Day 28. On the road again

Andy and I generally do weekend road trips. We have a game that we like to play to see how many places we can visit in a year. Last year was depressingly few. Today we start a fresh list for 2021.  It is February and we like to take the time to check in and see if we can find any Eagles fishing in the Mississippi River in Dubuque. As normal, Andy is just waking up and not quite the talker yet. It's almost 10 o'clock. I've been up for four hours and am at the height of my conversation speed. 

Not a good combination.

I realize I'm a little too chatty for his pre-breakfast mood so I switch on the radio and turn it down to just barely audible. At this point in my life I am keenly aware of what will set Andy's mood for the day, and knowing I will be spending the next six hours (three there, three back) trapped in a car with him, I want to make sure to keep it relaxed and upbeat.  

We chit-chat for a while and then pull into the McDonald's drive thru. Sandwich and coffee for me, sandwich, hash-browns and water for Andy. I share some of my sandwich with Lyra who is along for the ride and the chance to run in the snow of Eagle Point Park, our final destination.

As the miles roll past we watch for the normal landmarks, The Mariott Hotel, The Smiling Barn (a landmark we are happy to see again after a brief absence when it was turned into the Amish Barn and the smile was removed), Boy Scout Camp, Johnson Creek, Lake Mills, and then the Madison stretch.

Although we travel here at least twice a year, I manage to take the wrong exit and get temporarily lost. "Time to turn on the GPS," Andy says. We are at a red light so I quickly open the app and set the course. As soon as we are back on track I begin to think about all of the past trips I've had to Dubuque.

I was born in Aurora, Illinois. I can't tell you how long we lived there, but at some point we moved back to Dubuque - Jackson street - next to my first boy-friend, Randy, and close to family. My Uncle Frank, Aunt Lou and Uncle Abbie, and most importantly, the Kelley's. 

My mom and 'Aunt Kay' (years later I would find out she was actually my cousin), were very close growing up. Aunt Kay was her 'Carole' to my mom's 'Judy'. Another story for another day since I will have to ask Judy to fill in details for me on that one. 

The Kelley's and my parents somehow managed to mirror pregnancies but with different outcomes. Where we had four girls and one boy, the Kelley's had four boys and one girl. Didn't really matter, when we all got together chaos was bound to happen.

After my parents moved to Cudahy (I was three), we would travel back to Dubuque as often as the gas budget would allow. I know that the reason for the move was that my dad had found work, otherwise we would have grown up in Iowa and things would have been much different. That's a daydream for another story.

We didn't travel to Iowa quite so much after my mom passed away but once Ginny and Gary got their drivers licenses we would return. 

So back to the road, the reason I brought back the memories of traveling to Dubuque with my parents and siblings is that the road we traveled has changed.

Depending on who was driving, the length of the trip would vary. My parents were known 'lead foots' so we could easily make it to Iowa in under three hours. Traveling highways and county roads. Ginny is a bit more careful - I think a little closer to four hours was her average. In her defense, I think we stopped more often. Karen could replicate dad's speed. When Judy and I traveled we could get close to three and a half hours for the trip.

Those days we went through Madison - often getting lost in a loop around the capitol, Verona, Mt. Horeb (home of the trolls, one of Ginny's favorite stops), Mineral Point and Dickeyville (home of the Grotto - my mom's favorite stop). Now you go around all of those small towns. In 2011 that changed. A new interchange was constructed and the route was changed. 

Mary Beth and I had driven to Iowa during the construction and actually managed to go around barricades and travel the new road before it was open. We were curious and went as far as we could before there was no road, only land movers. You could see they were going to carve through many of the hills in order to get the freeway past. I think about that side trip (Andy and Jimmy in tow at the time) when I pass those hills and wonder what became of the sandy rock they removed from the hill.

I can make it to Dubuque in two hours and fifty minutes - if I don't stop or get too far off the map by taking the wrong exit. 

Andy and I have our favorite route that takes us to two rest stops. A much easier day and allows for Lyra to get out and run.

We pass miles of farms and open country. More and more that landscape is changing as farmers leave and residential developers take over their land. I am happy I am able to share this route with my children, letting them see what I used to watch roll past from the rear facing back window of my parents station wagon. 

Heading over the Mississippi River I feel it. I am home. I'm not sure why Dubuque has always felt that way. Maybe because most of my relatives still remain. Going to visit the cemetery is almost like a family reunion. My father chose to stay in Wisconsin with Irene - so I have guardian angels in both states. 

Dubuque is an older town and the streets haven't changed much in the years that we have lived. The homes (except for a few, like the Kelley's that burned down) are still there. When I drive past (Andy always puts up with me driving down the streets and telling him where people lived - my way of continuing the story) I can see ghosts of us playing as kids, walking to the bus, going to the candy store. These must be memories from when we visited, since I don't think I would remember too many of my three-year old adventures. I don't think my parents would have allowed me to walk to the candy store with my siblings when I was that young - or would they? Hard to know.

In the summer visits we would stop and take the fourth street elevator up to the upper cliffs. The Kelleys new home was up there. The view is spectacular - and the ride up to it a must. There are shops in the lower area that change from year to year. At one time in the late 1990's they were very successful and bus trips would bring tourists and shoppers. Then something changed and the money dried up. It could have been the economy, but I'm going to blame it on the casino. Just because I can - no proof there.

This trip, though, we head directly to Eagle Point and walk in the park. It is 50 degrees and the sun is

shining beginning to melt the piles of snow. We only spot two Eagles high up in the sky, but that's ok, the mission was accomplished.

Lyra loves running and jumping into the melting snow and even Andy isn't complaining about the walk. We travel around the park for about an hour, checking out the now empty Koi pond (It is refilled each spring); the girl scout camp areas (Judy and Karen always fill me in on those stories), the bandshell, and the main pavillion. 

It has been a tough year for everyone with the Pandemic playing havoc with emotions and the feeling of stability.

But driving to Dubuque, doing something so 'normal' as walking in the park and counting eagles, has renewed my optimism.

I can feel Andy's mood lifting as well. We head back to Wisconsin after taking a quick stop in the cemetery to remove the Christmas wreath from my parents grave. The trip back over the bridge is usually sad, but today hearing 'Welcome to Wisconsin' on my GPS made me smile.

Life, for me, was returning to normal. I was recharged by the city I will always consider 'home'. My spirit is there along with so many from my family.

Andy and I chatted all the way home making the trip feel like it was less than two hours. 

I dropped him at his apartment and drove away. He continued to text me the remainder of my quarter mile trip to my driveway.

I pulled in just in time to see the sunset.

I look forward to my next trip, but for now, my soul is recharged.

Day 27. The best part of waking up

It's early morning. The house is still asleep and I can hear the deep breathing coming from Laurie and Mary Beth's beds. 

A tiny sliver of light is sneaking underneath our bedroom door and the smell of fresh made coffee is filling the air I breath in.

No need for an alarm clock in our house. The aroma is enough to get me alert. I climb down the side of the bunk bed and wander into the kitchen. 

Sitting at the table is my dad enjoying a cup of coffee and reading the morning paper. I grab a cup out of the cabinet and fill it with the rich warm liquid, followed by enough sugar to kill the taste and make it into more of a syrup than a hot beverage. I follow this with some milk and mix it until the color changes from a dark brown to more of a light tan.

"You know, that's going to stunt your growth," my dad says as I put the cup on the table and sit next to him. 

"Too late," I reply. 

These are the best mornings of my life. Just me, my dad, and a hot coffee. Truth is, I really didn't like coffee all that much at the age of 14, but it was the only time that things were quiet enough that I could have him all to myself.

By this point, seven of the kids had moved out of the house leaving just me, Mike, Laurie, Chris and Mary Beth. Almost a normal sized family. My dad was more relaxed in the morning and we could have the chance to be together. 

I looked up at the kitchen clock. it was almost 4 o'clock. My dad would be headed to work soon, and I would be packing my bags and heading out on my bike for school. In those days we lived in our second house in Oak Creek. Chapel Hills Subdivision off of Rawson and Pennsylvania. I would ride about 1/2 mile to Laura's house, where she would join me as we pedaled to pick up Kim and Beth before going to do a morning work out for swim team. Laura and I were Sophomore, Kim and Beth were a year behind.

"So, how's the memorizing going?" my dad asked as I reviewed my notes for a test I was having in English. 

"Not so hot, Shakespeare is hard to come up with anagrams for memorizing." 

I really didn't have a great reading comprehension so most of my tests were passed with the famous "learn and purge" method. In other words, I would memorize facts or come up with clever hints to remember important dates, and then as soon as the test was over I would forget everything to make room for other important stuff, like television trivia. My hints or anagrams were sort of like "in 1492 Columbus sailed the ocean blue" but not that lame.  Another trick I had was to rewrite my notes smaller and smaller and smaller, my dad would watch me copy them out over and over gain, actually making crib notes, but never needing them since I had written it so many times that I ended up memorizing the information. 

"What are you up to today?" I asked. 

I'm sure he gave me some 'dad' reply and continued on. To be honest the conversation wasn't the important part. It was just having time alone with my dad before the day got crazy.

