It has been a treat that my seven and five-year-old granddaughters have been spending several days a week at my house this summer. We begin the day with a writing prompt, usually current events (they found a frog in their paddling pool) or the weather (too hot to go to the playground). They copy the sentence and then draw a picture in their summer journals. We make a de-tox smoothie with bananas, wild blueberries, mangoes, kale, and dulse (seaweed). While we drink our smoothies we discuss our plans for our day. We then do an art project, watercolor painting with pastel crayon resist is always a favorite. We have really enjoyed air dry clay, also.

Reading is always a priority, we have loved reading a series of chapter books about a very brave mouse named Mona who is a maid at the grandest hotel in Fernwood Forest. Mona is a very compelling character, she is an orphan and her only possession is a suitcase with a heart carved on it. Mona saves the hotel guests in some very precarious and dangerous situations. We have become huge Mona fans, we love a good “girl power” book. I bought a mouse sewing pattern and the three of us are now stitching our own mice. We are knitters so a sweater or scarf might be a great addition to Mona’s wardrobe.

The girls love my garden, they visit our two cats, check the chicken coop for eggs, and pick a bouquet of flowers for our kitchen table. They count the number of bees and dragonflies everyday and they help with watering the plants on our deck.

The bedrooms in our house still have a few of my children’s belongings in them, which are fascinating to the girls. They love to hear stories about their Mom and her siblings as children. They have spent a lot of time in the bedrooms on the second floor but due to the heat and the lack of air conditioning, the third floor will remain big mystery until fall.

One of seven year old, Winnie’s favorite things is the collection of tiny porcelain trinket boxes that belonged to my grandmother. The box shaped like an old fashioned pink “pocket book” or purse that has “pin money” written in gold cursive on the front has always been special. Last week, Winnie asked what “pin money” meant. I explained that many years ago, husbands gave their wives a small allowance for nonessential minor expenditures, they called it “pin money.” This explanation led to a lengthy women’s lib discussion about their Mommy earning her own money to buy groceries, clothes, shoes, and toys.

At swimming lessons that day, Winnie explained to a table of Moms about “pin money.” Only one woman knew what “pin money” was but all were delighted by Winnie’s dramatic description.

Winnie was motivated to fill the “pin money” box with coins so after searching in drawers, she counted out $4.61 in change. Winnie decided that she could buy a chocolate bar or a hair bow which she would happily share with her sister, Freddie.

My grandmother, Ida, whose box Winnie has found, spoke of “pin money” whenever we visited. She would tell us that she had saved her “pin money” for a day at our favorite amusement park or for a shopping trip to The Denver Dry Goods Department store. The shopping trip always included a hot fudge sundae.

Like Winnie, I would spend hours with my Grandmother, Ida, going through her jewelry boxes and special drawers. I found brooches and rings containing a tiny lock of braided hair of dead family members, a funeral tradition popular during the Civil War. The inscription on the gold jewelry told the name and the date of the deceased, which I found to be fascinating and creepy. Hat pins and gloves were also in abundance, representing women of different eras.

My grandparents’ enjoyed their many travels to the Orient and their home decor reflected that. It was definitely a “look but don’t touch” home. However, the pedal that opened the copper-colored refrigerator was a joyful and satisfying way to be helpful in the kitchen. The chair in the basement that could spin so fast, the brick grill in the backyard was great for climbing, and at the end of the day, the multicolored scented oil beads for a bath. All were all fun things for active children to do.

Winnie and Freddie learned that a doll-sized silver tea service that they play with belonged to their great-grandmother, Yvonne. I showed them a picture of Yvonne and her sister, Rosemary, as little girls. I also showed them a picture of their great-great-grandfather, Big Harris, whose hobby was collecting antique silver when he traveled. Big Harris bought the tiny silver tea service for my Mom, Yvonne, on a trip to Mexico. Full circle.

Grandparents pass down family memories and traditions through storytelling, which can help grandchildren connect with their family roots and culture.

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Kate Emery General is a retired chef/restaurant owner who was born and raised in Casper, Wyoming. Kate loves her grandchildren, knitting, and watercolor painting. Kate and her husband, Matt are longtime residents of Cambridge’s West End where they enjoy swimming and bicycling. 

Stories were a big part of my father-in-law’s life; I wish that I had recorded them. The first story that John General told me was that he and Mick Jagger had been born on the very same day, July 26,1943, in the U.K., Mick in England and John in Scotland. John was born to an American G.I. and a Scottish nurse, who met at the Audley Pub in London while WWll raged on around them. After his birth, John and his mother moved to Detroit, Michigan to wait out the remainder of WWll in safety. The move was tough for John’s Mom, Peggy, living with strangers in a foreign country. John’s grandfather was a wealthy politician of Polish descent – Mayor of Detroit who was less than happy about an immigrant living in his home.

John’s childhood stories were tough. After the war the family settled in New Jersey and welcomed two more boys to the family. Dad’s (Leonard) job in hospital maintenance barely covered the family’s expenses. The budget had room for one pair of shoes per year for John and his two brothers, by year’s end, the shoes were covered in holes and painful to growing feet. The boys ate a lot of hot dogs while choice strips of meat were saved for Leonard. Leonard ruled the “roost”; children were to be seen and not heard.

Peggy was diagnosed with a serious heart condition and fell so ill that she required open heart surgery. John became the cook and housekeeper during the months of his mother’s convalescence. He was adept at creating entire meals with a box of BisQuick. As the boys headed off for school in the morning, Peggy, from her hospital bed, would caution the boys that “she might be dead when they got home from school.” A heavy burden for a child to carry all day. Peggy didn’t die but her heart surgery was a big part of her story. She was treated like a princess by her sons, who continued to do all of the cooking and cleaning.

