"Are You A Teacher?"

I was asked this question so many times in my life and it wasn't just during the years I was married to a teacher, though it probably happened more often then. Other than 'playing school', the closest I came to being a teacher was the summers I was fifteen and then sixteen and helped teach Vacation Bible School at our country church, Fairview.

Of course my Mother was my first teacher, just as all parents are. She helped ready me for my first day of 'real' school which was Jasper Center located a mile north of where we lived. (We called it Jasper #2. It was also known as the Humbert School.)

I think this photo is of the last day of school the spring before I began school in the fall. That's the old school house behind us. Mom has her arm around me while holding my little sister's hand. Before photo bombing was ever even dreamed of, our neighbor boy, Normie, did just that.

I remember some things about my first grade teacher, Miss Ternahan, and my second grade teacher, Miss Flowers, but the teacher I remember most was the one I had third through eighth grades, Mrs. Kimball. And I don't think that is just because I had her as a teacher for so many years.

1954-55 School Year. Me on the right in the back row next to Mrs. Kimball.

I believe it had more to do with her as a person and a teacher. She was a good teacher, seeing to it that we actually learned something. When you think about the role a one-room country school teacher plays, you realize how much more she has to be than the teacher. She is also the school nurse, janitor, psychologist, disciplinarian, arbitrator, physical education instructor, guidance counselor, sometime school bus driver - though it wasn't a bus, but her personal car she used to convey us to reading and spelling contests as well as sports days with other country schools in the township. She could be understanding and sympathetic if things were going wrong, but she could also tell you to quit feeling sorry for yourself if the occasion warranted it.
Naturally there were times when I was less than enchanted with her, but then my friends and I would discuss which of the other teachers we knew we'd rather have, and we always decided none of them.

L-to-R, Me, Mrs. Kimball, son, Preston and daughter, Kari.

I liked and admired her as a teacher and later as a friend. I was glad when two of my children also had her as a teacher many years later. Vera, as I learned to address her once I was an 'adult', was also directly responsible for me obtaining my first office job. I will be forever grateful to this woman, the teacher of my formative years in that most educational one-room schoolhouse.

Maxine and me at her 96th birthday party last year.

Over the past year I've been very fortunate to meet and then become a friend of another special woman who began her life-long profession as a one-room country school teacher. From the stories she has shared of her teaching years, I have come to appreciate Maxine as a very wise, gifted purveyor of learning and motivator in the seeking of knowledge. As an example: She told me of an elementary student she had - a boy so intelligent it was hard to keep him from being bored with the normal curriculum - so she set him to learning the German language.
Maxine not only encouraged her students in the obtaining of an education, she practiced what she preached, spending nights, weekends and summers obtaining her own higher degrees while continuing to teach in the classroom during the school year.

This photo is of Maxine and her students at Grant Center in Ringgold County during the 1956-57 school year. That was the same school year I completed eighth grade at Jasper #2 in Adams County. Sometimes after I've spent an afternoon with Maxine, conversing along our usual widespread topics, I find myself wondering what it would have been like to have had her as my teacher. With her emphasis on the importance of education, would I have been more likely to go to college? And then what would my life have been like? I might have even been answering that question, "Are you a teacher?", with a "Why yes, yes I am."

You Put the Lime in the Coconut and Drink it All Up

I made a coconut cake a few days ago, which made me think of that song. Only in my case, I used pineapple instead of a lime and we ate it all up instead of drinking it. I have always liked coconut and can remember Mom buying a whole coconut once in awhile. She would punch holes in it and drain the coconut milk/water. I have a vague memory of drinking some and not liking it. However, in my memory, Mom drank it. That was long before drinking coconut water became a health fad. I liked eating the chunks of fresh coconut after it was cracked open.

Not the best picture, but at least I remembered to take one before the cake was all gone. This is the same Coconut/Pineapple Poke Cake recipe I used for the first time for my niece's 45th birthday cake. It is the first time I've made it for us, and while it is very good, I think I prefer the one I make without the pineapple. There are many different kinds of poke cakes - probably the most well known, the jello ones.
Here is the recipe for the cake, as I made it: 1 box Pineapple Cake Mix (you can use any type white or yellow cake mix); 3 Eggs; 1 14 oz can Coconut Milk (not cream); 1/2 cup Flaked Coconut; 1 8 oz can Crushed Pineapple, drained (save juice); 1 1/2 cups milk (more or less); 1/2 cup sugar; 1/2 cup coconut.
Beat cake mix, eggs and coconut milk 2 minutes. Stir in coconut and pineapple. Bake as directed per pan size on box. Cool 15 minutes.
Add enough milk to the reserved pineapple juice to make 1 1/2 cups. Mix with sugar and 1/2 cup coconut in a saucepan. Bring to boil, then simmer for 1 minute. Poke holes in the cake. (I used my large meat fork.) Spoon the milk/pineapple juice mixture over the warm cake. Put in refrigerator to cool. Frost with whipped cream or cool whip. Top with flaked coconut.
This cake was good the first day, BUT, it was REALLY good the second day and beyond. Keep refrigerated.