I was quite the over achiever, when it came to things I could cram into a day. I would start, as I said, with coffee, then a workout, then to the cafeteria in the school to help setup breakfast/snack sales. School, lunch hour work in the cafeteria, after school swim practice, work either as a life guard or at Kentucky Fried Chicken, home, bed, repeat.  

Homework? Oh yeah, somewhere in there I did my homework. To be honest, other than keeping the teachers from flunking me, homework was not all that important. I wasn't going to college so grades didn't matter, this was probably the one time I wasn't competitive. I really didn't care what grades the other kids got, if I got a 'C', I was golden. 

Breakfast would be over too fast and we would soon go about packing up and heading out. But not before giving my dad a hug and telling him to have a good day. He would return the gesture and we would wave as we went our separate ways.

To this day, the smell of coffee in the morning brings me back to the mornings with my dad. Every now and then I get to sit, quietly and watch the sun rise. I lift my coffee (now I like it black) and deeply inhale the aroma. Closing my eyes I remember those mornings and I can almost hear my dad's keys rattle as he puts them on his belt before heading out.

*raising my cup*  "To simpler times! 

Have a good day everyone!"

Day 26. It started with rocks

I've always liked being the center of attention. Truly, I am not shy (although I was once given a bad performance rating because my manager thought I was) and I like being the leader. Taking care of others has been inbred in me at an early age. 

Losing my mother was one ingredient. Although, I didn't use it to get things I wanted - at least not in the beginning. I really didn't understand much about death or the finality of it. I guess I just figured my mom had gone somewhere else and I'd see her again someday. At least, that's what the nuns at St. Fredrick's church used to tell me. So I was good with that. People left and came back later to tell you all sorts of stories. I was just waiting for her to return.

Cudlacs was a small corner grocery on Layton Avenue. It had shelves of groceries, a couple of shelves of things kids would want to buy (jump ropes, crayons, coloring books, candy, etc.) a bread aisle, household items and a meat counter. Nothing too elaborate but enough for you to get food for the table and a good conversation with the cashiers or butchers. The entire store would take up maybe the pharmacy section of the grocery stores around today.

It was a neighborhood store in as such as we knew each other. The cashiers knew the families and the butcher would know what type of meat your family liked and how it should be cut. It was that kind of a neighborhood store.

News of the Nebel's losing their mother spread across the neighborhood streets. It was why the neighbors looked out for us - I'm sure it's what led so many of them to allow me into their homes and gardens. Probably why the cashier would allow me to purchase anything I wanted and pay for it with stones.

You read that correctly, stones. I figured I had found a new form of money - or that the cashier was just that dumb. I would go in daily with a handful of stones and head for the candy aisle. I would grab a box of lemon drops or necco waffers and head to the cashier. She would add it up and I would give her rocks. She would take them and put them under the
register.

I told Tommy and Patrick about my new form of payment and they didn't believe me. I had to show them. We walked down the alley and crossed the street, passing an empty lot along the way and grabbed a few rocks in my hand. 

We went in and each picked up a few items. Some crayons, coloring books, jacks and candy bars. We walked up to the cashier and handed her the items. She looked at the items, looked at me and my goofy smile, took the rocks and we left.

Tommy and Patrick were baffled. They had no idea what just happened. I had actually bought candy and books with rocks.

That night I was in my room when I heard my father come in. "Carole" his voice boomed up the stairs. "Yes?" was my answer. "Come down here". I went down to the kitchen table. I was certain I was in trouble, but my dad had a smile on his face. I guess the cashier had called him.

"You know, rocks aren't money." he continued "you can't buy things from the store with rocks". I looked at him as was about to tell him he was wrong, but he stopped me. "The manager of Cudlacs called me and explained what was going on. The cashier was taking the rocks, but adding the cost of all the items to our account. We have one so we can get groceries before payday." "We owe her $10 for the extra items you've bought the last few weeks." I gave out a bit of a squeak. That was a lot of money - and back then it probably would have bought us enough groceries for a week. "They are going to let us pay it off a little at a time. I'll do it this time, but you'll have to stop. No more candy sprees - ok?" 

"OK", I answered.

The weeks went on and the account was paid off. My sweet tooth started to get the better of me. I needed money. I needed to be able to get some goodies and I knew rocks wouldn't buy me anything. 

Then I remembered, my dad had a penny collection he kept in a metal box in his bedroom. It wasn't much, but it would buy me the candy I craved. I didn't think of it as stealing - I mean, after all it was just sitting in the box and it was just coins. He probably had forgotten he even had them.

I went into his room and grabbed the box and took it up to my room. I'm not sure where anyone was so I sat in the upstairs pantry and opened the it. The books with the penny collections were there, but something bigger caught my eye. Five silver coins - bigger than quarters. I had remembered seeing them once a long time ago. These had to be worth more than a penny and weren't rocks.

I grabbed Tommy and Patrick and headed back to Cudlacs. We went in and grabbed supplies that would last us for a while and went up to the cashier. She gave me 'that' look. You know, the 'I know you' look.

She added up the supplies, put them in a bag and asked for the cash. I handed her the coins. It must have been enough since she didn't ask for any more.  

We went back to Tommy's house and sat in the backyard and ate our candy in the sunshine. We couldn't use the doll house since the bees had found it - it was their territory now. I finished what I could, wrapped the rest up in a scarf and headed up to my bedroom. 

I was sitting in there coloring when my dad came home. "CAROLE JEAN!" Oh - that didn't sound good, he used my middle name. "Get down here".

I made it as far as the second floor landing before I saw my dad's face. It was not a happy, smiling face. "Did you go to Cudlacs?" Oh man, he knew - but he was asking, so that meant he wasn't sure. 

"Yes" came my answer. 

"Did you pay with money?" he asked. Still heated, but softening. 

"Yes". 

"Did you take the money from my box?" 

Busted! He knew! 

I'm not sure what came over me, but I couldn't tell the truth. I would be in so much trouble. 

"No" my voice trailed off.

"Come Here". I heard the belt being taken off - that was never a good sign. I slowly walked the rest of the way down and into the kitchen. My dad was sitting at the table and in front of him were the five coins I had used earlier.

"Do you know what these are?" I shook my head 'no'. "They are silver dollars - your mother got one for each of you. I was holding on to them until you were married. Thankfully the cashier saved them for me or they would be gone forever." Side note - I really didn't like that cashier much after that day. Snitch that she was!

"But that's not the worst thing you did today", he continued, "you lied. I can forgive you taking the coins, but don't you ever, lie to me."

He took me over his knee and delivered my punishment." My sister Judy told me that she had never seen him so mad.

I can't tell you what hurt more. The spanking, or the fact that I had lied to my dad and hurt his feelings. I never wanted to hurt him and I did, big time.

I learned my lesson. After that I earned the money I used to buy candy. Even if it meant digging in the dump for discarded soda bottles. I never lied to my dad again, as hard as that is to believe, I told the truth most of the time. I mean - I am only human.

On my wedding day I received a small box. When I opened it up I found the silver dollar inside. I guess I am happy that the cashier ratted me out after all.

Day 25. A Nerd is Born

The majority of homes in cities have small yards. You spend a minimum amount of time there, you grab your friends and gather together and play across two or three yards or better yet, in a park or school yard.

On this particular day it was basically family. The five of us, Karen, Ginny, Judy, Gary and me doing something that we all enjoyed and yet didn't get enough time to do. Nope-it wasn't swimming. This day we were headed to our 'backyard' also known as Sheridan Park. 

It mean crossing the busy Lake Drive, and we didn't even think about walking the two extra blocks to cross at the light. We crossed right at Cudahy and Lake Drive.

Running across the field to try and find the best place. Today was the day and we were all excited. 

Three. Two. One. Blast off! Another day, another rocket goes high into the sky only to come back to earth almost gently. Judy and I would chase the little parachute and hope to bring it back in one piece. Rocket engines were cheaper than buying an entire rocket.

Cudahy had a great hobby shop and Gary would use money he earned selling ice cream and purchase a kit. Sometimes it was a car model or a universal monster, but this time it had been a rocket. He spent the next week or so painting it an putting it together. We didn't really ask permission - most of the time it was just the five of us at home, and if Ginny didn't yell - we took that as permission to continue.  So off to the park we went.

As long as we could recover the rocket in good shape, a new engine could be purchased and we could return for another launch.

Sometimes we would walk past the pond and up the hill and aim it so it went over the cliff. Well, it may not have been aimed - but that sounded better than saying we would aim it up and then it would fall over after the fuse was lit go out over the cliff.  Then it was a race down the side of the cliff to gather the pieces before they floated out to sea on the waves of Lake Michigan.

The cliffs, in fact, really provided more than just a place to chase rockets. I would spend hours sitting on the edge flying my kite over the side. The winds were perfect and I could keep it flying for hours. 

Kites in those days were nothing like you see flying by "Wings of Wonder" on the lakefront today. They were tissue paper with balsa wood sticks. You had to use kite string to 'bow' the horizontal stick which made a better surface for flight. 

