December: How fun. Bah, Humbug!

Early in December, I pretended to be a Reader's Workshop curmudgeon for Ms. L's third graders. A curmudgeon was needed to show the students how NOT to approach a book. I don't understand why the students immediately looked at me when Ms. L told them what a curmudgeon was and said there was one right here in this room. One little lady even turned to me and said, "Is it you?" I glared at her. I proceeded to read unenthusiastically and complain about the content of the book, a pigeon wanting to drive a bus, being too dumb. I called pigeons dirty city birds, and complained about the terrible illustrations. I was miserable. It was a stretch for me, but I made it through......How fun.



Figure 1

Then, one mid-December morning, my need for a few things at Walmart resulted in a $101.00 grocery bill. To make things worse, the parking lot was full of cold, confused and melancholy seagulls making me long for summer. (See Figure 1) The topper, however, was  the unsightly dandruff falling from the sky. I say we get a huge vat of Head and Shoulders and control the culprit....smother the mother! Bah, Humbug!

Figure 2

Later in December, my supervisor, who more than knows my fear and dislike of snow, and who shall remain unnamed...nah, let's call her Amy...gave me an early Christmas gift: The Original Instant Snow in a can. (See Figure 2)  "Looks and feels like Real Snow!" boasted the can. 

"Note: Normal use will not cause harm to humans," assured the can. 

"Warning: Do not eat. May cause blockage of airway if swallowed."  That's one thoughtful can. 

Figure 3

 To my surprise, when I opened the can, all I found was a little blue shovel, and a suspicious tiny plastic bag with a little white powder in it, sort of like a miniature replica of those bags of white powder on television crime programs.  I was home alone.  I looked around and saw the coast was clear, and I opened the bag and poured it into a glass and added water....and....Voila!!

Thanks, Supervisor, a.k.a. Amy. It worked. Soon I had something that looked like real snow in a glass on my kitchen table. (See Figure 3) I can't contain myself.  How fun. Bah, Humbug!

My Christmas In The 20th Century......

This is my Christmas through the 20th century decades...It begins with a simple stocking made of felt with neatly stitched edges, and with my name handwritten in black marker and in perfect cursive. Every Christmas morning, it rested against a pile of packages and was filled with candy, gum, pencils, and as I got older, camera film, flashcubes, and batteries.  It was a little under-appreciated during its active years between the 1950's and the 1980's.  All our stockings were rediscovered recently among Mom's memory makers.  It was practical in its day, and today its value is indeterminable.  And now, a story with a self, sisters, a spouse, and scions told in 'Wordless Wednesday' style...

Christmas in the 1950's

Christmas in the 1960's

Christmas in the 1970's

Christmas in the 1980's

And finally...Christmas in the 1990's

My Christmas in the 20th Century.....

Facebook fads: Lesser known facts about me.............

Facebook has done it again!  They get me to tell too much about myself, and it's out there for all to see.  Now pictures of me with my thinning hair and protruding belly are exposed.  I do like wishing my friends a happy birthday.  I don't play Facebook games unless they involve words, so I ignore all requests to join in a game, and it's not personal.  I can ignore most of the momentary fads like replacing your profile picture with a giraffe in response to an incorrect answer to a riddle...I didn't even try the riddle involved so that I wouldn't be tempted.  This week's fad, however, is a little more engaging.  My Facebook friends are posting some random facts about themselves.  I'm happy to get to know some of the lesser known, and not too revealing tidbits about my friends.  Since one of my purposes in creating this entire Fatherknowsbest57.blogspot.com body of writing is to give my children and grandchildren some personal history, I thought I would participate in the Facebook fun, however cautiously.....

1)      I was the oddball, the third of four children and the rest were girls.  My daughter is the third of four children and the rest are boys.

2)      My birthday is February 5^th, and my youngest son’s is January 25^th, eleven days before mine, and my daughter’s is February 16^th, eleven days after mine.

3)      I took swimming lessons twice in the 70’s at Upper Darby High School and Drexel University, once in the 80’s at the Y, and twice in the 90’s at a swim club.  I can’t swim.  I sink.

4)      My three sisters each had one son and one daughter.  I am once again the oddball with three sons and one daughter.