John excelled at school in academics and sports and was awarded a full academic scholarship to Columbia University. He had many wonderful stories of visiting a relative at The Hotel Chelsea while in New York City, with its eccentric residents and the pet ocelot.

Despite his high grades at Columbia, John knew that he needed to made a more sustainable change. He accepted a commission to The United States Naval Academy. Swimming was a requirement skimmed over on his application, he hadn’t had a proper swimming lesson in his life. A natural, accomplished athlete, John had a “blind faith” that he was up to any task put before him and he could master swimming. He did go on to pass the swimming portion of the curriculum but never enjoyed recreational swimming, it was just a survival exercise.

John fell in love during his junior year. They married in December of his Senior year, despite the rule that Midshipmen must live in the dorms and not have dependents. The stated reason is that attendance at The Naval Academy is a full-time occupation, Midshipmen have full time military duties in addition to their class work. John and his wife, Susan rented an apartment within walking distance of the Academy. They formally married in the spring, with all of the splendid traditions and pomp at the Chapel.

After graduating with the Class of 1965, John was sent to Aviation School in Pensacola, Florida where Susan and John’s first son was born. Due to his height (6’5”) John chose to fly P3’s not jets. He attended Survival School (SERE) in San Diego for a grueling nineteen days developing a love of Abolone, his main food source. He joined a squadron in Texas for his final training. John served our country during the Vietnam War. After his lengthy tour of duty in Vietnam was complete, John was sent to the Naval Post Graduate School in Monterey, California. John and Susan’s second son, Matt was born at The Station Hospital in Fort Ord, California. After receiving his master’s degree, John received orders to Barber’s Point, Hawaii. The family thrived in Hawaii, it was a happy time.

John resigned his active duty commission but remained a member of the Naval Reserves. The family relocated to Palo Alto, California when John accepted a job with Stanford Research Institute. He eventually started his own company, Delfin Systems where he developed a non-lethal warfare program. His company expanded to the Washington D.C. area in the early 1990’s.

John bought the deconsecrated Episcopal Church, All Saints, with a full graveyard on Longwoods Road in Easton. It was the perfect place for entertaining, with its Belfry and massive great room. The four foot long black snake in the basement was a respected guest, the church mouse population was nil. John loved being a resident in Maryland, he had fond memories of his time in Annapolis.

John had a keen business sense and knew that the Avalon Theater could be the cultural focal point of Easton. Despite many naysayers, John and his wife, Ellen signed a lease with the Town of Easton and formed the Avalon Foundation. The Avalon quickly grew as a center for the performing arts and community events. John and Ellen took great pride in entertaining the artists who performed at the theater. It was exciting to meet Mickey Rooney, Arlo Guthrie, and Richie Havens. John’s weekly television talk show from the studio of the Avalon basement was one of his favorite hobbies. John and his cohost would discuss current events and have local personalities on as guests.

John, always in search of a new project, reconnected with his old high school chum, Artie Kornfield, who was a music industry producer and was one of the organizers of Woodstock. John was instrumental in the publishing of Artie’s memoir. Artie was a bit of a “head-case” and required alot of patience and attention, but John was satisfied with the end result. A beautiful book with an enclosed CD.

John’s business acuity served him well in his choice of new investments. His favorite part of the day was “happy hour” and his son, Matt was his favorite bartender. It was synchronicity when a small restaurant on Goldsborough Street became available for purchase. General Tanuki’s was John’s pet project for twelve years. He was a born host and was very proud of this accomplishment. Gone were the days of BisQuick, John indulged in his favorite sushi, curry, calamari, fish taco, poke bowl, and burger in rotation. Matt’s hand picked wine list and Mai Tai’s were perfect compliment to the meal at the end of a long workday. John and Matt were perfect business partners, love and respect were key in their easy going relationship. John was the silent partner, Matt had the experience and knowledge of running a restaurant.

John’s health began to decline and in 2018 he suffered a stroke after a surgical procedure. He died peacefully at our home in June of 2019. Matt and I felt robbed as John had promised that he would live to be eighty six years old and we believed him, he was seventy five. John was so knowledgeable and usually right about current affairs that I wonder what he would say about the world today.

Happy Birthday, John.

 

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Kate Emery General is a retired chef and restaurant owner who was born and raised in Casper, Wyoming. She loves her grandchildren, knitting, and watercolor painting. Kate and her husband, Matt, are longtime residents of Cambridge’s West End, where they enjoy swimming and bicycling. 

The fiftieth state (Hawaii) had become my family’s home in the four years that we lived there. I felt like Kama’aina (person of the land), I had made many Navy and non Navy friends and my children were healthy and happy. Our days were long, peaceful, and full of Aloha (living in harmony).

Most weekdays, we swam at the quiet Makalapa Crater Officer’s Club pool after school. After dinner, we’d ride our bikes down the bike path to Pearl Harbor. We’d pass the old electric plant, Taro fields, and the Harbor full of battleships, some “mothballed.”

On weekends we’d take the ferry and bike around the mostly deserted Ford Island. The National Historic Landmark was a strategic center for operations for the U.S. Navy. Ford Island was attacked on December 7, 1941 and is considered to be haunted by the servicemen killed on that day. Visiting the airstrip, one definitely feels a sense of urgency and eeriness.

We’d spend all day at our favorite beach in Kailua with its tide pools. The beach is located at the end of Kailua Bay and has calm surf, very few people, shade, and white sand beaches. Kaneohe Yacht Club’s beautiful pool was a favorite after a day of sailing. The Sandbar was our sailing destination for a picnic lunch, perfect for a lazy day of floating around.