It was a touch and go operation. Too much arc and you chanced breaking the stick, sometimes in mid flight. Too little and you wouldn't get a good amount of lift. A tail was essential - this we made out of an old sheet torn into a thin strip with smaller ones tied on for weight. 

"When lift plus thrust is greater than load plus drag, anything can fly."the words that Sister Bertrille would say at the beginning of each episode of "The Flying Nun". I could hear it in my head as I was assembling my kite.

I would get a good start by running down the hill toward the pond and once the kite was high enough I would let out all of the string from the spool. I would just sit on the edge and wonder if people flying past in the airplanes could see it.

One time I got tired of watching the kite so I tied it off on a nearby tree. I checked on it daily to see how long it would stay in the air. It took three days, I think. Someone could have come and taken it down. I mean I didn't find it at all, not even any string leading down the cliff to the lake.

Maybe it broke off the branch and headed to Michigan and a kid on the other side retrieved it. I waited for it to return to Wisconsin, like somehow they would magically know it was mine and return it. There was not an internet or even personal computing device in those days. Just think how today's technology could change the fate of that kite.

The thirst for scientific discovery was strong in me (although I didn't really know that was what it was at that point) and I spent many days in Goodwill looking through the tossed away kitchen appliances and other gadgets - it was my toy store. I didn't realize it at the time but I was drawn to electronics. It was like they were calling to me to buy them and take them apart - piece by piece. I would spend hours removing each little screw, each tube, all of the wires. I wanted to see how things were connected and how they could make their magic.

The only problem was, I could never get them back together again. Partially because I didn't pay too close attention to where things came and partially because I wasn't careful with where I put all of the screws. Should that matter? I mean really, I never recall a scientist being so concerned with specifics like - where did I put that screw? But I could be wrong.

I graduated from radio destruction to camera destruction, which actually wasn't all that difficult. In the 70's camera's didn't have any computerized parts like they do today. Mirrors and triggers were really intriguing. I discovered how the shutter could open and close - a switch to keep it held open the correct length of time based on the slots inside or how long you held on the switch.

I found an old Television in the dump - it was like the Holy Grail of things you could find to take apart. So may screws, wires and tubes. I had dismantled the entire thing - tubes, wires, switches. I paid close attention this time and returned each piece into the correct spot. I tightened down the wires, made sure everything was clean.

I attached the antenna, plugged it in and turned it on, not expecting much to happen. But you know what? It made a humming noise and the screen started to glow. I made a few adjustments with the antenna and it happened.

It turned on. It worked! I had fixed a broken television. I was hooked. I had power that needed to be shared with the world! 

My brother's Gary and Rick used the television in their roost over the garage.

That was it - that was my beginnings of an interest in figuring out how things work. I use that same desire today not only on electronics or computers, but on the code and software that is used to make them work. 

It calls to me and I answer.

Day 24. Not so innocent

 ***Warning*** Names have been changed in this post to protect those involved. Well, except me.

In the winter of 1972 we were getting ready to move to Oak Creek. Our house on Van Norman had been sold and boxes had been packed and placed on the truck to head to the new home. There was only one problem. The new house wasn't ready yet. We had to be out of our house on Christmas Eve. What does one do with a family of 10 and no home? I don't think they could have afforded that many hotel rooms, so they did the next best thing. They shipped us out to friends and relatives.

Ginny had moved out by this point so Judy stayed with her. That is the only person I know for a fact where they were - I think Laurie and Cathy stayed with Bonnie, Karen was in the Army, Rick and Gary were by friends, Chris and Mary were with the parental units

in a hotel. Mike, where was Mike? Well, I hope it was nice.

I stayed with our long time Cudahy friends the (insert fake name here - let's say Smith family). They lived in a large two story home in (insert fake city here - let's say Hobbiton). The youngest member - (fake named Gina) and I had been friends for a long time, but it was one of those friendships that had started because our parents bowled together. After my mom died and we moved from Cudahy Avenue it became more of a friendship of convenience. So right now, I was staying with Gina and her family because it was convenient.

To say that Gina was a scheme artist is an understatement. I was not worthy to walk in her snake oil footprints.

We spent out days making candles and beaded jewelry in her basement and then walking all over the city blocks selling them to neighbors and friends. Gina had a sale pitch for everything and 'no' was rarely the answer. She was good.

Gina taught me another interesting skill that winter. The art of the 'five-finger' discount. Looking back I'd like to say I'm not proud of my actions and I would never advise it from any younger person (looking at my kids here). But I do have to admit that Gina had taught me well. I would put small items in my pockets and slip out with the agility of the Artful Dodger.

"It's so easy", Gina began. You just have to keep walking around and talking normally. "Isn't that stealing, Gina?" I asked (remember I was only 12). "No, not really, I mean, the stores always over purchase and this stuff ends up in some big sale bin. I wouldn't worry about it", I mean they aren't going to close because we take a few things.

I have to admit it was exciting, slipping bracelets and necklaces into your sleeve while you walked about the store. We would always purchase something with the candle money so we made sure we didn't abuse our new power, and somehow paying for a candy bar made it okay that I had a $5 necklace safely tucked into my shoe or sock. 

This was almost a daily routine. It never occurred to me that I would have to, someday, explain where I had gotten all of the trinkets. Gina's mom caught us looking over our pirated treasure and asked the question I had been dreading. 

"Where did all of this come from?" 

I froze. We were goners. That was it - time to pay the piper. My father was going to beat me when he found out, or worse, he would make me take it back and confess to the store owner, or both. My mind raced, where did we get this? A random carnival had swept into town and we won it all from clowns...yeah, that was a good answer.

I opened my mouth and was surprised to hear Gina's voice come out of it. "We sold a bunch of candles and bracelets - this was all on sale and we bought it with the money". 

Wow - I had never thought of that. I'm sure my ashen face gave us away, but Mrs. Smith was happy with the answer and left with a "nice job, I'm proud of you". Proud? Proud? Man, that was the kiss of death. Telling me she was proud of us for stealing and lying. I would be in that confessional for hours this week.

And that was the magical solution. Something else happened during those trips. I would get a weird rush from getting away from it. Secretly, I did hope we got caught - at least then I would hear from my dad. I hadn't spoken to anyone from my family for almost a month and I was getting quite homesick.

I would 'shop' with Gina and then we would go to confession on Saturday. It was the perfect crime. God forgave us because we confessed.

I continued my craft even after we were back in our new house in Oak Creek. I became the invisible child. Chris and Mary Beth took most of the attention (and less face it - they were babies so they needed it). 

Drew's Department store next to the Sentry on Howell became my new 'shopping' destination. I was getting quite good. Most of my school and craft supplies were gained at the expense of all of the fine honorable shoppers to the store.

That summer, Drew's got its revenge. Gina was over for a visit and we were bored so we walked up to Drew's to hang out and see what we could get away with. Gina was much more aggressive than I ever was, I had my eyes on a pair of green post earrings. I had wanted my ears pierced for ever. My dad had already told me 'no', but I figured once the deed was done he wouldn't have much to say. 

Such a rebel!

I had already slipped the earrings into my secret pouch on my tennis shoe (yes, I had created a pouch in my shoe! I am just as shocked as you!)

Gina was over by the necklaces. I saw her pocket at least 5 long gold chains before I wandered over to the snack aisle. That was always our signal.

We went to the register and paid. As we were leaving the voice you always dread came from behind. 

"Ladies, aren't you forgetting something?" Oh man, this was it, busted at last. I turned around and casually looked at the cashier. Gina continued out the door.

"What?" I said. My mouth was becoming a desert and all of the blood was now heading into my shoes to hide in my big toe.

"Your friend didn't pay for the items in her pocket". I was safe, he had no idea about my secret pouch. "I don't know what you're talking about" I would have to add lying to this weeks confession. 

"I think you do, and I think you should let your friend know that if she comes in the store again, I will have her arrested."

I turned and ran out of the store, caught up with Gina and told her about the warning. "Oh, sure" was her answer. "What are they going to arrest me for? By then I won't have the necklaces anymore."

I thought about that over and over and over again. It was at least two months before I walked into Drew's again and I was sure to pay for anything I wanted. I smiled and told the cashier to have a good day. I don't think he remembered. 

It was the end of my life of crime. I had learned my lesson. 

But there was one more lesson to be had. You see, I did take those earrings to my friend Cheryl's house. I didn't truthfully disclose where I had gotten them, saying they were expensive and from the doctor's office. In those days, doctors actually had high-quality metal earrings made especially for starter pierced ears. We went to her neighbors house who proceeded to pierce my ears.

Not only did I have to keep my father from walking to the neighbors house and suing them for performing the ear lobe altercation without his permission, but I was grounded for three weeks.

And, I got a nasty infection from the cheap earrings.

Justice served.

Day 23. Steer clear of the horse manure

In the winters when days were easier and people were not so quick to sue, cities around the area put metal toboggan slides at the top of hills to provide a quick start and a promise of a longer run. In Cudahy the run was situated at the top of the hill just opposite of Sheridan pool. 

With a good push and a slick packed-down hill of snow you could almost make it all the way to the corner of Packard and Lake Drive, that is if you didn't plow into a tree first. Now don't panic, the city had gone to great lengths and spared no expense when it came to protecting the children in the area. 