5)      I have a business degree from Drexel University.

6)      I was born at Pennsylvania Hospital in Philadelphia and lived in Philadelphia until I was a year old.

7)      I loved snow until I had to drive in it.  I still love looking at it in scenes in old movies, just not on the traffic reports.

8)      Though I have been driving for 40 years, I drive for the convenience.  I am deathly afraid of highways, aggressive drivers, texters and phone talkers, and get claustrophobic in cars with the heat on.

9)      I was an at-home Dad for 15 years, and did some daycare in my home.

10)   I am obsessed with pop and rock music recorded between 1963 and 1977.

11)   I am of 100% Sicilian descent. 

12)   My mother’s maiden name is Giacchino, and I am a distant cousin of Academy Award winner Michael Giacchino, who composed musical scores for ‘Lost’, ‘Up’, ‘Alias’, and many more.  I have never met him.

13)   I graduated from Upper Darby High School.  Some famous graduates are Jim Croce, Todd Rundgren, Tina Fey, and Cheri Oteri.

14)   Don’t tell anyone, but I have struggled with Reading, and the stuff I assist in teaching my kids at school has helped me as much as it has helped them.

15)   Most of my favorite movies ever made are Christmas movies: A Christmas Carol, It's a Wonderful Life, The Gathering, A Christmas Story, Home Alone, Elf, The Santa Clause, et. al.

There you have it, kids and grandkids...

Love Story

If you grew up in the '60s and '70s like I did

and you had all sisters like I did

and a Mom like I did

and a Dad like me

You might remember an old flick that wasn't very appealing to a young boy teenager called 'Love Story'.

Nonetheless, I accompanied the gals and Dad to the theater back in the day when a family could afford to go to a theater.  The theater was filled with teary-eyed Moms and sisters, and silent Dads and brothers.  It was a sensation.

From this film came a hit single by Andy Williams.  The 45, of course, was a part of the repertoire of songs on the turntable in the living room on a Sunday afternoon after church and before dinner.  I grew to love most of the tunes we enjoyed as a family, but not this one.  It seems that whenever I get into a situation for which there is no immediate course of action, the first line of this song pops into my head...♪♫WHERE DO I BEGIN?♫♪  Normal, right? 

Well, last weekend we had our first overnight visit from the grandchildren.  Though it was four plus decades ago, that line of that song popped into my head, so I decided to wish Andy Williams peace, for he meant no harm, and have some fun with the lyrics, which are at my fingertips thanks to Google!  Most will have to consult their back brain, or ask their parents or grandparents about the movie or song, but after this weekend and some new lyrics, it holds a new, special meaning....

♪♪♫♫♪♪♪♪♫♫♪♪♪♪♫♫♪♪♪♪♫♫♪♪♪♪♫♫♪♪

Where do I begin

 to clean the kitchen that the grandkids have been in

The sweet young ladies that I'm proud to call my kin

I've got three days of silver stubble on my chin

Where do I start

Feeling so alive

My whole demeanor found a hole and took a dive

The baby's babbling woke us at four forty-five

They stayed awake and so did we and that's no jive

They fill my life

They fill my den with Legos, dolls, and things

And my TV with Disney girls and kings

They fill my floor with lots of crumbs

And everywhere I step there’s constant crunching

Sat on the floor so much there’s hunching

I reach for pain meds

They’re  always there

How long does it last

Can sudden hugs erase the state of dissarray

Impromptu smiles now come and melt our hearts away

This is the ultimate...the mess will have to stay

And I don't care

♪♪♫♫♪♪♪♪♫♫♪♪♪♪♫♫♪♪♪♪♫♫♪♪♪♪♫♫♪♪

AUTUMN SURVIVAL...MY WAY!

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BIRDS OF PREY

When I went outside to do some much needed weeding, I didn't realize that one of these feathered beasts sat on a lamp post across the street.  It sprang forth with a wing span unlike any I've ever seen on a flying creature. It landed on a neighbor's roof and sat by itself absorbing the rays on this crisp fall day.  I ran inside to get the camera, and when I returned there were three of them...and those suckers were BIG!  I guess I didn't look as full of life as I thought or felt...and with my aging attention span, not much weeding got done after that...
 