We respected the history of this beautiful state. Whenever family or friends visited, Iolani Palace, The Bishop Museum, and Chinatown were high on our list. We could understand and speak a little “pidgin” and pronounce Hawaiian words correctly. We still love the music of Aloha, especially The Brothers Cazimero.

The U.S. Navy had one last move in mind – 4,826 miles away, Washington D.C.

With a broken heart, I dragged my suitcase through the Honolulu airport while my tears fell on my baby’s head, asleep in her cozy carrier. All week I had been saying goodbyes to my friends, my favorite beaches, swimming pools, sushi bars, and restaurants. I rode down the bike path to Pearl Harbor one last time. We walked around Waikiki and had rainbow shave ice. Dinner at The Crouching Lion. Brunch at the Royal Hawaiian, Gyros fresh off the “spit” at the Waikiki Shopping Plaza. Drinks at the Monkey Bar and Macadamia Nut Pie in Pearl City. Saimen for breakfast, plate lunch in Kailua for lunch, Shabu Shabu for dinner and steamed pork buns and almond cookies for a late night snack.

There was a somber vibe on the plane, tourists at the end of their vacation dreading their return to reality. I felt their loss times a thousand, my dread was that of the unknown, a permanent transition from paradise to “back East.” Landing at San Francisco International Airport I immediately felt a change in the air. Despite it being “laidback” California, there was a prevailing hurriedness that was completely lacking in Hawaii. After a quick layover, we flew to Denver then a tiny plane to Cheyenne, Wyoming. My children’s cat and two guinea pigs were safe and happy for their freedom at my sister’s house. The open spaces and dry, fresh air filled with memories was our host, it had been a very long day – the first day of the rest of my life. The visit with my family in Wyoming was peaceful and quiet, days spent outside breathing in the beauty of the landscape, exactly what we needed before our new life in “the East.”

Our flight from Denver touched down at Dulles just at “rush hour.” The sense of urgency of the throng of travelers was palpable, my knuckles were white clinging to my children as we were swept out of the plane. We retrieved our luggage and pets, got the keys for our rental car, and headed to Old Town Alexandria and the Holiday Inn. Simple, right? Wrong… we were like “Charlie on the MTA,” we couldn’t find our exit or get off the Beltway. The ferocity of this pack of highway drivers was new to me. In Hawaii, you simply wave your hand out of your window, asking to change a lane. On 495, my blinker stayed on for what seemed like hours, I lacked the nerve to force my way into the next lane of bumper to bumper traffic. My newborn baby’s frantic cries became my own so with desperation I pulled off the highway somewhere in Virginia. My children and I were not going to be defeated, we could find a Holiday Inn. Map in lap, I took the backroads and arrived in Alexandria three and a half hours after landing. It was my first moment of questioning if I belonged here or if I needed to go home.

Alexandria was historic and beautiful, our house was in a cul de sac, perfect for children. The weird thing was, every morning our neighborhood emptied, cars backed down their driveways, returning at seven o’clock each night. With my three older children at school, my baby, our guinea pigs, my cat, and I were all alone, it felt a little apocalyptic. I pushed my baby in her stroller around our neighborhood several times a day in search of a beautiful tree, vista, or another human being. I looked forward to the sound of the Mail Carrier on my front porch. I volunteered at my children’s school, I took needlepoint classes, my baby and I went to Gymboree and La Leche League meetings to keep busy. I didn’t meet any real friends. The best part of my day was my children coming home. They were acclimating much better than I. This role of suburban housewife was new to me. I looked the part in my wool pants, turtleneck sweater, and “Papagallo” flats, the barefooted island girl was slowly being erased. The first family ride down the Mt. Vernon Bike Trail was a happy day for me, I found my open breathing space. My baby in a trailer behind my bike and my children riding with abandon, we all felt better, it was the perfect day.

The changing of the seasons was glorious, carving pumpkins in chilly weather then our first snow. Christmas was beautiful, we visited Mount Vernon and experienced the reenactment of Martha and George’s Christmas so many years before. Walking around Old Town Alexandria’s shops decorated so beautifully was a delightful treat. My Mom came for a visit, she had gotten tickets for the Christmas tour of The White House. Nancy Reagan’s theme was, “Old Fashioned Turn of the Century Christmas.” We shopped in Georgetown, with its festive Christmas decorations. FAO Schwartz was a year round favorite.

I had survived five months in “the East” and I felt optimistic that 1986 was going to be a great year. To be continued….

Music has always been an indispensable backdrop to my life. According to Corinthians, music is intentional, designed by God to move both spirit and mind

Glen Campbell’s, The Wichita Lineman album and a record player were treasured gifts from Santa when I was nine. It was my first foray into choosing my own music. Listening to Wichita Lineman can still stimulate memories that wrap themselves around me. Every penny of my allowance went to the local music store buying 45’s. My taste in music included, These Boots are Made for Walking by Nancy Sinatra, The Ballad of the Green Berets by Barry Sadler, Daydream by The Lovin’ Spoonful, Winchester Cathedral by The New Vaudeville Band, I Am a Rock and Homeward Bound by Simon and Garfunkel, and Charlie on the M.T.A. by the Kingston Trio.

The Monkees television show became my pre-teen obsession. I forced my poor family to sit through the group’s insipid antics every week. The series centered on the adventures of four members of a struggling rock band from Los Angeles. Micky, (my favorite), Davy, Michael, and Peter would have surreal encounters while searching for their big break. Each episode would include at least one musical “romp” that might have nothing to do with the storyline. My family was very patient and indulged my devotion. My aunt and uncle bought tickets for us, my younger brother and me, to The Monkees concert at The Boston Garden. I wore my new mini dress with epaulets and the matching shoulder bag. The four of us sat very politely listening to the music.