They packed straw and horse manure around the trunks of the trees. You read that correctly, straw and manure. 

I would have liked to be in that common council meeting. "How do we protect the kids from running into the tree trunks?" 

"I know - let's pack them with horse manure - that is soft when you hit it!"

If you had a sled with metal runners you had a better chance of avoiding the trees since you could steer it. If you had a silver saucer like Chevy Chase rides down the hill in "Christmas Vacation" your only hope was to bail before you got too close and roll in the opposite direction.

Now none of this accounts for someone going down the shoot after you and aiming in your direction, trying to bump you into the manure lined trees. A sort of winter 'kid pinball'.

You do have to ask yourself why would they use straw and manure. It was actually quite genius if you think about it. I'm guessing that a horse boarding owner would be happy to sell or even give the raw materials to the cities. It would help them to clear the stalls and in some cases - gain a little income.

My brother had the hardest time avoiding the trees and always came home stinking to high heaven, but with a big smile on his face from the day at the park.

In Oak Creek the toboggan slide was on a much smaller hill by the legion. You would have to have quite a good solid push to make it to the tree line since it was almost a quarter mile away. The slide was not very well used - not because of the lack of danger, but because there was a much taller hill on the other side of the field. 

Parkway Estates Park had a small playground and a huge hill. If you made it past the tree line you could even end up in the creek. It was tough, but possible. Especially if it had a nice layer of ice on the hill.

In those days winter ware for kids in my family consisted of as many pair of jeans you could layer on and still move, a winter jacket, gloves or mittens - matching was not necessary and sometimes socks could double as mittens if you were really desperate. If you were lucky enough, you had boots - otherwise you wore an old pair of tennies. 

It also was quite common to see a familiar piece of kitchen trash sticking out of your boots. Bread bags could double at boot liners, and although it added no extra warmth, they did do a good job of keeping your feet dry - unless you hit the water in the creek - then it became a nice way to bring back water.

And I guarantee you that would always be a goal - even going so far as pulling a flat piece of cardboard through the long grass and trees to make a run down the bank - to end up on or in the creek. A goal, thankfully, I never made.

I almost broke my arm one time when I was going down the hill and one of my friends, who will remain anonymous, pulled her sled in front of me as a joke, sadly she didn't quite pull it out in time, resulting in me hitting it with my elbow. I rolled in the snow for quite a long time, I put my hand up my sleeve and pulled out a bloody hand. I'm not sure who was more shocked. My friend kept apologizing and I was sure I was going to get a cool cast. 

But no such luck, although I do still have a scar on my arm as a reminder of the day.

I spent plenty of time on that hill and also introduced it to my sons when they were growing up. We would take our black lab along and have her pull the sled back up. She loved riding down the hill on the sled, but would bail when the sled slowed down causing us to capsize.

Now they have street lights so you can sled well into the evening, after all the little kids are safely tucked in their beds. You also have better sled options, inner tubes, snow boards, and plastic gliders. 

So grab your hot chocolate, your best flexible flyer sled, and if you have one a dog since there aren't any rope tows on this hill. I'll bring the socks and the bread bags.

Day 22. Avoiding the bus.

I was never really sure why Daryl beat me up on the way home from school. Some would say it was my smart mouth, I always needed to have the last word. Or it could have been that I was an easy target. Even though he knew that Gary, Karen, Ginny or Judy would have come to my rescue the beatings continued. 

Judy had helped once and ended up with a black eye from Daryl's brother. 

Daryl was my 'Scott Farkus', yellow eyes and green teeth. Yup, just about right. I did what I could to avoid him, but he would always find me. One time he had a group of boys gang up on me, I was in the middle of the group, curled up in a ball when a hand came dangerously close to my mouth. 

*CHOMP*

I bit it - as hard as I could. "OW!" the owner of the arm yelled. "Carole, I'm trying to help you!" - the hand belonged to John - a friend and fellow team mate on the kickball team. 

The bite did it's job though, the other kids scattered for fear of being bit. After that they all barked at me and called me a dog. I really didn't care as long as the kicking stopped.

Except for Daryl, walking to school never phased me. Everyone walked to school unless you were ill or had a project due. We would join up on the playground and wait for the bell to ring, letting us know it was time to enter the building.

When we moved to Oak Creek I figured it was a chance for a fresh start. No one knew me here. I wouldn't have to worry about getting picked on. Or so I thought.

The first day of school I was wearing a royal blue polyester pant suit my mom had bought me. It was my favorite color and I was feeling pretty good about myself. 

It was the day that I found out that polyester wasn't cool. The 'cool kids' in the class decided to welcome me by putting glue on my chair, hoping I would sit in it. Amateur's! Did they not realize that I had older brothers who could do far worse than that?

At recess they tried to knock me down to give me a face washing. But my legs were strong and I was good at avoiding ice from my years of walking to school. I swear at one point every kid in my class was jumping on my back trying to get me to fall. 

So much for the playground supervisor. 

I never fell - they weren't able to complete their plan. I now had a new nick-name. Weeble. (Weebles wobble but they don't fall down). 

The end of the day came and I was told to get on a school bus. My parents had dropped me and Laurie off at school. We had never seen our new house so we had no idea where to go. We trusted that the teachers were putting us on the right bus. I climbed on and sat near the back of the bus, Laurie was behind me and had stopped at a seat in the front. 

As I said - we had never had a school bus before so I had no idea of the rules. Older kids sat in the back of the bus. As a punishment I had to put up with Bill and Mike - two kids I would find out, lived in the same subdivision - pounding on my head with their school books all the way home. These would be my new daily bullies.

So much for the bus driver.

Laurie and I got off the bus too early and wandered around until we found our house - mostly by accident and a little by observation, my parents had shown us a picture of the house being built. It was the newest home on the block and did not have any lawn yet. 

"How was your day?" came the question as we walked in the house. "Fine (I lied)".  I knew from the Daryl experience that no one was going to care if I got beat up. We were shown our new room - it was pink! I hated pink. I decided to hang out in the family room and watch TV until it was time for bed. 

The other brothers and sisters came home and were shown their new rooms. Boxes were still everywhere and they got to work putting things away.

This was my new routine. Go to school, get harassed and beat up on the playground, ride the bus home, eat supper, put stuff away, go to bed and repeat the next day.

I decided I could avoid being a human snow ball at lunch by asking to stay in and going to the library. This greatly limited my socializing time with the new kids at school, but I really didn't feel like I fit in anyway and found it better to just hide in by the books. About a month of this went on until the principal finally asked me why I wasn't going outside for recess or lunch. I broke down and told him about the problems on the playground.

He was sympathetic and decided to speak to the class that day. Um - probably not a good idea. I was more a target than ever, I dreaded going on that bus. I hated it here, I had no recourse. I was going to leave and go back to Cudahy.

I climbed on my bike and headed back 'home'. I was just passing the legion when I realized I had no idea how to get back to Cudahy and no place to stay when I got there. I turned around and slowly pedaled back. This was before the bike path was in so I had to ride in the street. 

I had to be careful, one small error and I would end up in the ditch. Don't fall in the ditch, don't fall in the ditch, don't fall in the d...................i.....................t..................c..................h.  

I fell in the ditch, I laid there for a couple of minutes, taking inventory - neck - not broken. Legs, still work. Arms, yup - they were ok too. Just a few scrapes.

"Need help?" I looked up to see a girl from my class. Her name was Cheryl. Her backyard was closer to the road than mine and she had seen me fall.  She helped me out of the ditch and I pushed my bike through the field to her backyard. She had one of those porch swings in the back and we sat and talked while I continued to take care of my scrapes.  I found out that she had just moved to the subdivision at the beginning of the school year so she understood the plight of the 'new kid'.  

Cheryl introduced me to Patty. She lived across Ryan road, but more importantly, her back yard butted up to the school playground. It had been part of an apple orchard that at one point filled much of the city. I found out that Cheryl didn't take the bus, and instead, walked with Patty to her home to hangout until it was time for supper. 

I was invited into their group, and although there were only three of us, the rules of friendship were never an issue. 

Cheryl lived a few doors down from my house and we became fast friends. It was good to know that I had choices. Although I had a bus available to me, I never used it after meeting Patty and Cheryl, opting to walk across the busy road and through Patty's backyard for the remainder of the school year.

Patty's father was the chief of police so people didn't really mess with her. She had an inground pool and a basement that was decorated with Japanese décor. I had never seen anything like it. We spent many hours down there reading Tiger Beat magazine and talking about the most current thing that Mrs. Register, our teacher, said in class. We practiced songs that the music teacher had assigned. We did homework, but most importantly we became close friends.

During the summer we made sure Patty had plenty of company in her pool - and although I am prone to sunburns, I spent the majority of that first summer laying on her deck.

The next year we would go to Middle School, which required walking across the creek if you didn't want to take the bus, and aside from the occasional soaker from slipping off the log bridge we had built, got us home faster than the bus.

It wasn't until I was in High School that I occasionally took the bus to school, opting instead to ride my bike or walk. 