A MAGIC DAY

Halloween.  There - I said it...and it didn't hurt.  It used to be a bad word in my brain.  It meant the angst of our finding or making costumes for the four children.  It meant hastily putting up some insincere ornaments on the day of trick-or-treat, and taking them down as the last of the little ones came to get their bounty. It meant the hasting of my then thirty something body around countless blocks of neighborhood just to keep up with our children.  It meant the sugar highs and lows of the same children....
This year, though, something happened.  A week before Halloween (there, I said it again, and it still didn't hurt!) I started playing outside with lights and artificial cobwebs that stuck to everything, including me, and I thought of those little faces we guided through the holiday, and how cute they looked in their costumes, and how excited they got when they reached each door screaming Trick-or-treat.  Before I knew it, I had a smile on my face thinking about Halloween.  The mediocre display of 2013 seemed awesome to the little masked trick-or-treaters' eyes, and Halloween was a success.  This year, the ornaments didn't come down until the next day...  

FALL'S DECAY

The green of summer, turned to gold
Red and orange, bursting bold
Soon the brown, then the cold
Early dark, feeling glum
Eyes fatigued, spirits numb
Wishing new green life would come


AUTUMN'S RAY

1

3

2

The poignant light brought on by grandchildren:  1 Watching our granddaughter sit and smile with her Grandma, 2 watching her smile and play on the floor once occupied by her father and his brothers and sister, and finally, 3 knowing that I can still guide the new generation, MY grandchildren, on their Halloween trek around Grandma and Grandpa's neighborhood and live to tell about it.....

DAD'S FORTE

Being Dad...The saddest and the happiest thing about this

October is the celebration of the 90th birthday

of this gentle soul, whose forte was being Dad. This was the man who could pick up a book: a technical book, a how-to book, War and Peace, or even the most difficult of textbooks, and read it and understand it, and help each of us, his children, with our homework. This is the man who chauffered his driver's license-less wife, my mother, to wherever she needed to be whenever she needed to be there without a grumble for all those years. Isn't it typical and

sad that I appreciate him more with each

passing moment, and emulate him when I am aware of my actions. The gathering to celebrate

Dad's birthday every year was a

testament to his command of his role as a

family man, and his family, once a

year, celebrated him with hugs, presents,

and one of Mom's Italian cream cakes.
I hope Mom made him one this year, and

 there's a party going

on up there just like old times!

MOM'S BIG DAY

Happy Birthday, Mom!  Today we celebrate this lady on what would have been her 89th birthday.  In this picture, a spunky 86 year old followed us around Philadelphia's Temple University for my daughter Karen's graduation.  At dinnertime, Mom showed no wear as we celebrated.  This is a testament to her legacy. Complications from Chronic Lymphoma would steal her from us and this Earth just six weeks later.  The glue, the meal provider, the cake baker, the one that didn't let me get away with anything, the one who was there for all of us, the Mom...I hope the party is still going on and someone is serving her...


SEASON'S ASSAY

My Jackie took this and calls it a picture of a pensive author.  Maybe she's right.  In the life of me, it is natural for the mood to decline in the autumn.  The evolution of summer's laid back livelihood into autumn's anxiety is unavoidable.  The loss of leaves on the trees is a metaphor for life's losses and disappointments.  As in any man's life, there are highs and lows.  It is through grace that I survive the low moments with hope that in the future, tomorrow, or even in a few minutes, I return to swimming instead of drowning.  Feeling the lows, and then feeling the joy as my family comes home again with the warm memories of ones lost safely tucked behind that joy...and not in the forefront...is my survival.

AUTUMN SURVIVAL: MY WAY

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OCTOBER OPTIMISM

The snares and cares were miles away on this summer-like October Saturday, and for a short time...

