The Sounds of Music

Recently I was doing a little channel surfing and came across one of the best musicals ever, The Sound of Music, starring Julie Andrews and Christopher Plummer. As a kid I was absolutely fascinated with this musical. In fact, I will say it, I wanted to be Maria Von Trapp. Not in the sense that she was a postulate nun, but I wanted to sing like her and galavant about a spacious estate in Austria caring for 7 children and teaching them to sing like nightingales much to their father's chagrin. Then I realized, I was 9 and all likelihood that would not happen ever to a girl from a very small village in Wisconsin. So, instead, I took up the reins of "Director" and made my ever-present cousin, Tanya, my Big Sister, Amy and Baby Sister become the stars of our own production of The Sound of Music. Amy (of course) was always Liesl (the suffering 16-going-on-17 year-old), Baby Sister was Gretel (she was only 3 and didn't have any lines much) and Tanya was Brigitta (not that she was very thrilled with being a secondary character) but she would also pick up lines for Louisa, Friedrich, Kurt and Marta if needs be. She was a very talented actress. I, of course, would be Maria. I knew all her lines and the words to the songs by heart. (So I was being Kevin Kostner directing AND starring in the main role...sue me.) We would put the record on the hi-fi and start singing along with it, the song bursting out of us like an overfilled balloon. We were positively magnificent. When we would go to my Aunt and Uncle's farm, they had the perfect place to perform. They had the neatest addition to their house that had a red carpeted stairway that we would practice "So Long, Farewell" on. Here, I would step in to play multiple roles so the song would play out correctly, like you do. We decided that after much practice and perfecting our roles, we would perform for Aunt and Uncle, Mom and Dad and Gramma and Grampa S. We were quite certain that some movie mogul would be innocently driving by and hear us singing and burst into the house to offer us an exclusive movie deal. (Because, there are so many rogue movie moguls roving about rural West Central Wisconsin...) So, the hour of our performance had come...and...Baby Sister backs out. She didn't like people watching her. Ok. Fine. We can work around the Gretel parts. Then, Big Sister backs out, mainly because at 11 years of age, she would feel a little foolish singing along to a record in front of people- never mind it was family and we had to listen to her sing along to her radio at the top of her lungs in her room- and she had an image to protect. Ok, well, this performance was in a downward spiral and obviously was going to close before it even opened. So, here are two people, trying to play the roles of approximately 15 people (don't forget the nuns in "How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria" and Reverend Mother in "Climb Every Mountain" and of course, Rolf in "Sixteen Going on Seventeen"). Seriously, if I had to take on Liesl how was Tanya going to lift me during that song? Well, needless to say, much to the disappointment of our audience we had to close the curtains on our production of "The Sound of Music." My dreams of being an Academy Award winning Actress and Director shattered, I took my record off the hi-fi and went to the back bedroom and put on "Climb Every Mountain" to practice for my next career choice... Opera Singer.

Kool-Aid Stands and low traffic areas

Admit it, at least once in your youth you had a Kool-Aid stand. However, having a Kool-Aid stand in the country was not such an easy task. As usual, my cousin, Tanya, was visiting for the summer and we decided we wanted to have a Kool-aid stand to make some pocket money. (I mean, what kid at the ages of 9 and 6 didn't need a few bucks for whatever?) We had visions of becoming young entrepeneurs and being able to afford everything we wanted. Our own swimming pool, clothes and all the candy we could eat. Who didn't dream of all the wonderful things one-hundred bucks could buy?!? So, we decided on a strategy. This generally was a discussion on which kind of kool-aid to make and who was in charge of the sign and who was in charge of the money. These would be the titles of Product Specialist, Marketing Manager and CFO, repsectively. I was put in charge of making the Kool-aid. Cherry packet, scoop of sugar (this was before the world became health concious and actually put a crap-ton of sugar in everything) and water. Well...my job is done. Tanya was put in charge of the sign. She had some pretty fantastic artistic abilities and we left it up to her discretion. Giant piece of tag board, Crayola markers and concentration. Her completed sign was a masterpiece "NICE REFRESHING CHERRY KOOL-AID- 25 cents!" I think that will get attention. Big sister was put in charge of the money. She found a box to put it in. Done. So, grabbing some plastic cups, we loaded the Kool-Aid and the money box and the sign into the Radio Flyer wagon and headed down the quarter-mile to the end of our lane and set up shop (as it were) and waited for our customers to come pouring in. and waited.....and waited....and waited....(did I mention it was a humid 85 degrees outside that day?) Heck! We have been here 15 minutes and hadn't had one single car stop for our delicious, ice-cold beverage yet. We would wave our sign when cars went by, but no one even gave us a second glance. This was much more difficult than we thought. WE had better try a new strategy because this one certainly wasn't working for us. Suddenly, we saw a milk truck heading in our direction. Ok, this guy has been sitting in a hot truck all day and I am sure he will want a drink. Let's wave our sign and see if he stops. We started waving our sign and jumping up and down so he saw us. Uh-oh...he was going to drive by. He rounded the corner and started driving by. In a burst of PR genius, Tanya screams out at the passing truck "HALF PRICE!!" The truck slams on his brakes and comes to a screeching halt. A mustachioed face with thick lenses, sticks his head out the window, "How much?" With a toothy grin, Tanya blurts out, "25 cents, but we are having a sale! For you 10 cents!" (which I don't think is exactly half price, but how do you charge 12 1/2 cents for something?) The guy disappears back into the truck apparently to grab some money, "Got change for a dollar?" (Change?!? We didn't have any change, we were relying on people paying exact price with their own change.) Tanya grins, "I can run back to the house, Mister, if you don't mind waiting!" The bespectacled gentleman peers at us thru his thick lenses, his blue eyes twinkling, "Nah, you girls look pretty warm and you deserve a little extra for your time on this hot day. Keep the change!" I hand our customer his glass of Kool-Aid, thank him and wave as he drives off. We pocket our dollar and then look at each other. In silent agreement we start packing up our stuff and make the long trek back to the house with our measly dollar, dreams of amazing gifts we could buy shattered. However, that single milk truck driver taught us a valuable lesson that day...never carry change, you will get more than the price you are asking.