In my ninth-grade year, I was a huge fan of Gordon Lightfoot. I still know every word to most of his songs. His ballads resonated with the angst that I felt at that point in my life. If You Could Read, My Mind can still evoke memories of my fourteen-year-old self, trying to find my path in the world. I was lucky enough to attend his concert at The University of Wyoming Field House – where rodeos and basketball events were held. Gordon sounded great live and enlightened the audience with explanations of his songs.

In high school, my favorite albums were John Denver, James Taylor, Carole King, Paul McCartney, Three Dog Night, Jethro Tull, The Bee Gees, Elton John and Neil Diamond. I inherited my parent’s RCA stereo console, the sound was first rate. My Dad’s new Pontiac Le Mans convertible came with an 8 Track tape player. His taste in car music was Neil Diamond and Tom Jones, my Mom loved The Carpenter’s.

In college, I added Willy Nelson, Linda Ronstadt, Journey, Michael Jackson, The Police, and anything Disco. Cassettes were my method of listening to music, mainly in my car. I was able to record my favorite songs on one tape to play over and over again.

In the early 1980’s, Lionel Ritchie, Kenny Rogers’s, Dolly Parton, Genesis, Tina Turner, and Cindy Lauper were included in my music rotation. I would crank up the volume in the stereo while cleaning my house. My Walkman was the most important accessory during my running career, the music prompted me to keep going despite wanting to give up.

In 1985, music videos on MTV and VH1 were all the rage. On Saturday I’d tune in to the weekly Top 20 Video Countdown. The Highwaymen with Kris Kristoffersen, Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson, and Waylon Jennings was one of my favorites.

By the 1990’s, we graduated to CD players in our home and car. Our five disc CD player was replaced with a 100 CD “Jukebox” that would shuffle the CD’s. My children began to have opinions about music and would make requests for specific driving songs: Nirvana, R.E.M., U2, The Grateful Dead, Sarah McLachlan, Pearl Jam, Jewel, Fiona Apple, Prince, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Macy Gray, Hootie and the Blowfish, The Wallflowers, Don Henley, and The Spice Girls. My husband introduced us to UB40, Bob Marley, Jimmy Cliff, Ziggy Marley, Talking Heads, Squeeze, AC/DC, Annie Lennox, Elvis Costello, and Soundgarden.

With my husband’s purchase of our first iPod in 2005, I began a daily routine of loading CD’s into our iMac, then importing the songs to the iPod. In a few short months, these mornings changed our listening life from CD’s and LP’s to completely digital. Binders full of hundreds of CD’s were reduced to a tiny handheld music library. We moved the stereo out of its place of honor and were grateful for the many free corners in our house that once housed large speakers.

We still have the iMac that is the keeper of all of our precious music, our history. Our original iPod sits on a breadbox sized speaker in our kitchen, a tribute to the days when Apple made quality products. We tap the Genres menu several times a day to play a group of songs from the massive queue that I loaded so many years ago.

In September of 2022, Apple declared its most popular gadget obsolete: goodbye iPod.

I have Pandora on my phone, but most mornings, driving to work, I listen to the local radio station. A random song can trigger powerful memories, taking me back to who and where I was when that particular song was so important in my life. I see my life in terms of music: joining my Dad at the Symphony, the Broadway plays with my family, the kitchen dance parties, the rock concerts, and the family dinners.

According to the Washington Post, music can take you back in time and act like a jolt of electricity that can fire up your brain and get it going. Music is suitable for your memory. In nursing homes, they started using musical therapy to let the elderly remember things of their past that they couldn’t remember without listening to music.

Utah State University Extension shares that close relationships between grand children and their grandparents are mutually beneficial when it comes to the health and wellbeing of both. Children who grow up with greater emotional closeness to their grandparents are less likely to be depressed as adults. For grandparents, a close relationship with their grand children can boost brain function, protect against depression and increase their lifespan.

Week two of grandparent camp was an exhausting success. I knew that I needed to have a plan and rhythm for each day to avoid summer boredom. Upon arrival, the children help me make smoothies, then we do yoga and spend a few minutes on the vibration plate to aid in our lymphatic drainage. Everyone loves the vibration plate, singing and talking sounds silly when we’re being shaken.

We started the week with a visit to the Dorchester County public pool, it was the perfect antidote on a hot, muggy afternoon. It was very crowded but the pristine pool is huge and beautiful. My three youngest grandchildren have different swimming abilities so the zero degree entry with its fountains and the shallow end accommodated everyone. The water temperature was perfect. The price is very affordable, $2 for children and $3 for adults.
There is a playground area, a snack bar and picnic tables under a pavilion.

On Tuesday, we visited the Dorchester County Library to sign up for the summer reading program. This year’s theme is Adventure begins at Your Library. The librarian was so kind and excited to enroll my granddaughters age seven and five. After completing a scavenger hunt throughout the library, a treasure chest was brought out and the girls were able to choose a small prize. This year’s reading log is a bingo board with different activities. Fifteen minutes of reading is one of the squares on the board. Do something crafty is another space on the board that we were able to check off with a fairy garden stepping stone craft given to the children from the library. The girls were able to choose their own book to keep as a gift for joining the reading program.

Our excursion on Friday was a trip to Emily’s for fresh corn for lunch. We added cherries, zucchini, chocolate milk, heirloom tomatoes, and a big basil plant to our shopping cart. Emily herself checked us out and was so sweet. We got a photo on the huge, yellow Adirondack chair and pet the goats. A very large turkey came over to us gobbling for attention.