Other thoughts on the lime - I don't remember Mom buying limes for anything, but she used a lot of lemons for fresh lemonade in the summer time - until she discovered Wyler's Lemonade mix. About the only time I use fresh lime is in a gin and tonic. Oh, and if I do drink a cola, Diet Coke with Lime is my favorite.

♪♪ You put the lime in the coconut and drink them both together. Put the lime in the coconut and you feel better. Put the lime in the coconut and drink 'em all up. ♪♪

"The Farmer Takes A Wife"

No, I'm not blogging about the T.V. show The Bachelor. But if anything could make me watch that program, having this season's bachelor being a farmer from Iowa would.
My post title comes from an unexpected "little hello for 2015" we received from Kristina in yesterday's mail.

The May 1939 issue of the Farm Journal. Oh my goodness! I read this 'older than me' magazine with much more avidity than I would any current publication. The cover illustration is Grant Wood's Spilt Milk. I feel certain the magazine is something Gene and Kristina found on one of their antiquing forays. Kristina mentioned in her note how much they enjoyed learning about Iowa's own, Grant Wood.

Note that the cover says Farm Journal and Farmer's Wife. This was the first issue combining what had been two separate magazines both published monthly by Farm Journal, Inc., Washington Square, Philadelphia, Pa.

And this is the sweet cover of The Farmer's Wife section of the magazine illustrated by Mallé (Maud) Tousey Fangel, touting the short story, "The Farmer Takes A Wife". The Farm Journal section also contains a story - part three of the serialized "No Man's Land". I haven't read it yet, but I have the feeling I will like it better than the one in the womens' section.

The best parts of this old magazine, for me, are the ads. Ads for Gold Medal and Pillsbury flours, Lux and Palmolive soap, Prince Albert, Velvet and Union Leader (pipe and 'roll your own' cigarette) tobaccos, Savage automatic and bolt action rifles and Daisy Air Rifles. The air rifle, what we called B-B guns, at $2.50 was about half the price of a bolt action, single shot, Savage .22 at $4.95. (The most expensive rifle was the Model 6 automatic which held 15, .22 long cartridges.)

The "big three", Ford, Chevrolet and Plymouth, all had full page ads. Naturally I used the Plymouth example. I remember many long debates (arguments?) among the boys in grade school as to which was the best car. Dad drove a Plymouth, Mitchell's stuck up for Chevy's and someone, maybe Talty, argued Fords were best. $685 for a Sedan! Tires for a car cost that much today.

Then there was this ad for Colored Dinnerware. No where in the ad does it say Fiesta Ware but that has to be what it is. The offer is a way to earn your own sets by selling Farm Journal subscriptions. Colors were: luscious raspberry red, sunny yellow, powder blue and lettuce green. Tangerine could be substituted for the red, "if you prefer". The ad says: "Your Last Chance" - the offer was being repeated for the benefit of Farm Journal readers because "thousands of readers of Farmer's Wife have already secured their sets."

And the chicken ads! I counted forty different  display ads for chicks and a column and half of classified ads for them (about 30 ads). Of all those companies I know of at least one still in business today, 76 years later - Murray McMurray Hatchery, Webster City, Iowa. (mcmurrayhatchery.com) I think I'm going to sign up for their e-mail newsletter.
Raising chickens has become de rigueur in urban areas. It was just part of the farm operation in my day. Although looking at the Non-Sensor column in this magazine, I think it may have been a money making proposition, too - Uncle Levi Zinc Says: "Seasons come and seasons go, but this is the season when any good office man can take pencil and paper and quickly get rich raising chickens."

