grandparents.  The yard is huge and we also have a gigantic garden.  There are lots of memories that go with this home but today I'm going to concentrate on this particular summer.  The basement was not a finished space like basements are today.  There were dirt floors and low ceilings except in the area where we kept the washer and dryer.  The ceilings were low but cement had been poured making it a much better area in which to be hanging out.  The low ceilings were not an issue with me as I had not yet reached my substantial adult height of 4' 11". Most people could stand up straight down there, but there wasn't much room for jumping or anything.  I got along just fine!  There was always plenty of laundry to be done just by the number of people in the household.  None of us had extensive wardrobes or anything, but even if all of us had just a few, that's a lot of laundry!!

So she took me down and showed me the washer and how it worked.  Then moved on to the dryer, stressing how important it was to keep the lint trap clean.  She explained water temperatures and how they work and which colors and fabrics should go with each temperature.  She told me how important and helpful it was to get things out of the dryer as soon as possible after it stopped because the wrinkles were markedly fewer.  Now, another thing you have to know is that I get my ironing sickness from her.  Sure, permanent press was available, but she didn't believe in it - and nor do I!  Somehow things just need to be ironed - permanent press or not.  They don't look as crisp or as fresh if they aren't.  But pulling things out of the dryer quickly makes for a much shorter ironing time.  To be honest, I didn't heed this at first.  But it only took a couple times of laboriously trying to iron wrinkles that have been set to realize she probably knew what she was talking about.  

I learned to use distilled water in the iron to prevent buildup of deposits.  I learned that bleach is a silent striker and it lurks in the most unseemly places just waiting for something dark to wander by.  I learned that a stray red garment can, indeed, turn a whole load of whites pink.  I learned that, when ironing, doing the collars and sleeves first made it go much quicker.  I learned how important it is to make sure a shirt is hanging on the hanger correctly.  I learned that steam in an iron works awesome on stubborn wrinkles.  I learned to love the smell of spray starch and the feel of warm sheets and towels being pulled from the dryer.  To this day I almost always stick my face into the warm mass and take a big whiff of the wonderfulness!

You might think that I protested and stomped around when I found out that this was to be my big summer work but you'd be wrong.  I was happy.  And let me tell you why.  When I was an even younger girl, about 5 or 6, we lived in Clarendon on Main Street.  Clarendon was a wee bit of a town with only the one stoplight that I think might have only operated during the season when people were going up to Chapman Dam.  Anyway, we kids roamed freely around Clarendon and everyone pretty much knew everyone else.  Our next door neighbors were older folks on both sides.  On one side the Gerbers and the other the Riggles.  Mrs. Gerber was always having me over to chat with her.  She was a grandma sort with no children at home so she loved to treat me like a granddaughter, I suppose.  But I loved going over to keep her company as she did her daily chores.  I especially loved watching her do her laundry.  It was such a production with her sprinkle bottle of scented water with which she dutifully doused her linens.  I was big for asking "why" and she informed me that she did this so that it would dampen the linens and make it easier when she ironed them.  And when she ironed them the steam would rise as the hot iron would hit the damp linens.  I'm, again, deducing here , but I am pretty sure this meant she didn't have a steam iron or maybe they hadn't been invented yet.  I don't know, but the idea is the same - steam is great on wrinkles!  To this day I love spraying my sheets and pillows with linen mist so that I have that lovely scent.  And I always think of Mrs. Gerber as I do it!  I don't iron my sheets, but they smell like I do!

                                   Julie Albaugh and I in the yard of my house on Main Street in 

                                         Clarendon.  ca.1965  We are standing between our house and the Riggles'.

To make the time more enjoyable I did as my mother did and always had music playing during the day.  I found a great old radio at a garage sale and set it up in the basement and tuned in LeRoy Schneck at WNAE at 1310 AM.  Sometimes I'd bring that box record player down and listen to records but, for the most part, it was the radio.  At the time, my favorite song on that playlist was Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey followed closely by Sweet City Woman.  I would sing and sing and get so excited when they were played.  Making this playlist also brought me to a couple of other songs that could be added to the playlist of songs I sang in our band - Put Your Hand In the Hand and Rose Garden.  The great classic American Pie gives me lots of memories as I would find out the next year that my 6th grade teacher, Mrs. Beck, considered it an anti-Christ song and would not allow us to play it on the afternoons that we had free time and would bring in our albums to share.  I hadn't really listened to the lyrics before and was shocked that she felt so strongly about it.  I guess on the surface you can see how she'd get that, but I never followed her all the way to the anti-Christ diagnosis.  It was merely a comment on the times.  It is a vital part of the fabric of the era.  I Don't Know How to Love Him was also a song that rankled some.  It's from the musical Jesus Christ Superstar which was huge at the time.  It was a time of many ranklings, that 60's going into 70's period.  People were as upset about that musical as they are of The DaVinci Code today.  Come to think of it, in retrospect, Mr. Schneck must have been quite the liberal, willing to push the envelope, for putting those songs on the air.  I'm curious as to whether or not he received any criticism for doing so.  

You'll notice a Bee Gees song, one that just melted my heart every time I heard it - a pre-disco offering.  Bill Withers ruled with his sultry, bluesy voice.  I just really wanted a guy to think that way about me some day.  There are a lot of great, iconic songs here - I Am...I Said, My Sweet Lord, You've Got a Friend, in addition to the ones already mentioned.  And there are some fun, quirky songs like Chick-A-Boom, and Me and You and A Dog Named Boo, which I heard later is supposedly a drug reference.  All I know is that in my head, I pictured somebody in a car with their friend and their dog traveling around the country having a good time - no drugs around.  

I enjoyed my summer in the basement - not that I never did laundry again after that.  I certainly did, but not as focused as that particular summer.  As I got more skilled, I got faster, and I didn't need to be down there as much.  But I have a vivid imagination and I would go on all sorts of adventures in my head and pretend all sorts of things.  Seeing as one of my favorite shows during my childhood was Rogers and Hammerstein's Cinderella, somedays I would pretend that I was Cinderella and that the Prince would come by the house wanting a dipper of fresh water or to try to find the owner of a particular glass slipper.  But I couldn't help him because I was in the basement!  Alas, he would leave and I would be in such despair!  Yeah, I was a silly girl but I had fun there in My Own Little Corner.  Hahaha!  Who knew laundry could be so entertaining!  Fond memories, indeed.