We finished our chapter book, Heartwood Hotel, about a mouse named Mona. Mona and the rest of her woodland friends have many magical adventures. The consensus was two thumbs up, we’ve ordered another book in the series about Mona for next week.

We painted a Secret garden using watercolors to celebrate summer solstice and picked some flowers for our lunch table. We baked bread for lunch and added cinnamon sugar, pretending that the bread was a fairy cake. The Mermaid ice cream cones were a huge hit for dessert. We watched the new Kung Fu Panda and we played “slap Jack” during quiet time.

Next week will be spent quietly in Easton as my seven-year-old granddaughter is having a tonsillectomy. I think we’ll re-visit the Madeline books for girl power and bravery. We’ll definitely paint, adding some oil pastels to our artwork. Sewing the mouse, Mona from The Heartwood Hotel is another peaceful activity for a convalescing child. Luckily, ice cream will be available all day.

“Nobody can do for little children what grandparents do. Grandparents sort of sprinkle stardust over the lives of little children.” – Alexis Haley

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Kate Emery General is a retired chef/restaurant owner who was born and raised in Casper, Wyoming. Kate loves her grandchildren, knitting, and watercolor painting. Kate and her husband, Matt are longtime residents of Cambridge’s West End where they enjoy swimming and bicycling. 

Most K-12 schools are now in session for 180 days a year. Schools in Colonial times were a year round event, even as late as 1841, schools in Boston and Philadelphia were having classes 240-250 days a year. While the length of the school year is relatively consistent across the states today, there were wide variations in the early 19th century. At that time, schools in cities were typically open year round while schools in rural areas had two terms, one in winter and another in summer. Schools in rural districts had far fewer days of class than those in the cities. Children took time off in the fall for harvesting and in the spring for planting.

There was a time when summer meant the freedom of running loose. School was dismissed for the summer on the Friday before Memorial Day, my friends and I would almost run home carrying a brown grocery bag full of notebooks, broken crayons, and pencils. In the late 1960’s, long before specialized camps, hyper-scheduling, and the internet, kids like me managed to have lots of fun.

The distinctive smell of Coppertone or Sea and Ski suntan lotion being lathered on by my Mom at the beach is a summer vacation memory. Sand would stick to the thick and oily lotion that wasn’t effectively rubbed into the skin. Most children in the 1960’s and ‘70’s remember the cooling effect of Solarcaine being applied to sunburned shoulders and noses that resisted the suntan lotion. I am lucky to have many wonderful summer vacation memories with my family through the years but my favorite are the lazy days spent with friends.

These days is takes a lot of planning to get a child to a play date, but in the ‘60’s you just shouted goodbye after breakfast to your Mom as you went out the door and hopped on your bike, no helmet or shoes required. Our bikes were equipped with baskets for towels, sneakers, and tennis rackets. Playing cards were attached with clothespins to the spokes for a cool motorcycle sound.

There were water fountains at the park or hoses if you got thirsty, no water bottles. My parents had a charge account at Fred’s, a local grocery, and we had permission to get a snack there. Our favorites were Red Vines, candy cigarettes, bubblegum cigars, Sugar Babies, or a Big Hunk bar. The sugar rush from the candy sustained us during our morning excursions. We’d stop at one of the wading pools on our way to the tennis court, walking in the water to cool off. After tennis, we would check the creek for Water striders, fascinating insects that appear to “walk” on water. When it got really hot and we were hungry, we’d head home for lunch.

Afternoon reading for an hour was a Mom rule that I loved. Mom would take us to the local bookstore or the library once a week to select a book, two of my favorites were Harriet the Spy and Eight Cousins.

After our “rest period,” we’d ride our bikes to the pool (over three miles from our house), the lifeguards were our babysitters. Having taken swimming lessons at the local YMCA, we were able to pass the test for swimming in the “deep end.” We would spend most of the afternoon in the pool, diving, having underwater tea parties, perfecting our handstands, and playing Marco Polo. My older brother and his friends were always getting kicked out of the pool for doing cannonballs off of the high dive. Mom gave me money that went in my green squeeze coin purse for the soda machine (7UP or Orange Crush were my drink of choice) and to play Putt Putt golf.

Dinner was at 6:30, our parents who never really knew where we were all day, would listen to us tell of the day’s exploits. It was back outside after dinner to explore our favorite sledding hill, Deadhorse Hill in search of Horned Lizards, we called them, “horney toads.” The lizards, with their camouflaged bodies, were fond of hiding in the sagebrush or the yucca that grew wild on the hill. The “toads” would sit quietly in our hands for a second then jump and run. The soft dirt from running up and sliding down the hill would turn our bare feet a reddish brown.

Now and then, after dinner, our neighbor would drive us to the Dairy Queen for an ice cream cone. We would pile into his Volkswagen Beetle, standing on the back seat like sardines, so that we could hang out of the sunroof.

We’d play hide and seek with the neighborhood kids until it got so dark that the fireflies would be flying about, our mothers yelling for us to come in.

Some nights our daily bath was considered the hours spent in the chlorine at the pool, my blonde hair developing a shiny green tinge in summer. Our calloused feet were washed by spraying the garden hose on each other. Calamine was applied to random mosquito bites. After putting on our summer pajamas and brushing our teeth, Mom or Dad would read Swiss Family Robinson or Gulliver’s travels to us in our beds. We’d fall asleep with the anticipation of another perfect day of play ahead of us.

“I live for summer.” – Sandra Boynton

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I may have finally found what I want to be when I grow up.

A clear passion for a profession was not in my purview, ever. Most of my high school friends knew what they were going to study at college, but I didn’t have a clue. Teaching wasn’t one of the career paths suggested by my college advisor, but social work was so I began years of psychology classes. I might have enjoyed social work as a job but I could not wrap my brain around statistics at all, so I graduated with a Liberal Arts degree. My electives were heavy with English classes so my major was English and my minor was Psychology.