However, to set the record straight I do have some great memories of my school bus days. Swim meets were great memories of singing school songs and chanting spirit cheers. We would also use the school bus for choir performances and the occasional science field trip. 

Day 21. Influencers

In 1975 things like Tik Tok, Facebook, Instagram and YouTube were beyond imagination. In those days, influencers came in a different form, and the type of influence they had was life changing. 

For me the biggest influencers were Ms. Dahl, Mr. Tuttle and Ms. Rhode. These were teachers I would interact with on a daily basis during seventh grade and become a lab aide for (at least two of them) during my 8th grade year.

Ms. Dahl was my science teacher. She had a British accent and was the one responsible for my love of science. She made learning fun and interesting by making it 'real'. It was the first time I dissected worms and frogs, investigated the strictures and fossils in different types of rocks, and saw how choices we made in our everyday life impacted the nature around us. We had made small terrariums sprouting seeds and taking cuttings from plants and getting them to root. One of our assignments (which wasn't too much fun for me) was to create a shadow box of bugs. Bugs - I could think of nothing better than to stick a needle through an innocent beetle that did nothing wrong other than to be within reach of a budding scientist. I captured bugs over and over again, but I always let them go. I just couldn't do it.

We had been given the assignment right after Christmas break (what winter break was called at that time) and it wasn't due until the end of the semester. I found plenty of already dead millipedes and centipedes in the basement as well as a few pill bugs but I was far short of the 25 that were assigned. My classmates brought in boxes containing butterflies, moths, lightening bugs and lady bugs. Of course, I waited until the day before it was due to collect the majority of my specimens. I spent three hours at the end of school that day at the creek. I successfully found 12 and was happy with the gracious 'C' that I was awarded for my time.

Ms. Dahl also attempted to teach me about pulleys and levers. I understood levers just fine (give me a lever and I'll move the world) but pulleys to this day just escape me. I mean, how could more rope make something lighter? 

The science wing had a huge saltwater fish tank with a sea anemone, damsel fish and beautiful clown fish - it was probably tanks like this that inspired 'Finding Nemo'. 

Because Science was my first class of the day, I would rush to get to my locker and then head to class to have extra time to watch the fish. 

I dug a tree out of the area by the creek and gave it to Ms. Dahl at the end of the school year. I remember carrying it, in a plastic bag, to school. I wonder if she ever planted it.

Mr. Tuttle taught Social Studies. He reminded me of a mix between John Denver and John Ritter. He was cool and wore paisley-print jeans. He didn't wear ties like the other male teachers, instead he had a collard shirt and fringe vest. I probably would have learned more in his class if I didn't have such a major crush on him. Don't freak out - he was young and was in his first year of teaching. I sort of felt like the girl in the beginning of "Raiders of the Lost Ark", staring and hanging on every word he said. He was energetic and had more ideas than reading and repeating. I used to call it 'learn and purge'. Instead we gave speeches and made models to help illustrate what we had learned. 

I remember I was assigned to do a report on King Tut. I went to the library to research, I wanted to do a good job for Mr. Tuttle. But as hard as I tried I could only find a King Tutankhamen. I read a lot on this other King, I procrastinated so long that I wasn't actually ready to present on the day that I was called on by Mr. Tuttle. I stood up and gave a 20 minute speech on everything that I had read - no note cards - just talking about the boy who would be king and the treasures they had found in his tomb. 

It wasn't until I was finished and had received my 'A' that I found out that King Tut was indeed, Tutankhamen. It was also the first time that I 'winged' a speech based on knowledge alone. 

Maybe there was something to be said for actually reading and researching information. 

A few months later Steve Martin released his song and I saw it as an omen. There was some connection between learning and performance. I loved the fact that I could hold people's attention and provide information they were interested in hearing. Teaching was definitely in my future.

Civics class was something new to me, I didn't know what it was - but it was an assigned class. The teacher, Ms. Rhode reminded me of Peggy Lipton in the Mod Squad. She wore bell bottom jeans and long flowing blouses. Very trendy hair styles and platform shoes. She had attended protests for women's rights and was instrumental in starting a mock presidential election at school. It would be the first experience I would have in the electoral process. 

She had also been bringing in people from different branches of government to talk to the class and give a better understanding of how they affected life and decisions. I volunteered my dad to come in and talk about his job - it would be the first time I would even know what he actually did - other than 'meat inspector'. When my dad agreed to give a speech I was so proud - and scared. I didn't want the kids in class to be mean to him. I was very protective of my father and I would have to beat the snot out of anyone that was mean to him.

On the day he was to speak to my civics class, I was called to the office to escort him back to the classroom and I proudly walked him to the front of the class and introduced him to Ms. Rhode. Then I took my seat and held my breath. But I had nothing to worry about. My dad rocked the speech! He told just enough gore to keep things interesting. I found out so much that day about how important his job was (a job they eliminated in 1986). The other students were just as interested and asked questions - good questions - things he could answer and explain. It was the first time I saw my dad in a different light, he was more than just a father. He knew so much and was so intelligent and calm. 

Ms. Rhode was also very active in environmental causes. At the end of the school year She took a group of us to the Nicolet forest. She had planned a field trip for us to 'break trail'. I had no idea what that was, but was sure it would be cool. Ms. Rhode would never do anything that wasn't cool. 

We got out of the bus and were told that we needed to grab a shovel and pruning sheers. The guide took us to a thick part of the woods and were told to cut out everything that would be in the way if we wanted to walk.  We followed a pre-selected path that was marked with red ribbons tied to trees and cleared everything in between. 

We worked all day and cleared a path long enough to make it to a fork in the woods that another group had cleared. I had no idea what I was doing. By the end of the day I was hot, grubby and tired. My hands had blisters on them and my nails were filled with dirt. I had scratches on my arms and twigs in my hair. In a way this took me back to the days of building forts by the creek. Maybe that's why the aptitude test came back 'forest ranger'.

As I write this story I think back and need to thank these teachers for being influencers in my life. Because of them I have a love of teaching, learning, and know the results of hard work. It's the reason why I continue to learn and advance my knowledge. 

A few times every year, when the weather is nice and the chance for good photo ops exist, Andy and I walk the trails that I had helped clear. It is nice to bring this full circle.

Day 20. These boots were made for marching.

Don't you love a parade? Even in the days before the candy throwing and water gun fights (yes, we had water gun fights with people in the parades, until someone hit a veteran and the use of water guns was eliminated) 

I had always dreamed of marching in a parade. Having everyone waving at you while you performed seemed genuinely exciting to me. I think my sister Laurie followed along because she wanted to hang out and not be alone. I can't be certain - I'll have to ask her someday.

Chris from across the street had taught me how to twirl a baton and we used that in many of our shows for Severin and Mike. But that wasn't good enough. I wanted to wear the fancy uniform and stomp in the boots with fringes on them.

Kelly's mom and aunt (a fact I just learned from Kelly today) had started a precision marching team for kids. "The Royal Centavos", which was a younger version of the "Royal Bravados". Kelly and her sisters were part of the troupe. They went into competitions for the routines they would do and Kelly's bedroom had trophies and ribbons in it.

A quick side note here. As I mentioned before, my brother Gary was a strong competitor. He had trophies from swimming and football in his bedroom. My dad and mom would always be bragging about him to other parents and they attended special award banquets with him. I really wanted that, to be noticed and talked about. 

I thought that being a part of the troupe with Kelly may be the thing that would get me noticed. I day-dreamed about my family sitting on the side of the road cheering me on as our team walked past. I would be the baton lead as Kelly and the rest twirled riffles and marched behind. 

Kelly and Kris spent many afternoons teaching me and Laurie the routines. We would march up and down the street.  Step * Stomp * Kick * Stomp - I still remember the way they would begin their routine. It didn't matter how warm or late it was outside - we marched up and down the block over and over again perfecting the cadence.

At night I would practice my baton twirling - I didn't own a baton so I used whatever I could get my hands on that would work, broom sticks (sorry about the broken lamp), rulers, pencils - especially those long fat ones you bought as a souvenir from the Museum or Zoo. That was the best because it actually had a tassel on one end.

I became quite good at the twirling, the throwing in the air and catching - while walking - ummm - not so much.

A few weeks of us marching in the neighborhood passed and Kelly's mom invited us to go along to a practice. It was to be at the Oak Creek Armory, (I had no idea that someday that place would be part of the town I lived in). She wrote everything on a piece of paper and told me to give it to my parents so they would know.

"What?" came the response. "Carole, you would join a shit throwing group is there was one to join!" came the reply from my dad. Truth be told, I probably would - in fact when I first lived in the house my husband and I bought one of our neighbors was the cow chip champion and she showed me how it was done. It could have been a fun group to be part of.

Anyway - his outright 'no' answer didn't stop me. Laurie didn't know any better since I didn't tell her that we didn't have permission. Laurie would never have gone along with my plan, she didn't like breaking rules and she would be sure to rat me out, so I had to keep her in the dark.

On the day of the practice I took Laurie and told our mom we were going to Kelly's house to play. "Be home by 8" was the response. It was 6 o'clock now so I figured we had plenty of  time to jump in the car with Kelly's family, travel to Oak Creek - wherever that was - practice and be home in time. No one would be the wiser.