I have the feeling this old magazine may spark some more blog entries. It has certainly brought back some memories. The final thought in the Topics In Season column: "Things are growing. Wherever you look there is life -- colts in the pasture, calves in the barn, chicks under the brooder, bees in the orchard, new grass in the fields, green leaves on the trees, early planted crops sprouting.
Anyone looking for hidden values in rural life can find them in May."

It may only be January, but I'm ready for spring!

Yodel-Ay-EEE-Oooo

A few mornings ago I awakened thinking about yodeling. My first thought was, "Why yodeling?" I don't know about you, but I associate yodeling with the Swiss. One of Mom's cousins was a good yodeler and Mom could yodel some. I deduced that it was their Swiss ancestry from the Mauderly's and Romang's showing up in their DNA.

Then I read the Wikipedia entry on yodeling which states that it is thought yodeling was introduced in the United States by German immigrants in Pennsylvania in the early 1800's. Aha, so not only the Mauderly's and Romang's are involved, but so are the Ridnour's.

Eventually yodeling made its way into popular music. By the 1930's and 40's yodeling was prevalent in both folk music and country western. Gene Autry and Roy Rogers both included yodeling in the songs they sang on their T.V. shows - which is probably what I remember best about yodeling. It was perhaps even the catalyst for my Mom demonstrating that she could yodel - after seeing me trying to yodel after watching an episode of Roy Rogers. Possibly the one where he sang The Cowboy Night Herd song.  My favorite, though, was Eddie Arnold singing/yodeling his signature song Cattle Call. 
The most surprising yodeler I learned about while reading the Wikipedia entry was my Rock and Roll hero, Bill Haley. Yes, that Bill Haley of Rock Around the Clock. 

In addition to yodeling, my Mom could also strum the guitar. She told me she could only chord, and while her guitar was up in the attic, I never saw her play it or even hold it. I don't know why she never brought it down nor what happened to it. In this photo of Mom (Ruth Ridnour on the right), her sister, Lois, is holding a guitar. Their cousins, Harris (mandolin) and Carroll (guitar) Robison are the boys pictured with them.

Cleo Inman McCuen was the yodeling cousin of Mom's I mentioned in the first paragraph. Cleo's mother, Lottie Ridnour Inman and Mom's father, Joe Ridnour, were brother and sister. When Cleo died four years ago, so many of the celebration wall messages remarked about her yodeling. For example: "We first met Cleo at the Woodburn Dance. Cleo was asked to sing and she got up and yodeled. What a hit she was there." And this one: "We had such a good time entertaining at the meal sites, nursing homes, Adams County Fair and jams. She was always joyful and laughing and yodeling away." I personally only saw Cleo perform once and that was at the county fair. Boy, could she yodel.

It makes me wonder if Mom might have been as good if she had practiced and continued to yodel.

Oh-di-lay-ay, di-lay-dee-oh, de-lay-ee.....

An Average Of Two Books A Week in 2014

I did not do semi-monthly or monthly posts about the books I read in 2014 as I have done in years past. But I did keep track of my reads by month, rating the books on a 1 to 5 scale.
Today, as I finished and recorded the first book read in 2015, I got curious about last year's readings. This is what I found: I read 104 books in 2014, which averages two books a week. I read the highest number of books in November. That might have had something to do with the early, bitter, cold snap we had. I read the least number of books in the months of April and May, only four each of those two months. April's lack of reads I can account for - we were on vacation from the 1st until the 12th. But May? I have no clue.

Zero number of books rated a 1. That is probably because if a book is that bad I don't continue reading it. I used to. I always felt like either the book was going to get better or I felt obligated to finish it just because I had begun reading it. Now, I give myself permission to quit reading - there are too many good books out there that I will never have time to read without spending time on bad ones.

Two books rated a 1.5.  One the first in a new series of "cute" mysteries. I already read enough of those without beginning another series. The second a book that received 3 and 4 ratings on Goodreads. When my ratings differ this much I always figure I missed something. This author had a previous book which was made into a movie and won a best supporting actress nomination for one of its actors.

Five ratings and 2 ratings tied with eight books apiece. 3.5 rated had 10 books while 11 books garnered ratings of 2.5. A rating of 4.5 was granted to 17 books; while 20 received a 3.0 from me. A whopping 28 books received 4.0's. I think I read some pretty good books.

The majority of my 5 rated books are by favorite authors - Louise Penny, Anita Shreve, Anna Quindlen, Sarah Addison Allen, Tiffany Baker and Jacqueline Winspear. But two new-to-me authors received 5's: Therese Walsh for The Moon Sisters and Gabrielle Zevin for The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry.