A Liberal Arts degree includes the study of history, English, sociology, philosophy, psychology, and creative arts according to the University of Wyoming course catalog. “Studying liberal arts can equip you with a myriad of colors to paint with to create a vibrant career picture,” said Torian Parker, an instructional college advisor.

I took Ballet and piano every year but I wasn’t remarkable at either. I loved my scuba diving class but I didn’t have a goal of swimming in the coral reefs or working with Jacques Cousteau in my future. The best part of my platform diving class (for non sports majors) was practicing the flips on the trampoline, obviously, the Olympics weren’t the plan, I just wanted to learn something new. I waited for something to point me in the direction of my life’s path.

College ruined Shakespeare for me by analyzing every sonnet with its quatrains, couplet and iambic pentameter, obviously, a job as a college English professor was out. I wanted to take a pottery class but it wasn’t offered to a non Fine Arts major so I took a stenography class. I was fascinated with the foreign language of the shorthand symbols, they began to appear in my dreams at night so the next semester I signed up for an office machines class. For my typing final, my words per minute score was an acceptable 55, enough to secure a summer job as an executive secretary at a local real estate office. I was a successful secretary, good at filing, making coffee, typing, and answering the phone. I was offered the job full time in the fall but I declined, my boss was a little too “touchy-feely” to choose that career.

One summer was spent working the switchboard and front desk at a local hotel. I quickly discovered the monotony of that work, every shift was similar to the one before. My nightly dreams were peppered with stacks of invoices displaying the daily room rate of $35.95 stamped by the huge cash register. I did enjoy the credit card swiper and the guests. I read novels at every break sitting in the hotel coffee shop eating fried egg sandwiches and french fries, I had been starved reading only college textbooks all year.

It wasn’t until my first pregnancy at age nineteen, that I discovered what I could give 100% to. I read every book on pregnancy and childbirth in the university library. Childbirth and breastfeeding were tough the first time around but I became a pro at both by the time my fourth baby was born. I researched and bought the best children’s read-aloud books for every age. Goodnight Moon became a favorite. At age twenty-nine I had four beautiful children, two boys and two girls. All were extremely successful in school, sports, and with friends. My entire day was focused on them, I was a room mother and volunteer at their school. I would grocery shop with their favorite meals in mind, the same food that my parents would cook during my childhood. My favorite time of the day was bedtime, alone reading to each child, snuggling in their bed, reviewing their day. Being a mother is my favorite job and being a grandmother is the best job.

When my youngest was five and in kindergarten, I applied and was hired for two part-time jobs. I taught English as a Second Language and I worked at the local health department administering a drug prevention grant for elementary-aged children. Both jobs were wonderful. I chose to go full-time with the health department and worked there for several years.

After the health department, I worked as a preschool teacher and loved the creativity of that job. In the evening, I taught Ballet classes. My husband and father-in-law opened their restaurant, General Tanuki’s, and I became the “back office person,” once again a secretary who handled bank deposits, bill paying, and payroll. I was the hostess also. When our sushi chef resigned I took over that job, I had taken classes with a Master Sushi Chef while living in Honolulu. I became the pastry chef, making cheesecakes, crème brûlées, hot chocolate chip cookies, and our own version of molten chocolate cake (we called it petit gateau). I loved working with my family but restaurant work is stressful and backbreaking.

After closing General Tanuki’s I went back to teaching four-year-olds. I took classes and became an aromatherapist. For this part-time job, I measured and mixed five-gallon buckets of essential oils. The essential oils were the only good thing about the job, my boss was a lunatic.

This year I moved to a new school as a kindergarten teacher and have felt that this is definitely where I belong, I might excel at it.

An old interview with Kurt Vonnegut recently caught my eye and sort of validated my working life. When asked some “getting to know you questions” as a teenager, Vonnegut listed many of his favorite activities but said that he wasn’t good at any of them. The adult interviewer remarked, “I don’t think being good at things is the point of doing them. I think you’ve got all these wonderful experiences with different skills, and that all teaches you things and makes you an interesting person, no matter how well you do them.”

I don’t know if I’m an interesting person but I do know that I’m an interested person that’s why I keep trying new things.

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Kate Emery General is a retired chef/restaurant owner born and raised in Casper, Wyoming. Kate loves her grandchildren, knitting, and watercolor painting. Kate and her husband, Matt are longtime residents of Cambridge’s West End where they enjoy swimming and bicycling.

One day, an old man was walking along a beach that was littered with thousands of starfish that had been washed ashore by the high tide. As he walked, he came upon a young boy who was eagerly throwing the starfish back into the ocean, one by one. Puzzled, the man looked at the boy and asked what he was doing. Without looking up from his task, the boy simply replied, “I’m saving these starfish, Sir.” The old man chuckled aloud, “Son, there are thousands of starfish and only one of you. What difference can you make?” The boy picked up a starfish, gently tossed it in the water and, turning to the man, said, “I made a difference to that one!” -author unknown

The 2023-2024 academic year is coming to an end for me this Friday. Last August, I was trusted with five precious five year olds in my first kindergarten class in my new school. We became a very tight-knit family for six hours a day, five days a week. My class is now graduating to first grade in the fall and the anticipation of the newness and unknown of it all is palatable. Knowing that our time together is getting shorter, my students have been pausing in their work several times a day now to give me a very tight hug/squeeze, holding on a bit longer each time. We’re all feeling the impending loss of each other.

Testing is complete and I have digital proof that my students have not only met State goals, but have achieved and excelled over these nine months. It’s gratifying to see growth and be the primary person responsible for a child’s learning. Teaching is my passion, I love learning and sharing that with others.