• The PC was idle
• The uncut grass was just a nutritious feast for the creatures and would still be there on Sunday and Monday
• The government officials were frantically working out their differences and a solution was found
• The media ignored the jerks, the twerps, and the twerks....and honor, dignity, and talent were in the spotlight again
• Entertainment became entertaining again
• Kids ran and played sans an electrical outlet or battery
• Hard work was rewarded, no work had consequences 
• Cold, wind, floods, and snow just didn't matter
• Doctors and dentists fixed what was wrong, and if it 'weren't broke', it didn't get fixed
• As my wife sat next to me, our heads cleared preparing us for our next day of routine
• As my grownup little girl sat on the other side of me, I once again protected her from the cities and the highways
• The word tax, as a noun and as a verb, didn't exist
• Communication moved as slowly and gently as the ripples of the Chesapeake, paving the way for truth and destroying speculation
• Occasional face-to-face conversation was the new constant texting

...as I sat at the water's edge with my wife and daughter, I took the calm of the Chesapeake on a summer-like October Saturday afternoon and sprinkled it over the world, destroying haste, angst, complication, and hate...

Expect the Honest to Goodness Unexpected!

For an introductory lesson with a new group in one of my classes, I gave the kids a graphic organizer asking them about their families, their favorite subjects in school, their favorite books, their favorite things to do outside of school, and what their goals were.  The lesson was flawless. All the students were eager to talk about themselves and to hear a little bit about me. All was fine until the end when one of the boys shared that his goal was to stop picking his nose. I expected to hear a chorus of "Ewww!" after this one. Instead, the rest of the group showed him some support by saying, " Yea, that's a good one for you!" Then one of the group members looked at me and stated, "He really does need to make that his goal!" It just proves to me that even after fifteen years of being an at-home Dad to four kids of my own, and equal time in the education system, when I'm with kids, I need to expect the honest to goodness unexpected!

Tales of Old

I've been feeling real good lately.  Energetic.  Confident.  Accomplishing.  Young.  Much younger than my 56 and a half years.

 Last night Jackie and I went out to dinner with our forever young 93-year-old Aunt Rose.

 When we returned to her  independent living facility, her group of friends were gathered in the lobby talking as they do every night.   They knew us and greeted us with smiles and hugs, and we reminisced about my Mom, who had lived there, and was loved and missed by the gang, and then we gave updates on our children.

As we boasted of their accomplishments, a dear lady in the group named Loretta turned to one of the new friends in the group and said, "You should see the artwork his daughter does. She is SO talented!"

I was confused for a moment thinking that my daughter Karen doesn't display her artwork, then realized what this lady was thinking. "That's my sister Lisa!" I dejectedly answered.

"Your sister!  She looks so young!  Her work is beautiful!"

I agreed and made sure she knew that Lisa is PAST 50, and indeed looks young, and is indeed talented!

This week marked the first of the standardized tests given to our students for the school year.  I was in charge of administering the assessment to three boys from several classrooms, and I needed to keep them under my wing until their classes were finished the testing.

  The first minutes after mine were finished were spent unwinding, chatting and looking at an enormous sea creature collection in the classroom.  Then they wanted to draw.  I saw no harm in letting them express themselves on paper for a few minutes.  One youngster was bragging about how good he was at drawing portraits and asked one of his friends if he could draw him.  He could and he did.   His classmate asked, "Why don't you draw Mr. Bonanno now?!"

"Naa...I can't.  Old people are too hard to draw." I didn't even ask what he meant by that, and those were long final minutes.

That is all......

That Moment When.....

That moment when the curser on the computer at the office wouldn't stop moving with this mark (`) replacing my neatly and accurately typed book information on
 the database for our rotating library.  I panicked, cursed under my breath, saved and closed the document, reopened it, and soon book titles, authors, and reading levels were looking like this (`````````````````````).  I cursed under my breath again, saved it again, and called my lovely supervisor over to marvel at the antics of my computer. She didn't say a word, she just smiled and removed the book that was resting on the apostrophe key on the keyboard, and returned to her own task.

That moment when I relayed a message to my wife saying that our son will get a Medal of Commendation for services performed at one of the Air National Guard bases at which he has been employed.  I inadvertently referred to the honor as a Medal of Condemnation, causing momentary hysteria and raised eyebrows.

That moment when my previously mentioned supervisor, the reading specialist, places a pile of six books with a post-it note attached asking for one copy of each book to be sent to another building in the school district. Being a results-oriented kind of guy, I immediately placed the books and post-it note in a box and shipped them, only to find out that the boss wanted the books copied and sent to the other building.  I felt defeated until I found out that the folks in the other building saw the books and the note and, without question. made all the copies.