We got to Kelly's and waited while they packed all the supplies into the station wagon. At least I think it must have been a station wagon to hold everything. Kelly and her sister Kris had on their white fringe boots with taps on the bottom. Laurie and I would have to settle for our tennis shoes - we would purchase boots once we made the team.

I didn't really have a plan for explaining to my parents that we were now a part of a marching team and would need uniforms and white fringe boots. I figured they wouldn't be able to say 'no' to Laurie so to be fair they would have to say 'yes' to both. The details we could work out later.

At about 7pm we finally all were in the car and headed for the armory. Waiting on the black top were the rest of the group. After a few announcements we lined up and started practicing the routines. Step * Stomp * Kick * Stomp - Laurie and I were right in step. Kelly was a good teacher.

Then it came time to do other routines and we sat and watched while the group worked it out. Kelly had just started in the color guard so her routine was different than the rest. 

The sun was setting (it was summer so it must have been close to 8:30-9) at this point, and I was getting anxious. I knew the sun going down meant we were late. Laurie was oblivious to the fate that awaited us when we got home. 

The practice ended * hurry up *  there were more announcements * hurry up *  flags, rifles and boots were packed in the car * faster * and we headed home.

Imagine my surprise when we got back to Kelly's house and the police weren't there. I thought for sure my parents would have reported us missing by that point and Kelly's mom would have been arrested for kid napping.

I jumped out of the car, and dragging Laurie up the street waved good-bye. I tried to sneak in the back door, but the dogs gave us away. 

"Carole, Laurie?" came the yell. "Come in here".  

In the living room sat my father and mother, drinks in hand, cigarette smoke filling the room. 

"Where have you been?", you are two-hours late. "We were marching," - oh sure - the one time Laurie speaks up she immediately spills the beans. OK - to her defense she had no idea we didn't have permission.

The look I gave Laurie only slightly matched the angry stare I was getting from my dad. He knew he didn't give permission, and worse, he knew I knew he didn't give permission.

A lot of yelling and crying occurred with my being grounded for two weeks for lying. Laurie only got a week since she was, for the most part, innocent in the plan. Her punishment was due to not speaking up when she knew it was time to be home. 

In the years that followed I finally got my opportunity to march, although not in any kind of formations like "The Royal Centavos", and we mostly wore white deck shoes instead of fancy boots. 

Laurie and I were members of the American Legion Auxiliary - red beanies, blue and white striped

shirts, blue shorts, blue socks and white shoes. We would proudly march in the parades in Oak Creek for all the important holidays. Our group actually won a couple of Fourth of July parade awards for best youth group entry. I had taught our team some of the marches Kelly had shown me years ago and that helped us to stand out.

Later, I would march with the Oak Creek Community Theatre - sometimes in costume, sometimes with a float. One year we turned our garbage bin into a huge root beer float - we were pun-y like that, and won an honorable mention for best float.

Then as a cubmaster we marched for Pack 330. By then the need for awards was past and we just had a ton of fun with it. I still put the flags out front in my yard from the float we made after 911. My neighbor, Dave, who was in the Navy was our main focal point and he was heralded with cheers from the crowd as we passed.  

A couple of years ago I marched with the Pioneer Travel agency I belong to and handed out magnets to the people watching along the route.

But in all of my parades there just seemed to be something missing. I never got to use my baton twirling skills and most importantly, I still didn't have fancy boots. 

Day 19. Banana chips for lunch

Have you ever had a George Webb's burger? I can tell you there isn't anything better on a cold winters day. A nice greasy burger, fries, pickles and an ice cold coca cola, or maybe grilled cheese with French fries and tomato soup. There will always be a debate about their chili, noodles or not. Cheese, onions, oyster crackers and a cold class of milk.

Lunches that I would have never known existed had it not been for Laura and Patty. Being in school in Cudahy meant that you walked to school. I didn't even know a thing like a school bus existed outside of school field trips until I went to Oak Creek.

In Cudahy you would be lucky if your parent drove you to school to help you bring in a school project. This also meant that you could choose to go home for lunch or bring in your lunch in a bag, although you were supposed to have written permission, most teachers felt that was annoying and really didn't want you hanging for lunch at school anyway so they didn't question. 

Having so many kids at home to keep fed, my mother turned to keeping lunch items locked into a closet. She would ration them out in the morning. Snack cakes, bananas, potato chips, cookies - would be laid out on the kitchen cabinets. But since she had kept them all in one closet, potato chips tasted like bananas and the cookies were soggy.

We packed our lunches daily and walked to school. 

I had two friends that were lucky enough to go home each day for lunch. Patty and Laura. Patty lived with her grand parents and Laura was the only child of a police officer. I would save myself from having to eat at my desk or in the school cafeteria by tagging along with one of them.

Patty's home meant comfort and visits with her grandmother who was all too happy to have us visit and tell her about the latest homework assignment.

Laura's father worked during the day so her home meant eating quickly and then heading to the basement to play in the wood burning stove. We would twist up newspapers to form a long wick that ended in the stove's belly. We would light it and take bets at how long it would take to to ignite the wood that we had pushed into the stove.

It was Laura who introduced me to the big smiling 'G' that had a whole menu full of delicious food. George Webb's was only a few blocks from the school and her father had given her some money for lunch. The first time we went she paid for my burger and coke. 

After that I would have to pay for my own part of the lunch. I had scoured the dump for bottles for my first trip. I began borrowing money from kids in class with the promise of paying them back. By the end of the winter break I was in debt to most of the people I knew. My addiction to the greasy burgers had led me to a life of gluttony. I would do anything to get spend Friday's with Laura at Webb's. My friends were getting antsy and annoyed at my inability to pay them back the promised amount. They were beginning to threaten to tell my parents or even worse the teacher!

I couldn't ask my parents for money, after all, they did provide me with a daily bag lunch so there really was no reason for me to go out for burgers. 

Hmmm cold PB&J or hot grilled cheese and soup. No contest. I would continue to borrow from Peter to pay Paul. Especially if it meant I could toss my 'banana chips' in the garbage.

But the debts were getting to be too much. I needed to come up with a way to pay everyone back and still have my weekly lunch at Webb's.

It was when I was at Patty's, talking to her grandma when it finally became too much to bear. I started to cry. It felt good to be talking to a grown up about my problem. I told her everything, how much I hated banana chips and really loved the burgers. That I had borrowed the most I had ever borrowed in my life and I had no way of paying it back.

I'm not sure what I expected her to do. I guess I was hoping that she would be touched by my story of over indulgence and reach into her purse and hand me the money I needed. But instead she did the most unexpected thing - she told my parents.

I got home and they were waiting for me. Giving me that look. You know that look, the parent all powerful look of disappointment.

Allowance was not a thing in our house, but they were more than happy to find me jobs I could do to help pay them back for the money they gave me to pay back my classmates. 

I bet you're thinking I went to school and paid back my friends aren't you? Well, I paid back most of them. The ones I really liked and wanted to keep as friends. The rest would just have to be happy with the promise I would pay them, some day.

I took the remainder of the money and stashed it, assuring that I would be able to enjoy hot lunch until the end of the school year. I didn't mind doing the extra work at home if it meant I would be able to continue my weekly visit George Webb's with Laura.

I went home and found a bunch of things I no longer wanted from my bedroom and 'paid' my friends with stuff, mostly things I had found in the garbage piles in my alley. Things my mom had been yelling at me to get rid of - killed two birds with one stone. Most of the things were clean and the kids that accepted this form of payment really liked their choice. The remaining ones missed their chance. They weren't going to be able to be paid back.

I had my priorities and needed to protect my future Webb's visits.

A few months later we moved to Oak Creek and my debts to the kids in Cudahy would forever be unsettled.

Day 18. The family you choose

I've always believed that you had two types of family. The one you are born into, and the one you choose. I am not saying that you don't love the family you are born into, I'm just saying that sometimes people come into your life for other reasons than birth and they help you become the person you were meant to be.

For me it started with the Ackers. My mother had been gone for about 6 months when my father tried to fix our furnace and instead blew up the basement, with him in it. While the firemen came and secured the house I played at Ruthie's.

I had started to head home and I heard a voice. "Hey, you, come here."  It was Mrs. Ackers, although at the time I didn't really know her, just as the nice lady that lived next to Ruthie. She handed me an old purse and when I looked inside it was filled with costume jewelry. Necklaces mostly. I sat and talked with them for a while. I never suspected that they were keeping me from the ambulance and the fact that my father may have just died as well.  He didn't - but I am so appreciative that they would care that much for someone they really didn't know - I spent many days at their home. Mr. Ackers was quite a gardener. He raised roses, peonies, and so many other flowers in the side lot. 

My father wasn't really around much after my mom died. It was just so hard for him to look into the faces of his children and see his wife looking back. I don't blame him that and I don't tell you this as a pity statement. Just a matter of fact.

My dad remarried two years later and although I now had a new mom, she also had five more children. Not to mention that she soon had two more children. I don't think there was any reason to not feel close. I can't imagine trying to take care of that many kids. Chris and Mary Beth (the youngest) needed her and my fathers attention. My older sisters were into boys and life in general. I kept myself busy with friends and schemes.