I'm such an arbitrary rater - subject matter or story setting alone can tip me up or down in a rating. I've discovered a few new writers I enjoy and want to read more of their books, I've been riveted by books by old revered authors like Alice Hoffman (Blue Diary) and Ian McEwan (The Children Act) two very thought provoking books.

2015's first book of the year is by a new-to-me author. The book received a 3 rating, but the part of it which struck me the most was a quoted passage from Joseph Brodsky's collection of essays, On Grief and Reason. Perhaps I should return to blogging about the books I read?

A Doll For Christmas

A week or so ago one of the bloggers I read on a regular basis had a post about taking her young niece to the American Girl Doll Store for tea and to pick out a new doll as her Christmas present. The girl chose a doll which resembled herself.

The post reminded me of a similar gift I gave my granddaughter Alyssa almost two decades ago. I couldn't afford an American Girl Doll but there was a similar line of dolls at that time called The Magic Attic Club. I was pleased that they had a doll that I thought would be perfect for Alyssa because of her looks, name and outfit.

Allison even had her own "The Secret of the Attic" book, a plastic hair brush and a key shaped necklace for Alyssa.

Allison with her brush and the key necklace. Accessory sets for the Magic Attic dolls included hats, back packs and other items that fit their characters - like a soccer ball for Allison.

When I learned that an American Girl Doll tea was planned for the Des Moines area, I got tickets for Alyssa, her mother, Shelly, her aunt (my daughter) Kari and myself.

Aly didn't mind that her doll wasn't an AG, she proudly took her along to the tea. I noted she wasn't the only young lady there with a non AG doll. Obviously she (and we) had a good time!

I think this photo of Alyssa shows why I chose the doll for her that I did:

The jacket, the long blond hair, the mischievous grin. Alyssa has her own real life doll now - one whose grin and personality seem a lot like her Mom's.

Lily's taste in dolls seems to run to Hello Kitty. I wonder if Alyssa stills has Allison and if so, does Lily get to play with her?

Appreciating "Antiques"

♪ ♪ When I was younger so much younger than today.... ♪ ♪ I was 18 when I first married and had my own home to decorate. I was working for $40.00 a week so buying furniture meant I bought everything used. A used bedroom suite purchased from neighbors/friends of my parents when those folks moved to California. A second hand davenport and chair from a local furniture store. A used stove from a hardware/appliance store in Creston and the accompanying refrigerator from neighbors of my in-laws. Oh, yeah, and that orange and chrome dinette set from?? Where? Those same California bound neighbors? I can't remember for sure.

I don't think it is any wonder why I did not like antiques at that point in my life even though antiques were beginning to be sought after by many women in the area. I was buying used by necessity; they were buying used aesthetically. It was several years before I began to appreciate antiques. I got to the point where primitives were my favorite decorating items.

Except for family pieces, I parted with most of my treasures when we sold Mom's farm and had a combined auction of her things and ours. Her possessions with any family connections had been shared out with my brothers and my niece prior to the auction. There remained a magazine stand that I remembered Mom telling me "Dad" had made. Since her Dad was a carpenter, I assumed she meant Grandpa Joe had made it. I decided to keep it for that reason alone.
When I mentioned to my older brother that I would keep it rather than let it be sold at auction because Grandpa had made it, he said, "I thought Dad made that in high school shop class." "No, I said, "Mom told me her Dad made it." But wait, didn't Mom always refer to her father as "Daddy"? Could it be that she was referring to our Dad when she said who made it?

All my childhood this magazine stand sat to the right of the doorway from the kitchen into the living room. Indeed it was always stacked with magazines.
Dad only attended high school for one semester. I didn't think he would be taking a shop class in his freshman year. I even looked on the underside of the shelves to see if his name or Grandpa's name or initials might be scratched into the wood. Nada. Neither.

Then the other day when I was doing a thorough job of dusting I turned the stand over again looking for any indication of its maker. The sun was shining through the window. Was that writing? I tilted the stand for a better look. Lynam was barely visible underneath the shelf. Ron was right - our 'Dad' did make this stand - not Mom's 'Daddy'.
So now, along with Grandma Lynam's dining room table and buffet I wrote about last month, hopefully someone will keep these family pieces in the family when the time comes.

P.S. This little side table also belonged to my Grandmother Bessie. I think it is something her daughter, my Aunt Leona, had and gave to her.

Just so you know where it came from......