That moment when a coworker who had a medical emergency in her family sent me an update on the situation.  I have a new phone and haven't figured out how to turn down the volume of the 'message received' tones.  The gal sent via text message an email she'd sent to her daughter.  It came through on my phone in the form of eleven text messages, each forcing my phone to emit that ungodly sound one hears when receiving a new text message.  My coworkers were glad to get the update, but

weren't pleased or impressed with my new phone.

That moment when I was paying my respects to my Mother's cousin's family for yet another funeral.  In the celebration pamphlet for dear Carmela was a photo display. In the bottom right corner was another treasure uncovered in the form of a picture of Carmela, my Mom, and my sister Janet.  I narrowed the location of the photo to Our Lady of Fatima church in Secane, and since Carmela was my little sister Lisa's Godmother, I assumed that she was at our church for Lisa's First Communion. Janet had a hairstyle in the photo that gals wore to proms in that era. Both the prom and the Communion would have taken place in May of 1967.  Little did Carmela's family know that when they paid tribute to their Mom, they warmed my heart by including Janet and Mom in their treasured memorial.  I would like to think that they're all standing together and smiling right now.

Whether it's a moment of senior-itis, word jumbles, phone phobia, or tribute, I am glad that in the long run I can appreciate that moment when.........

The Miracle in the Tree......

It's Monday...and right on schedule, the massive tree is gone from the front yard. Embedded in the skyscraper's upper branches was a massive squirrel's nest.  The tree surgeon found six fully formed furry little creatures in the nest.  He gently placed the nest under another tree in the yard.  One by one, the mother squirrel came and rescued her cherubs.  I've never seen anything quite like it before.  I feel anxious having been privy to the knowledge of their habitat's demise, but relieved that nature will enable those little babies to survive.......

The Beauty and Bother of Nature at My House......

It's been a summer full of natural beauty and bother outside my home this summer.....

See this bush?  This is our butterfly bush.  It was placed in the ground as a plantling years ago.  It can be left in the fall to dry out, and new leaves and branches and flowers appear in the Spring; or it can be cut to the ground, and a new full-sized bush springs from the stump by June.  Every year we are treated to a priceless array of butterflies like the one in this picture.  It has become a fair weather treat to have a meal on the deck and admire these beauties.  Who would have thought that this inexpensive and effortless piece of nature would provide us with so much joy?

See this plant holder?   Years ago it was purchased for decorative purposes.  Through trial and error, we found that when it is placed on the deck rail on a diagonal and is hugged by the viburnum bush that partially surrounds the deck, a $1.78 six pack assortment of impatiens will get just the right amount of sun and shade during the day, and dew during the night to survive on its own from May until November.  Then in the winter, the planter masks itself as a serving spot for birdseed and attracts several breeds of birds and a few pesky squirrels.  Who would have thought that a simple inexpensive outdoor planter could provide so much enjoyment all through the year?

See this tree?  It was planted decades ago in our front yard.  At two and a half feet, it was adorable.  It grew to ten feet and looked lovely and swayed in the breezes.  It grew to twenty feet and protected the house from peeping Toms and damaging winds.  My honey couldn't wait for the tree to grow pine cones so she could gather them and make crafts.  Soon it did, and she and the kids excitedly gathered hundreds of pine cones in a shopping bag and gave them to me to put in the garage.   By the time the following fall's droppings graced our front yard, it was time to throw the hopelessly dried, untouched, and crumbling treasures from the previous year out and begin the pine cone collecting cycle again. Every so often, I'd cut a row of branches off the bottom to make it look pretty from the street and keep it from slapping passersby in the face. It grew to thirty feet and  began dripping sap on cars, the sidewalk, people's hair...and people complained.  As it became more of a liability than a thing of beauty, and the complaints from the folks who were victimized by its venomous sap and brutal branches increased, it was time to say goodbye to the pretty but troublesome tree.  I was psyched to give my front yard a face lift and even tingled inside at the thought of the tree coming down.  "TIMBER!" I thought with a satisfied smile. Today the tree taker outer was here to do the deed, but couldn't finish the job.  