After we moved to Oak Creek I was lost. My friends, and my life had been thrown into turmoil. I hated Oak Creek. Everything was spread out. In Cudahy you could walk anywhere and you had the city bus to take you places. But then I started making friends. Liz, Arlys, Cheri, Patty, Elise, Lori - they were my friends. My peers. But something was still missing.

My sister, Judy, had started babysitting for a lady named Blake. She had two children, Jenny and Rachel. Every now and then Judy would clean and I was allowed to babysit. I understand now their hesitation in allowing me to solo. I wasn't too much older than Jenny - maybe six years. But as time went on Judy got a job and I moved on to top babysitter.

I loved babysitting for Blake - but I would run over and hang out there even when I wasn't needed. Blake became more than an employer. She showed me a different form of parenting than I was used to. Most of my life I had been a loner. I took care of myself and didn't need anyone. Or so I thought.  I'm not sure how much Judy had explained to Blake but she didn't seem to mind me hanging around.

Blake was tall and slender. She walked with a kind of grace and self-assured attitude that I had never seen. Her and Bob were both college graduates, and prior to having children Blake taught journalism and English at the college level. Years later when I was in college I would send her my papers to proof read and critique.

She was also skilled at sewing and helped me to sew my Junior high graduation dress. Starting by taking me to Treasure Island to pick out material and a pattern. I felt like a princess in the blue swiss dot dress we made together. It had puffy, gathered sleeves and a empire waist. Those were terms I didn't know before working on the dress.

Blake also tried to teach me to cook, but that was a skill I have never truly perfected. She would have dinner parties with so many plates and utensils. Thanks to Blake I know how to set a proper table. Blake made me as much a part of her family as she could without overstepping bounds. She had a membership to the YMCA and took me along to help with Jenny and Rachel.

She probably taught me one of the most important lessons I would use years later when I had my own children. The art of relaxing. Bob and Blake were taking a vacation and would always take a babysitter along. Judy went to the Bahamas with them and a few years later asked me to come along to stay in their condo in Florida. 

On the day we were going to leave, Bob broke the news that he had quit his job. It was summer break from school so Blake asked if I could stay for the entire summer. My parents gave their blessing and we all climbed into the car for the trip down. We drove for three days - this was my introduction to road trips, something I enjoy to this day. 

When I was a sophomore my parents bought a smaller house in a different part of Oak Creek and I had to move away, again, from all of my friends - and Blake. 

Without sidewalks, bike paths or a car my world was once again trashed.

Blake figured out a way to have me spend more time at her house, she started teaching CCD (Sunday school) two days a week and asked me to help her out. The church was close to my new home so she would stop and pick me up on the way. She always arrived early and made sure we had time to talk after each class. I believe Blake gave me my love of teaching, watching her interact with the kids in the class was magical. I wanted to be just like her.

Two years later Blake found out she was pregnant again. I was so happy for her. At this point I was a Junior in high school and had started life guarding and teaching swimming lessons. 

Jenny came in for open swim on Saturdays and I would talk with her in the locker room when she was done. It was there that she dropped the bombshell that they were moving to Boston! I had to walk my bike home the full five miles that day since I was crying too hard to see.

After they moved I wrote to Blake weekly to keep in touch. Bob and Blake invited me to spend the summer in Wellesley with them to help with the new baby (Matthew) as well as Jenny and Rachel. I jumped at the chance. Blake cleared it with my dad and sent me a plane ticket. When the ticket came I froze. I had never been on a plane before and my first flight was going to be solo. 

Blake sent me letters to calm my nerves. I read them over and over again. I actually still have the notes.

The day came and I climbed on board, doing exactly as Blake had instructed in her letter.  My heart just about jumped out of my chest when we landed and I saw Bob's smiling eyes at the bottom of the escalator. I had a wonderful summer with the family. We went to the White Mountains for a couple of weeks and spent time on the cape. Blake tried to get me to eat lobster, but she made a mistake by letting me pick them out (live) at the store and carry them home. By the time we arrived I had given them each names and imagined their family life.

Consider having your new friend looking back up at you with sad eyes as you watched it be plopped into the boiling water. Jenny was teasing me as it was put on my plate and I left the room crying. Blake came out and comforted me and even coaxed me back into the kitchen with the promise of a hamburger.

At the end of summer Blake and Bob offered to have me stay for the next two years and finish high school in Wellesley in exchange for watching the kids and helping around the house. They even said they would pay for my college. But I was so homesick by that point that I passed up the offer. I often wonder how my life would have been different if I had stayed.

Years passed, but I never lost track of Blake. I kept on writing. I told her when I got engaged. Blake and Bob let us stay in one of their condos in Florida for our honeymoon. She was one of the first people I told I was pregnant and the first person to send mail to my son Jimmy the day he was born. 

Blake and Bob had moved to Florida when Jenny and Rachel were in High School and when Jimmy was a year old I took him and my niece Kim to Florida to visit. (That story will be another day). In a rare turn of events, Blake came with us to Disney World for a couple of days to relax at the pool.

More years passed, but I never lost contact with Blake. 

When she wrote to tell me about the cancer I was numb. Breast cancer. But Blake was a fighter. And a strong woman. I haven't mentioned it yet, but she swam, daily, Never missed it. Even when we were on all of those vacations, Blake would be in the pool every morning, doing laps.

It took cancer a number of years before it won. My little sister, Jenny (yes I not only adopted Blake as my mom, but Jenny, Rachel and Matthew as siblings) let me know that she had entered hospice, most likely for the final time. Blake never called it that, she always called it 'going to the spa'. 

I was able to visit two more times before she was gone. On the morning of her funeral I gathered in the lunch room of my office and had my co-workers raise a mimosa in her honor.

I lost my mom when I was 7, and again when I was 51.

Day 17. Of mice and men

"Carole"......"Carole"......if you want to help me you have to get up. 

It was my brother Mike's voice. Mike was two years older than me. He was the youngest boy on my step-mother's side. I don't like that word, step, it's stupid. He was my brother and that was it.

"What time is it?" I answered.

"4:00 in the morning"

Oh. Ok, give me a second. 

Mike had inherited Ricky's paper route and I had agreed to help him deliver the morning Sentinel in exchange for part of his tips that week. In those days there were two papers. The Sentinel and the Journal. Both could be delivered by the same kid or it could be split into separate routes. Mike was a dual route kid.

Paper routes in those days were nothing like they are today. Kids, as young as 12 could earn a nice bit of pocket change by pedaling their bike, or as was our case, dragging a wagon to the paper depot each morning and right after school to gather papers for delivery. 

The whole process was manual. Papers were delivered in stacks. You would go and count out the number of  main sections and insert the others inside of it. Once you had enough for the customers on your route you'd check out with the head person and head to the streets of Cudahy. All before the sun even thought of coming up.

Not only that, but paperboys delivered the paper - wait for it - TO YOUR DOOR! I know - what service, hey? 

The paper paid a stipend based on the size of your route. But you could also earn tips, you needed to collect from the customers weekly and turn that money in to the foreman at the depot. Anything that was over the amount due was yours to keep. 

Everything was done by hand, and if you ask me, the paperboy was the heart of the newspaper. Forget about the digital world ruining the newspaper industry, for me, it was removing the kids from paper routes that had me lose interest in subscribing.

Our current paper delivery person never gets out of the car and if the paper is delivered beyond the approach of the driveway then you are lucky. So many times I found our paper had blown down the street.

But today I had told Mike I would help out. I needed to earn a little money - I had my eye on a new opportunity for cash flow and I needed startup funds.

I dragged myself out of bed and dressed. It was fall and the weather was getting colder in the morning. I met Mike downstairs and we got the wagon ready to haul the papers. Ricky had built wooden walls that would allow the wagon to hold more than the  three inch high metal walls, and after years of service were still useable. When we got to the depot I waited outside while Mike got his papers set and checked out.

He carried a set of cards held together with a ring. These were his subscribers and I checked off delivery addresses and pulled the wagon while Mike ran up and down sidewalks, placing the paper between the front doors.

It was a tiring start to the day, but working together made it go fast. When we were finished Mike treated me to donuts and milk from the Layton Liquor store our Aunt and Uncle owned. On Sundays they would have hot ham, rolls and beans as well.

I repeated this every day for a week. Helping Mike out. Then on collection day I went along to keep him company and smile at customers in hopes for bigger tips.

"Here you go, as promised", Mike said as he handed me the two dollars we had agreed on. 

I took the cash and headed to the neighborhood pet store. Looking back all I can say is that the store was quite different than what we have today. It was on the first floor of a two story building. The living quarters were upstairs. Now that I think of it, it was probably a renovated duplex much like our home on Cudahy Avenue.

The store had small cages of various pets. I walked past the fish tanks, turtles, hamsters and stopped in front of a small aquarium filled with mice. The price - $.25 each. I asked for four. I used the other dollar for food.

The store owner, didn't blink an eye, packed them up in a box and handed them, along with the food, to me.