I began my teaching life at Head Start as an intern during my sophomore year in college. I was tasked with developing an at home reading program for toddlers and their families. I still remember the joy of shopping for children’s books, reading the books to children in their homes, and then giving the book to the child. Our simple study showed language growth amongst the children who were read to each day. By the end of my internship, many of the children were reciting some of their favorite parts of these books.

My first challenge this year was finding and developing that spark and love of reading in my students. It simply wasn’t there, in fact a couple of children absolutely hated being read aloud to. It has become the norm for a child of this generation to fall asleep at night clutching a tablet. Parents reading to their child after tucking them in their bed is rare these days.

In an effort to get our students to read books, our school began a D.E.A.R. program (Drop Everything and Read); children are read to or read for twenty minutes a day. D.E.A.R. is a national celebration of reading designed to remind families to make reading a priority activity in their lives. Studies have shown that children who are read develop the ability to think, explore, problem-solve, and expand their memory. Reading can improve children’s imagination and creativity. Reading can help children develop their attention and concentration, which can help them sit still for longer periods of time.

I can’t say that every student in my class came to love books this year, but they all sit quietly now during storytelling and each of them has actually discovered a couple of favorite books.

As teachers, we are a bit like the boy in the starfish story, helping one student at a time. Taking care of each one we come in contact with and hope they will do better, grow up, learn more, and try something new.

Kate Emery General is a retired chef/restaurant owner who was born and raised in Casper, Wyoming. Kate loves her grandchildren, knitting, and watercolor painting. Kate and her husband, Matt are longtime residents of Cambridge’s West End where they enjoy swimming and bicycling.

It was July when we got the call that my grandfather, Big Harris, had died, he had been diagnosed with colon cancer months before. It was 1960, my grandmother, in an effort to keep his spirits up had decided to tell him that it was dysentery from his travels to South America earlier in the year. The cancer metastasized to his liver a few months before his death but doctors had strict orders not to tell him. Apparently there was a stigma attached to discussion of a cancer diagnosis then. My grandmother was afraid that Big Harris would lose hope, then give up and die. He was sixty one years old. He was born in Texas, a decorated Navy pilot in WWl, who earned his Geology degree from Rice University, where he lettered in basketball. At the time of his death he was Senior Vice President of Texaco Oil.

The night my grandfather died, I watched my Mom walk across the house like a zombie. In her hands was her bedroom phone held protectively like an injured animal with a really long tail (cord), she quietly crawled under the grand piano in the living room. I remember the emptiness of her tearful kiss goodnight. Dad quietly put us to bed, I was four, my siblings were eight, six, and almost one. Dad answered our questions about Mom being so sad, Big Harris (my grandfather) was now in heaven and Mom was going to miss him. My Uncle Hutch was a psychiatrist and was the family member elected to call my mom with the news.

Years later, my Mom told the story of Big Harris’ illness and death. She had visited him after his diagnosis and in one of their lengthy conversations, he had said that he knew that he was dying. My grandmother was in denial. My Mom stayed under the piano all night, paralyzed, on the phone with my uncle. She flew to New York City early the next day, alone (my Dad would take a flight a couple of days later). Hutch had ordered some tranquilizers for Mom for the flight.

Life and Mom were back to normal upon her return home, we celebrated birthdays and bought school supplies.

Several times a year, my family would travel to the Star Plunge Hot Springs swimming pool in Thermopolis, Wyoming. My Dad would honk the car’s horn as we drove through three tunnels between Shoshone and Thermopolis, the sound echoing from the first tunnel to the third. Those tunnels signaled that our happy destination was in sight. We’d swim all day, enjoying a lunch of footlong hotdogs and ice cream. Before heading to dinner and then the motel, we’d walk over to the Hot Springs State Park.

The Big Horn Hot Springs State Reserve became Wyoming’s first park in 1897 and quickly became a popular tourist destination for those seeking healing in the therapeutic mineral hot springs. The springs are open to the public for free as part of an 1896 treaty signed with the Shoshone and Arapaho tribes when they sold the land to the federal government.

Hot Springs State Park is home to a herd of Bison. The Bison are featured at a respectful distance in our “home movies,” quietly (no stampedes) watching us watch them. This herd is cared for by the Wyoming State Parks.

Dad was an avid photographer, I have boxes of movie reels, slides, Polaroids, and photos taken during his life. My memories of that trip the summer my grandfather died are all on Super 8 home movies. The bison, the playground, the colorful terrace where the hot springs flow, four small children running and playing, and my mom walking towards the Wind River Canyon, alone.

Only a crazy, daredevil would choose to navigate the swinging footbridge over the Bighorn river that connected both sides of the Wind River Canyon. The bridge literally was made of wood planks and cables from an oil field. Every step caused the entire bridge to swing. The eight-foot-wide bridge was originally built by a rancher (not an engineer), who used a postcard of The Golden Gate Bridge as a guide.

My dad and his movie camera followed my mom as she approached the bridge. He then filmed her as she walked to the other side of the canyon and back. At one point, on her return trip, my mom stopped, took a deep breath, put her hand to her forehead to better see the foothills in the distance and the water flowing beneath. A train traveling in the background, the big, blue Wyoming sky, and the river at The Wedding of the Waters, the point where the Wind River becomes the Bighorn River are part of the movie memory that day.

My mom lived all over the world as a child but Wyoming was in her heart from the moment she moved there at age twenty two until the day she died. It’s so obvious watching the movie of my mom on that bridge that day that she was breathing in the beauty of her surroundings and it was healing her broken heart.