See this pitifully maimed bottomless, branchless beast?  Until Monday, when the job will be finished, this is the main attraction in my front yard.  Who would have thought that this overgrown, pine cone shedding, fluid filled monster would refuse to leave, and provide neighbors and onlookers with a weekend full of stunned stares and sneering snickers?   

Those pine cone hunts, the shade, the potent smell of pine, the beauty, and the fact that my children can't remember our house without that tree...Who would have thought I'd have a pang watching that bear lose its branches?  I believe I'll miss that bothersome old tree.......  

From Head to Toe........

...Or should I say, "From Adam's Apple to Just Below My Navel"?  Let me explain...

I know this photo doesn't mean anything to you.  In fact, it's ugly.  I took it yesterday because I wanted to tell you a story. Our master bathroom walls were in desperate need of a face lift. The towel rack was falling off, and needed to be secured every time a towel was hung on it.  A cover to an exhaust fan had adhered to the ceiling, and when it was time to pull that cover off, part of the outer layer of the drywall came with it.  The baseboards had separated from the walls.  In order to paint the bathroom walls, the medicine cabinet needed to be removed and this photo represents what was behind it.  Of course, the set of hardware on top held it in place.  The set of holes underneath are what makes the story retell worthy.  You see, twenty-five or so years ago, when I hung the medicine cabinet in the first place, I deduced that the best place to hang the mirrored knickknack was directly between the sink below and the light fixture above.  So I handily measured the area, marked where the holes needed to be drilled, inserted the anchors, hung our new treasure, and prepared to admire myself in our new mirror. Unfortunately, the only way a mirror that hung midway between the sink and the light fixture would work is if I wanted to groom that area of my body between my Adam's apple and just below my navel.  Talk about disappointment! I remember calming down, removing the piece, and starting the process all over again.  The result was a stepping stone in my becoming a little handier than I was the day before, which wasn't very handy. This go around, though, I only had to take the medicine cabinet down, paint, and put it back up.  The whole project began when two full quarts of paint leftover from the living room project of the late eighties resurfaced in the basement, a revelation fitting for a cheap frugal handyman such as myself.  It's not the color you-know-who would have picked, but hey, it was free!  By now, I know to have the Advil ready and waiting, so with this project, there was no pain!  It's blessing counting time again...... 

SAVING HOOPS.......

THIS IS A SILLY LITTLE BLURB ABOUT HOW IN JULY, A STUPID INCIDENT NEARLY DOOMED OUR BASKETBALL HOOP.....AND HOW THE SMILE OF A CHILD AND THE WISE WORDS OF FRIENDS SAVED IT............

My kids are grown. Most times I'm an empty nester. I live on a corner, and have had a basketball hoop originally intended for my children on the side street. The base was secured by sand inside and flagstones outside, and has been in place, surviving the elements, for years and years. Many neighborhood youngsters still use the hoop. A high school aged neighbor practices his basketball skills there. Some smaller kids politely ring the doorbell to ask if they can use it. I've never said 'No', I just smilingly warn 'Okay but be careful in the street'. Many little familiar faces from the school where I work don't ask, but play joyfully, and when they see me come out of the house, they wave and smile and I wave and smile back. This weekend some disrespectful folks removed the flagstones and pushed the hoop on its side, possibly damaging the backboard. I know it's probably just a harmless little prank, but I find the lack of respect for people and property everywhere I go disheartening. It may not take a lot of effort to restore the basketball equipment to a usable position. I just want respect.....and I feel frustrated.  

I don't know why this incident has bothered me so much. I was very tempted to, and it would have been very easy to just throw the whole mess away. In the moment of hopelessness, I did something I try often not to do...I posted the details of the incident and my feelings toward it as a Facebook status.  I feel that when statuses are posted in times of anger, there can be regret and embarrassment, yet I felt the need to share my sadness... 

Fortunately, the day was spent away from home.  It was set tear down day for a production my son was in this summer, and it proved to be a perfect diversion from the situation.  When I returned to my Facebook page in the late afternoon, the advice from friends was unanimous, and confirmed what my instinct told me, but what my stubborn psyche wouldn't let me do until now.....accept the pranks of punks as just that, and fix the problem for the little ones.