Snow Day and the Undeniable truth

Ah! Snow days! We LIVED for snow days when I was a kid. If there was even a HINT of snow we were glued to the evening news to see what the weatherman was saying for our area. Please please PLEASE let it be at least a foot of snow. Enough that they would have the schools cancel because the buses couldn't get thru the ridges and valleys. Now, I know it is impossible to wake up a 9 year old during the week but if there was a possibility of a snow day? Then we were up when Mom and Dad got up at 6 just so we could hear the weather report... "Here are the list of schools cancelled and or delayed...Ithaca- cancelled, Kickapoo- cancelled, North Crawford- Cancelled...(come on Richland Center!!)...Richland Center...CANCELLED." YES!!!!! Immediately, we would run and get dressed and get ready to go out to brave the storm and untouched snow with our sleds. Never mind it was 10 below and the wind chill was -25. It was a DAY OFF FROM SCHOOL!! We could not waste a single moment! There were drifts to be dug into to make forts out of, hills to slide down, ramps to be made! Come on people we have work to do! As we got older we would pray for snow days just so we could watch soap operas and game shows and sit around and eat junk all day. It was very important to find out if Victor and Nikki were going to get back together or if Beth and Phillip were going to the prom together. I mean, this was as important as our own lives! Only far more glamourous. Then when we got into high school it was a day for talking on the phone to your friends for hours and the inevitable chores that Mom would leave for us. (Admit it, you waited until about 2 hours before Mom came home to actually start them. That way the Pine-Sol would still be smelling on the freshly mopped floor when she came in.) When college came, there was no such thing as snow days. College very rarely closed for anything and the professors left it up to your own judgement if it was safe to come to class or not. Generally, if you were paying for college like I was, you tried to go because dang....it was a waste of money to claim a snow day when you were 20 years old. Besides, you had that quiz today that the professor would not allow a make-up on if you missed. Then you graduate college and get a real job. There are NO snow days at work. None. They don't close down because of a little snow. WHAT!!?!??! I want to be a kid again....

