NOTE--To see an on-line version of this newsletter, copy this link and paste it into your web browser: http://www.reminisce.com/rd.asp?id=115&firstname=$$firstname$$&emailaddress=$$email$$&refurl=$$refurl-link$$ If you have questions or wish to unsubscribe, see the instructions at the bottom of this email. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ REMINISCE Newsletter - January 2007 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Dear $$firstname$$, Now that the holiday hustle and bustle is over with, start your January leisure time by enjoying this latest issue of the Reminisce newsletter. We hope the heartwarming stories keep you cozy and the lighter entries keep your disposition rosy. In this issue: --> Life on the Flip Side --> Postcard Greetings for the New Year --> Visits Full of Milk and Sugar --> Poem: The Old Maid and the Burglar --> When the Depression Hit Home --> Time Capsule Trivia --> Joke of the Month --> A Thought to Remember ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Life on the Flip Side ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ When I was a high school sophomore in the late 1960s, having the perfect “flip” to your hair could bring you instant status. A new girl, Janet, had quickly become popular just because of the way her hair “swooshed” up at the ends. She had the ultimate flip. I needed to know the secret to how her hair flipped up and around to that perfect right-side-up curl. I never learned how to do much with my tresses. If you flipped through our yearbooks, you would recognize the same Toni-perm hairdo on the same face just 1 year older in each picture. I finally felt comfortable enough at one of our pajama parties to ask Janet, “So, what is the secret to your perfect flip?” I whispered. I was shocked at her inexpensive solution. Her secret could be found on the shelf of the nearest grocery store. Janet used cherry-flavored Jell-O to set her hair! I could handle both the price and the process. To me, it was like finding the Holy Grail! Janet had pretty thick hair, but mine was on the fine side. When she explained how she dissolved just a tablespoon of those magic crystals in warm water, I figured I needed the whole packet. I was not going to school the next day with my normal “wash and wear” hair. People were going to sit up and take notice! I washed my thin, blonde hair and dipped my mom’s nylon comb in the fruity solution before pulling it through my wet strands. Then, I twisted my hair around my pink, foam rollers and rolled them as close to my head as I could get. Next, I placed one of those fishnet-like hairnets over my masterpiece. I’m sure I fell asleep that night dreaming of walking into school with a flip worthy of any cheerleader or majorette. The next morning, I prepared for the unveiling. I placed my round makeup mirror strategically on the bathroom counter and began taking out each roller. I couldn’t wait for the soft curls to come cascading past my cheeks onto my shoulders. But to my amazement and dismay, each section of my curled hair sprung stiffly back to my scalp in a tight coil. By the time all my hair was released from their Jell-O restraints, my head looked like something from a science fiction movie. I called Janet and told her what I had done. She said, “Oops! You should have used lemon Jell-O. You used how much? Pink foam rollers? You should have used my large wire rollers!” She was no help. And, what did she care? She would still hold her title of Queen of the Flip. What was I to do? I was 15 minutes away from the late bell at school. I grabbed the stiffest Fuller hairbrush I could find and brushed away. All of the brushing caused the Jell-O to flake all over me and the new madras shirt I had chosen for my flip debut. Off to school I went, hoping no one would notice. I just held my head a little higher each time I heard someone sniffing the air and saying, “Do you smell fruit?” Through many more trials of other hair products, I finally got my flip. But from that day on, Jell-O was just something I ate, not a hair solution—and not a solution to my popularity, either. —Kathy Robertson Middleburg Heights, Ohio ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Postcard Greetings for the New Year ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ These postcards belonged to my husband’s mother’s oldest sister, Elsie. At 17 years of age, she left home and worked as a housekeeper in various cities, but mostly in the Merrill, Wisconsin area. As she received postcards from family and friends, she filed them in a postcard album, which we received after her death in 1975. The cards were written to her spanning the years of 1907 to 1919. We greatly treasure these mementos of her life back then. One is signed, “Wishing you a Happy New Year! In haste, Emma.” Another, from 1912, says “Hello: Thank you ever so much for the kindness you have shown to me. Wish you a Happy New Year. Wishing you all good health, every one of you. Hope will hear from you soon. Send my best regards to all and keep some for yourself. –Cousin Frank” —Shirley Zuelsdorff View postcards: http://www.reminisce.com/RD.asp?ID=120&pmcode=$$refurl-link$$ View postcards: http://www.reminisce.com/RD.asp?ID=121&pmcode=$$refurl-link$$ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Visits Full of Milk and Sugar ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ One of my greatest joys as a child in the mid-1950s was to spend Friday nights at the home of two wonderful people in Iron Mountain, Michigan. To their friends, they were Clifton and Gertie. To me, they were Grandpa and Grandma. We did word searches and counted pennies in the mason jar hidden behind the old floor-model radio. Sometimes, Grandma and I would crank up the old Victrola and listen to the 78-RPM records. While the music played, she rocked me in the old wooden rocker. I loved it when the music slowed down and the voices got lower and lower. Other times, if it was a warm night, the three of us would sit on the porch swing and count how many times the crickets would rub their back legs together in 1 minute. Cards were a favorite pastime. We played rummy and dirty eight, sometimes nicknamed “dirty Gertie” by Gramps when Grandma would win. As the grandfather clock rang eight times and bedtime drew near, I was given weak tea with lots of milk and sugar in it. Grandma’s donuts, currant cookies or saffron bread were some of the treats to go with our tea. Grandpa always dumped his tea in his saucer to cool it and drank it from there, much to Grandma’s dislike. “The only reason I married him,” she kidded, “was to get him to quit pestering me!” After our bedtime snack, I climbed up 13 creaking stairs to crawl into the large, lumpy bed with the homemade, patchwork quilts. As they swallowed me up, I pretended to be a caterpillar in a cozy cocoon. Grandma always had time to lie on the bed, listen to my prayers and softly sing about the birds of every color until I fell asleep knowing how much I was loved. Grandpa, a carpenter by trade, would make kites in the spring that flew higher than any other, stilts in the summer to make us taller than the other children and skis for winter fun. I was made to feel very special. Everyone in the neighborhood came to Grandpa for free haircuts and a “fish that got away” story to go with it. He lived by the motto, “If you don’t have something good to say about a person, don’t say anything at all.” His pleasures were simple: his pipe, his transistor radio and Detroit Tigers baseball. My grandparents’ most-prized possession was Hungry Hollow, an old, two-room, log cabin painted forest green with white and red trim. It was nestled in the woods, 20 miles from their home in Iron Mountain. On Sundays, after church, my grandparents would drive to the camp with a picnic lunch packed in red tins. If my family was lucky enough to go along, we’d play cards, rock in the rocking chair beneath the stuffed head of a magnificent buck, and take salt and apples down to the deer lick and eagerly wait for dusk and the deer. I remember catching frogs in the pond and being ever watchful for wood ticks. The warmth and coziness of the camp mingled with a musty smell. A fire crackled in the wood-burning stove, while kerosene lamps gave off a soft glow. The old pump had ice-cold, iron-tasting water. We bounced on the sagging brass bed and the cracked leather couch as we giggled and read catalogs from 40 years past. These joys far outweighed the occasional encounter with a snakeskin or a dead mouse, or that fearful trip to the outhouse after dark. I was full of wonder when Gramps would take me for a walk in the woods and name all the trees and wildflowers, opening my eyes to nature as he talked about the animals’ habits. One year, I witnessed the migration of hundreds of Canadian geese. Grandpa said, “Mary Ellen, do you see how those geese are flying in a ‘V’ formation? Do you know why the right side is longer than the left side?” he questioned. “No, Grandpa, why?” I asked. “Because there are more birds in it,” he twinkled, always one for a joke or story. My grandparents’ lives were simple, their love constant and their faith strong. What a wonderful legacy they gave me. —Mary Henderson Iron Mountain, Michigan ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Poem: The Old Maid and the Burglar ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ (An anonymous poem shared by Barbara Menz-Smith, Scituate, Massachusetts) A story I’ll tell of a burglar bold Who started to rob a house. He opened a window and then crept in As quiet as a mouse. He looked around for a place to hide Till the folks were all asleep. And then, said he, “With all their money I’ll take a quiet sneak.” So under the bed the burglar crept He crept up close to the wall; He didn’t know it was an old maid’s room Or he wouldn’t have had the gall. He thought of the money he would steal As under the bed he lay, But at 9 o’clock he saw a sight That made his hair turn gray. At 9 o’clock the old maid came in; “I’m so tired,” she said. She thought that all was well that night, So she didn’t look under the bed. She took out her teeth and her big glass eye And the hair all off her head; The burglar, he had forty fits As he watched from under the bed. From under the bed the burglar crept, He was a total wreck; The old maid wasn’t asleep at all And she grabbed him by the neck. She didn’t holler, or shout, or call, She was as cool as a clam; She only said, “The saints be praised, At last I’ve got a man!” From under the pillow a gun she drew And to the burglar she said, “Young man, if you don’t marry me, I’ll blow off the top of your head.” She held him firmly by the neck, He hadn’t a chance to scoot; He looked at the teeth and the big glass eye And said, “Madam, for Pete’s sake, SHOOT!” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ When the Depression Hit Home ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Each day after grade school let out, my three brothers, two sisters and I would walk to the drugstore in Jackson, North Carolina, where Daddy would be standing on the corner with some men. “Daddy, please give me a nickel,” I’d ask. In fact, all of us asked. Daddy always reached down into his pocket and handed out the nickels he’d saved during the day. In those days, three candy bars cost a dime, a soda was a nickel and you could buy many different kinds of candy for a penny a piece. One night, after we had finished eating supper, Daddy asked us all to meet him in the living room. We six youngest of 11 children were still living at home and knew that this was about something serious. We sat quietly as our father said, “Things are tough now. I don’t want any of you to come up to me on the street when I’m talking to men and ask for a nickel. It would embarrass me because I won’t be able to give one to you. It’s going to take all the nickels I can scrape together to feed you.” Though I was just 9 years old, this made an impression on me. I never forgot it and never asked him for another nickel. The banks closed in the early 1930s and Daddy lost all his money and our big house. Daddy had built this house, the most modern house in town with central heating, radiators and a windmill to pump water from the well to the bathrooms. We moved into a much smaller house with a parlor and no living room. The wood-burning fireplace was only used when we had special company. We didn’t have indoor plumbing. A pitcher and bowl were used for bathing and there was an outhouse. We pumped our water using a pump on the back porch. Things remained tough after that. Years passed, and when I was a high school junior, I wanted so badly to purchase a class ring and asked Daddy about it. He thought a minute and said, “I’ll tell you what. I’ll buy you some little biddies, and if you raise them, you can sell them to buy the ring.” I was eager to get started. Nothing came easy in those years, and I was willing to work for my dream. Daddy and I put up shelves inside the storage shed behind the house and that’s where we put my hundred chicks. I fed the young hens and gave them water and they quickly grew bigger and moved to the floor that we covered with hay. When those chickens were sold, I prized the class ring that I earned myself. —May Fleetwood Paschall, Raleigh, North Carolina, as told to Parke and Evelyn Musselman, Bethlehem, Pennsylvania ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Time Capsule Trivia ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Can you guess the year of these five historical happenings? The answer is given below, but no peeking! Amelia Earhart becomes the first woman aviator to fly solo across the Atlantic Ocean. The world’s largest movie theater, Radio City Music Hall, opens in New York City. Kidnapping becomes a federal crime after the 20-month-old son of famous aviator Charles Lindbergh is abducted from the Lindbergh home in New Jersey and killed despite a ransom being paid. Johnny Weissmuller, a former Olympic gold medalist in swimming, stars in his first Tarzan movie, Tarzan, the Ape Man. The husband-and-wife team of George Burns and Gracie Allen breaks into radio on The Guy Lombardo Show. We’re sure you guessed that these events are from the 1930s, but did you know the answer? It was 1932. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Joke of the Month: ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Barbara Palladino of Boynton Beach, Florida shares this story from a church magazine: Early on a cold, misty morning, a woman was on her way to her job in town and crossed an icy bridge too fast. Her car slid off the bridge, flipped over a guardrail and rolled down a 30-foot embankment. Miraculously, the car landed upright on all four wheels. Getting out of the car, the woman surveyed the damage as a man came running down the hill from a nearby house. “Are you hurt?” he shouted. “No, I’m all right,” the woman answered. “Really, I’m not hurt.” After a pause, she added quietly, “God was with me.” The man studied her in amazement and finally said, “Okay, I reckon He was. But lady, if He keeps riding with you, He’s gonna get Himself killed!” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A Thought to Remember: ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ It’s preferable to believe the best of everybody…it saves so much trouble. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ This email was sent to: $$email$$ HAVE A FRIEND who enjoys the good old days? Feel free to forward this newsletter! 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