Tonight I went outside and was able to lift the equipment back into place and reposition the flagstones. Within five minutes I heard a basketball bouncing again. I went out the front door, and lo and behold, one of the twins from school had returned to play. He saw me, smiled, and waved. We exchanged only a couple of words, but he was happy his play place was returned to him. The backboard and hoop may have been slightly misshapen, but he didn't care. His expressions; the wise words and the support of friends; and the fact that I can still lift that pole, backboard, and flagstones have made it a better day.

My Space

My Space

Isn't it funny how one photo can open the floodgates and let the memories burst from my brain and onto a page.  

I remember my little sister Lisa coming into the world late in 1960, and Mom and Dad 'raising the roof' literally when space became an issue for their family of six.  The thought of having four children, and having three of them be girls, must have accelerated the 'We either have to move or make the house bigger' thoughts that seemed to dominate conversations at the time.  The construction was done in 1962 when I was five. I remember being fascinated when I got to hang out with the contractor, whose name was Rudy, and watch from a distance as he ripped the attic and roof off the house and many weeks later had created a bedroom spanning the width of the house, as well as a second bathroom, and a new attic and roof.

Initially, the room was occupied by my two older sisters: Janet, who was a teenager at the time, and Stephanie, who was a few years younger.  As time marched on, various combinations of sisters occupied the penthouse, and by 1975, after Janet and Stephanie were both married and living on their own, the palace was mine!  I instantly made it my own.

This is half of the room.  The half you can't see had a bed, dresser, closets...normal bedroom stuff.  This half, though, was my lifeline for the last eight years give or take a year that I lived in my parents' house.  It was my space.

My Space

No CD's!  No IPod!  Just a record player sitting on that old metal stand, and those are records filling the slots underneath.  The corner desk set was made by my Dad just for me, with a set of drawers to the right of it.  No touch screen selection of tunes on top of that furniture! Just a record album flip file...something I haven't seen in thirty years.  The album cover on the front of the flip file was Carole King's Writer.  No portable media with headphones! No Docking Station!  Just old fashioned stereo separation with speakers like the one atop the desk playing my tunes. No wall in my lair would be complete without a poster of The Beatles...and that other group to their right.  Can you guess who is on the poster to the right of the Beatles?  Neither could I.  I searched my house for a magnifying glass to view the photo more closely, found one, studied the poster, and still couldn't guess...or see the poster any better.  Google, the knower of all things, came to my rescue as I searched for images of posters of any group whose albums I might have been listening to at the time, and after just minutes of searching, I was reminded that this poster was included in the album Golden Bisquits by Three Dog Night, a personal favorite of the era! Mystery solved!  

No computer!  No monitor!  No easy-touch keyboard!  Just an old fashioned manual typewriter on the Dad-made typewriter table to the left of the corner desk.

No Flatscreen!  No Widescreen!  No High Definition!  No Color! No Surround Sound!  The television in the photo was a thirteen inch set with a black and white picture, and good old monaural sound.  No Cable!  No Remote Control! It boasted seven channels when the rabbit ear antennae were positioned correctly.

No digital photography!  No computer to store my pictures on!  Just a bulletin board on my desk with my favorite snapshots, that were taken with my Kodak Instamatic camera, tacked on!  I remember that metal Charlie Brown trash can from my early childhood, and the target for the Velcro balls hanging above the bulletin board.  I remember a good friend who was a talented craftsman building me a partition between the bedroom side and the leisure side.

Kodak Instamatic Camera

No recessed track lighting!  That's a hand me down floor-to-ceiling pole lamp donated to my space by my Mom, along with the triangular coffee table on the right, and a black leather sofa (not pictured).  The sign above the window reads "It's 11 P.M., Does your Mother know you're here?"   Long after the room was no longer my space, and my own kids visited their Grandmom and Grandpop in that house, and played in my former space, that sign remained in the room for them to enjoy.

The house belongs to another family now.  My space will never be the same, but I hope good memories are still being created there.  I loved my space; learned in my space; laughed and cried in my space; grew and grieved in my space; and when it was time, left my space.

For nothing would I trade the memories of my space.....