Wooden school desks

Ah! The first day of grade school, time to pick out your new desk! Or at least, in MY day we got to pick out our desk. And I mean the cool desks, not the kind with the basket underneath to set your books, the ones that the lid lifted up on and you could put your books inside along with your pencils, notebooks, erasers, pencil box, rubber bands, spitball straw, the illegal pack of gum...all the stuff a kid needs to survive from school day to school day. Hinged wooden desks that when you lifted them up and didn't remember to hold them up would crash onto your head or slam down on your hand causing vast amounts of pain and agony and (if you were lucky- fingers crossed) a visit to the nurses office. My desk. A veritable treasure trove of unimaginable delights. One never could be certain of what would be in there after about 3 weeks. and sometimes, you weren't really sure you wanted to know. Yet you were always surprised when you found that one assignment that was due 4 days ago. You know, the one you got an incomplete on? After several weeks of school we were ordered to clean our desks out. Each row got a garbage can and the paper shuffling and book dropping would commence, along with declarations of "THERE that is!!" No one was ever allowed to rifle through anyone else's desk or even touch it, otherwise certain death would have ensued. Or at the very least a sound scolding from the teacher and merciless teasing from classmates. I mean, it isn't any of your business if someone has cough drops or anti-gas tablets in your desk in case of sore throat or gastrointestinal distress. NO SIREE! You just keep your hands off, Bub! The old wooden hinged desks also had that little metal hook that you would pull down and it would fit snugly into the pencil tray and hold your desk perfectly horizontal and not at a slant. That way you could make your paper mache' globe without it rolling down into your lap. Not that that ever happened... I remember one particular boy in my third grade class was not particularly "clean" about his desk nor did he follow the "proper care of your desk" rules. His desk was constantly overflowing with pencils, loose leaf papers and worksheets spilling onto the floor creating a veritable paper hazard (which most of us kids knew was purely intentional); waiting for the inattentive passerby to slip, arms flailing, feet above their heads, crashing to the floor, papers floating to the crime scene like giant square snowflakes. Many a time he caught the unsuspecting student in his carefully planned trap. Pointing to the bleeding and dazed victim on the floor, he would laugh his evil maniacal laugh like a man in Bedlam. Some of the other kids would snicker, until they saw the injured party hurt and crying, then they would give the perpetrator a scathing and disgusted look. It was all fun and games for him until the day the Teacher fell neatly into his tiger trap. And when I say "fell" I mean hurtled to the ground like an Atom bomb on the sand plains. I must say, looking back on it, it was pure grace in slow motion. Teacher hit the stray piece of paper and skated about 3 feet in a Hamill Camel on one orthopedic heel, arms out to her sides for balance, her sheaf of papers trailing behind her in the breeze. Her heel caught in one of the broken tiles of the floor and she started to descend to the cold marble in graceful repose, taking out 4 other desks as she tried to find a hold to break her fall. Students began spilling out of their desks like a broken bag of potato chips, desperately clawing the air trying to keep their seats but unsuccessful in their meek attempts and finally giving up to the inevitable forces of gravity. Teacher came to rest face down after bouncing twice on her chest (thanks to her cross-your-heart bra), face down in the middle of the aisle, smacking her forehead, bloodying her nose and breaking her coke bottle lenses on the unforgiving tile. No one said or did anything for a the length of a breath and then the Kid starting laughing while the rest of us looked on in shock. In fact, he laughed so hard, he fell out of his desk and into the aisle behind her, completely helpless with laughter. Teacher scrambled to her feet, with the Kid still laughing like a crazed baboon on steroids, she scrambled to her feet. Whipping a hankie from her blouse, staunching the flow of blood from her nose and without missing a beat through near blindness, she grabbed the Kid by his ear and dragged him out of his seat and down the hall to the Principal's office. The rest of the class sat in stunned disbelief unsure of what to do in the aftermath. We slowly looked around the room- which resembled the fallout of a nuclear explosion- and stared at each other with pie-plate eyes. What exactly was going to happen to the Kid? What would happen? The Rack? The Chinese Water Torture? Bamboo under the fingernails? Suddenly, the silence was broken by howling and screaming coming from the direction of the Principal's office, as if some demon from the depths of Hell was loosed in our small little country school. I believe it was at that point he thought his prank ceased to be funny.

Fashion Police

Now if there is one thing about me everyone knows, I am not a slave to fashion. In truth, I have no fashion sense whatsoever and I could seriously use a complete makeover with clinton and Stacy from What Not To Wear... I was fliping thru some old picture albums of mine from the 70's and 80's and I realized that fashion has seemed to come full circle. Well, i shouldn't say FULL circle as I don't see anyone wearing farthingales and wasp waists with long heavily adorned gem encrusted dresses or breeches and enlarged codpieces of the Elizabethan era... I am referring to, of course, the boot cut jeans and peasant tops of the 70's and the (dear God what were we thinking) leg warmers of the 80's. I remember the Prairie skirts and the ruffled blouses that my older sister wore in middle school in the name of fashion. Then came high school and the era of baggy Lee jeans and baggy Lee pinstripe jeans. All dark denim of course. I was quite happy in my body lingo jeans and Star Wars t-shirts when I was in grade school. I mean, who did I have to impress? 6th grade boys? Yuck. When I graduated to middle school I had to go to town as I went to a small (and I mean like 60 students small) elementary school. Middle school "townies" set the fashion trend. What are Lee jeans and Nike tennis shoes? What are rainbow shirts and sweaters? I grew up in the country where I wore clothes to keep warm and play outside in. I did not grow up on a farm and I was no where near a "country girl" listening to country music. My music tastes ran toward the Eagles, Lynrd Skynrd, Steve Miller, the Beatles Magical Mystery Tour and oldies, thanks to having a dad who played drums in a band for years. But I digress... I remember one girl telling me that clothes defined who we were. I thought...well, if that is the case, why give a false definition?!? Here I am, Star Wars t-shirt, jeans and tennis shoes. This is me. To this day, it is still me. On weekends I wear yoga pants and my Ramones t-shirt for cleaning the house. I wear my Wonder Woman t-shirt to go to the grocery store. I have a ponytail in my hair- no, I don't wear a Scunci. I did give up that fashion horror in the 90's along with my scrunched down socks over my leggings...when I was thin enough to wear leggings... I dress nicely for work, but I wear dress clothes that I have had for about 10+ years. Why? Because I have kids who outgrow clothes faster than I do and they need them worse. I am pretty lucky because my 13-year-old daughter is also NOT a slave to fashion and doesn't demand the really expensive clothes from brand name stores. Nope! She is content with jeans and t-shirts like her mom. Right now she seems to be obsessed with Bucky Badger and Wisconsin shirts. That is fine. I like how she looks! She looks comfy and happy and she is who she is. I will admit, I do have some clothes from high school that I have pulled out- no, I cannot fit into them, thankyouverymuch- and laughed at. I washed them up and then listed them on ebay calling them Retro Shaker Sweater from the ACTUAL 80's!! I got $25 for each of them. Fashion slave my kiester....