Everything about Thermopolis is still magical, the tunnels, the Star Plunge, the bison and the swinging bridge. I wish I could visit more often.

Kate Emery General is a retired chef/restaurant owner who was born and raised in Casper, Wyoming. Kate loves her grandchildren, knitting, and watercolor painting. Kate and her husband, Matt are longtime residents of Cambridge’s West End where they enjoy swimming and bicycling.

“If a sailor was meant to have a family, he would have been issued one with a sea bag.”Most of my twenties were spent as a Naval Officer’s wife. It was a complete test of endurance and independence. I was a single mother of three children under the age of three for three of those years. There were three different duty stations in the first year, Pensacola, Denver, and San Diego.

My twenty-month-old son, Marshall, and I managed to rent a car and an apartment after flying alone to Pensacola. We became adept at maneuvering around the base, finding the Naval Hospital, shopping at the commissary and the Navy Exchange. Our mornings were spent at the gorgeous, powdery white sand beach, building sand castles and swimming in the warm turquoise water. After a nap, we’d drive over to the Naval Air Station to walk around the jets. Marshall, who pulled his little Fisher Price “Busy” airplane everywhere, taught himself to salute adults in uniforms, especially the Marine guards at the entry gate, the response was very gratifying for him.

I attended Naval Officer wife training at NAS Pensacola, which included learning the meaning of thousands of acronyms, military phonetic alphabet, military time, and recognition of rank and uniforms. White gloves were no longer required but calling cards were still a must. I was grateful for my strict parents and their concentration on formal manners. I knew all about the necessity of a silver salver (the word salve is French for a tray presenting objects to the King) for calling cards in the foyer of one’s home.

Our second duty station was in Denver at a joint command for additional training. My family in Wyoming visited often, which was wonderful. I gave birth to my daughter, Jenny at Fitzsimmons Army Medical Hospital in February. Two hours after giving birth, I was doing calisthenics with other postpartum Moms in the Maternity Ward’s lobby. The maternity ward was a solarium with floor-to-ceiling windows that was built for recovering tuberculosis patients. The dry Colorado air and vitamin D from the sunlight were beneficial for the lungs. For the two days in the hospital, I changed my own sheets, carried my own tray from the cafeteria, and twice a day, I pushed Jenny’s bassinet to the nursery before the required exercise classes. I was delighted to be discharged, I couldn’t wait to get home and get some rest. I was however, able to walk out of the hospital in my pre-pregnancy jeans with a hospital bill for ten dollars stamped, paid-in-full.

The Naval Air Station North Island in San Diego was going to be our home for three years. Three gigantic aircraft carriers were practically (three blocks away) in our backyard, living bayside on Coronado. Coronado was the perfect town for families. We could ride bikes or walk everywhere. Many of our days were spent at the public beach or on the base swimming at the Officer’s Club pool. Marshall at two and a half, would ride his tricycle on the back patio having in depth conversations with his imaginary friend. We became close friends with our civilian neighbors, the houses on most streets were old beach cottages that were built very close together. We were thrilled to be reunited with Navy friends from Pensacola and Denver.

I was elected secretary of the Navy Wives Club and one of my duties was writing the monthly newsletter. I bought my first electric typewriter and I quickly remembered how much I had enjoyed my typing classes in high school and college. I would spend a few evenings a month, after the children were asleep, listening to music on the stereo, while typing the newsletter. When I finished, I would make copies, individually stamp, then mail the newsletter to each member. During each six month deployment, the commanding officer’s wife was the lifeline to the wives, she would give us all the “news” of the ship via a “phone tree.” Wine and cheese parties were another form of fellowship and information gathering amongst the wives. My fellow Navy wives taught me about string cheese and wine coolers, life was good.

During the three years in Coronado I began volunteering one day a week for the Naval Relief Society. I worked directly with Sailors and their families providing assistance for unexpected and emergency needs. I was lucky to have found a great babysitter so I looked forward to getting out of the house, knowing that my two small children were well taken care of.

After two years, we moved to the Naval Amphibious Base Coronado Officer’s housing. Ours was a duplex with a Navy Seal and his family living next door. The Navy Seal and his kids were fond of repelling off the roof of their house at sunrise, wearing combat boots and khaki uniform swimsuits. We would be greeted every morning with Reveille, a lone bugle call that signals the start of duty on Military bases. Taps was played at 2100 hours (9:00) to indicate “lights out”. If outside during Reveille or Taps, children and adults alike would face the flag and pause, respectively.

I joined the YWCA in downtown San Diego after learning that it offered exercise classes for pregnant women. The class was taught by a member of the Sikh community and included yoga, kick-boxing, and meditation. I felt better than I ever had during my first two pregnancies. I made the decision to give birth at a birthing center in La Jolla after taking The Bradley Method of Childbirth classes. My labor and delivery were short, three hours total. Unlike my military hospital birth, I was pampered in my private suite for my short stay with my third child.

With three children in tow, my family moved to Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. My life was an absolute dream, the weather was perfect, I enjoyed every day, swimming, riding my bike, running, horseback riding, and eating delicious food, with dear friends. At age twenty eight while training for the Ironman triathlon, I found out that I was pregnant with my fourth child. It was a brutally hot summer and I was suffering with morning sickness when my two youngest children got the chicken pox. Eventually, we all felt one hundred percent again and were able to swim and ride bikes. I gave birth to my baby girl at home with two nurse midwives in attendance. Four months later we moved to Virginia.

Kate Emery General is a retired chef/restaurant owner who was born and raised in Casper, Wyoming. Kate loves her grandchildren, knitting, and watercolor painting. Kate and her husband, Matt are longtime residents of Cambridge’s West End where they enjoy swimming and bicycling.