I took my new pets home and put them in an old metal bread box that I had found in the basement. I had it all ready to go with shredded newspaper and water dish. I added the food and hid them under the stairs. I knew my mom would freak if she knew they were there. I couldn't keep them in my room either.

Now parts of what I am about to tell you will seem unbelievable. But I swear that all of the memories are true and if any of my friends from Lincoln School in Cudahy can back me up, please respond!

The next day I went downstairs and took one of the mice, a white one with black spots, and put it in my lunch box. Taking it to school with me to keep in my desk.

OK - here comes the part you won't believe.

Our desks at the time were metal 'pan' style with a hinged lid. Many of my friends had done the same thing, purchased a mouse for 25 cents and had setup at school 'homes' for them in our desk. Oh, before you wonder, yes, our teacher knew about the mice and allowed it. 

Some of the setups in the desks were quite elaborate. They had bedrooms, kitchens and play areas. We would carry the mice back and forth to school and take them outside to play with in the grass. Every now and then one would escape by burrowing deep into the thick lawn. But then you would just go get another one.

That's when the light bulb had gone on above my head and why I had purchased four mice when two would have been plenty. One for me, and one for Mike.

I had hoped that the remaining mice at home could be sold for a profit to other kids who had lost their mouse in the lawn, or to replace one that died. I was thinking maybe 50 cents each. I really didn't think through the whole supply and demand thing. I mean, why would they pay twice as much for a mouse from me when they could go to the pet store and get their own?

So here I was, using what little money I earned from Mike to take care of my fifteen mice. 

Wait. fifteen?

I know, I said I had purchased four, and even though I had lost one at school and gave one to Mike, somehow I now had fifteen. I was as surprised as you, I had no idea how that happened. Well, I had some idea, but they were so young to have kids. Obviously other mice in the area had heard about how well I took care of my pets and crawled into the breadbox to be a part of the clan.

Fifteen turned into twenty-five. My small bread box was getting crowded so I found a card board box in the garage and moved half into each box. 

OK - have you guessed what the problem was with that last sentence? You guessed it. I didn't separate them by sex. So they kept multiplying. Oh, and of course the cardboard box wasn't the best idea. I didn't realize (or didn't think it through) that the mice would chew their way through the box. In fact, I didn't know they had escaped at all until I heard it.

The scream heard around the world.

My secret stash of mice had been discovered. Not by opening the now foul smelling bread box, but by having them running all over the basement.

My mom was not happy. 

I spent a good part of the day catching as many of the mice as I could and placing them back into the metal breadbox (I had by this time figured out the problem with cardboard). I'm really not sure how many found a better life in freedom and I shudder to think of the ones that met the fate of the mouse trap, but I did sell enough of the mice back to the pet store.

I used the money to buy a hamster.

Day 16. Sheridan Safari

Do you remember the day your memory started? I don’t mean the days of memories everyone else has given you, but the actual day your brain started storing your own memories. 

I do. 

I was five, had just woke up and looked out the window of my room on the second floor of our home on Cudahy Avenue. At that point I actually said to myself, “this is just like a story book”.

On this one particular day it happened to be sunny and warm outside. I was looking out the window of my second floor room. I decided that if there were ever a fire in our house I would toss all of my stuffed animals and favorite dolls out the window. This followed by the thought that it would be much easier if all of my toys were tied together, that way I would only have to throw one out the window and the rest would follow. 

I went to great lengths to make sure all of my prized positions were carefully secured to one another. I had a huge pile of toys combined and ready to go at a moment’s notice – all shoved under my bed. That would do it. Thankfully I never had to work out my plan, but if a nasty fire started – I was ready.

Where was I? Oh yeah, the start of my memory. If I was going to start remembering things, I chose the perfect day to begin. It just so happens that this day would lead to an epic event, one that would solidly stay with me the rest of my life, a journey showing that I craved adventure – regardless of cost. 

I dressed quickly; grabbed two socks from the sock box that I am sure didn’t match because I literally just grabbed two socks, and ran to breakfast. Dad had already left for work and Mom was in the kitchen drinking coffee and having a cigarette. I gave her a quick hug and headed for the toaster. “What are you going to do today?” mom asked. “I am going to head out on a safari” I told her. 

I had started watching old Johnny Weissmuller Tarzan episodes and safaris were my new ‘thing'. I proceeded to purposely burn my toast, It was the only way I liked to eat it, spread some jelly on it and shoved it into my mouth. I washed it down with a glass of milk and ran out the back door with a quick ‘bye mom’ over my shoulder. 

Outside the sun hit my face, I ran past the large evergreen tree my mom had planted in the middle of the yard and back to our small garage. Inside it was my freedom, my trusted stead, a red, slightly rusty, tricycle. Peddling next door to my friend, Patrick’s house I hummed a non-distinctive hum, nothing specific. My mind was already thinking of the day – safari, we needed to find some wild animals. I knew there had to be some in our small Cudahy town. 

“Can Patrick come out?” I yelled through the back screen door of his home, it was a simpler time and yelling in back doors was just a normal part of the day. I waited for what seemed like hours as Patrick finished his breakfast, washed up and came out to join the expedition. Patrick was a thin, “Howdy Doody” looking kid. He had lived on the block longer than I had, but we had just recently decided it was ok to hang out together. 

“Hi, what do you want to do?” Patrick asked. “Safari” was my one word reply. “Let’s go get Tommy”. We hopped on our bikes and were off to the adventure of a lifetime. 

Adventure – that was the word – it was probably the best way to describe me – always looking for adventure. 

Patrick and I headed out of his yard and down the alley. 

Traveling down alley’s was the kids expressway. We needed to pedal fast as we could – daylight was wasting and Tommy lived at the end of the block. Thankfully for this trip the alleyway slopped downward, making our trip even faster. 

“Tommy! Come on! Hurry up!” came our shouts through his back door. Tommy, was slightly taller than Patrick. He had jet black hair and in my mind always seemed to be wearing a striped shirt and blue shorts. He lived in a large white house and had the best club house you ever saw. It was actually his sisters, but we had claimed it many times over as our own meeting place. Patrick and I headed to the little white house with the pretty flower boxes and went inside. We needed to plan our safari so that we could find the wild animals.

Patrick and I sat in the club house talking about something (my memory is only so good) and waiting for Tommy to arrive. 

Our neighborhood was only one block from Sheridan park. None of us were allowed to go there without an adult. So, of course, it became the goal for our day. In order for it to be a true adventure, we couldn’t ask for permission – safari’s, after all, were serious business. Besides, it would compromise the mission if we had to wait for an older sibling to come with us. 

Finally, Tommy came into the club house, we told him the plan and headed out.

We made a quick stop at the house next to Tommy’s to get a supply of grapes. The woman who owned the house had once made the mistake of telling me I could help ourselves to them, this of course, in my mind meant for the rest of my life I would be able to help myself to her grapes. 

We headed to the corner and crossed. Note, I did not say “waited for the light to turn green" - adventurous safari hunters do not wait to cross – but we did look both ways, I think. 

We continued into the park, checking trees – yelling if we found any evidence of wild animals. “I found some tracks”! came a yell. We followed the tracks (I am sure the belonged to a large dog, but in our mind it was a tiger) all the way to the pond; the tracks started trailing into the water. I was so focused I didn’t realize that I had peddled in as well, following the tracks. 

OK, in reality, I wanted to see how far I could ride into the pond, imaging I was Gilligan the time he rode his tricycle into the pond up to his hat. I wasn’t so lucky. The front tire of my tricycle got stuck in the mud, I dismounted and walked back out, leaving my it behind. I would have to travel by foot at this point. 

We searched the banks of the pond for more tracks and were able to pick up the hunt at the other end. This new trail led us down the bike path, sloping lower and lower; until we finally ended at the shores of Lake Michigan. Truthfully, this part was not imagination. Sheridan Park in Cudahy ends at the Lake Michigan shores. Now you may understand even better why we were not allowed to travel to the park on our own. 

When we hit the beach I realized our group had become smaller. One of our team did not make the treacherous trip down the path. I had failed as a safari guide. 

“Patrick!” 

We called trying to locate our friend. 

“I’m not going down there, I’m not supposed to!” 

Patrick’s reply came from on top of the cliff. He had chickened out, but not wanting to dessert us, stayed at the top of the cliff as a look out while Tommy and I continued on the safari. 

We had tracked the beast all the way to the lake, but then the tracks disappeared into so many pretty rocks, sand and dead fish. We forgot all about the safari, distracted by the rocks, and instead began throwing them into the surf. We did this for a while, then we heard the scariest sound of all. 

“There they are!” 

Yup – Patrick, the world's worst look out had ratted us out. 

The color drained from my sunburned face as I looked up to see my mom, along with Tommy and Patrick's looking back down at us. I smiled and waved.

None of them looked too happy.

Now, I could go into great detail about what happened next. Instead I will give you a moment to let your own imaginations think about it.

Nope, worse! 

My mom's search party had found my tricycle in the pond and had concluded the worst, then they spotted Patrick and their fear grew.

I was grounded to the house for a week, lost the privilege of riding my tricycle for a month, and had to apologize to Patrick and Tommy’s mom for being the ringleader. 

That was it, the start of memories. But what a great way to begin.