Vintage Reruns

 So, I went to see my Mom a couple weeks ago. Having recently celebrated her 8th decade on earth, she's getting somewhat feeble in body -- but not in mind.

                                                                      ❤

She remembers every single little thing that happened 50 years ago, I tell ya.  And I'm ok with that, because, doggone if I haven't caught myself doing the same thing! At five and a half decades, I wince a little when I realize I'm starting to sound like an old rerun. But my Mom? She gets it, of course. She just smiles gently when I finish with her the iconic sentences belonging to the famous family stories, like:  

* The Episode of the Giant Escaped Crab 

* The Stolen Rowboat Scandal

* The Poop on the Shoe Incident

* Steve the Pyromaniac Meets the Norfolk Fire Department 

* Toddler Climbs on Roof, Doesn't Die, But Mom has Heart Attack 

Stories like that. Every family has them! (Tell me you do. You do, right? 😳)

My parents with the first four of us

Anyway, while I was helping rearrange my Mom's room last week to fit her handy-dandy new hospital-
type bed more comfortably in with her existing furniture, I came upon an obscure box tucked under a bookcase. In it we found my Dad's wallet. 

In my Dad's wallet, we found his driver's license, his military ID, his "in case of accident, call a priest" card, and one of those old fashioned, accordion-style photo organizers that used to come in wallets. Remember them? My Dad's is about ten "sections" long and each section is *stuffed* -- with every single school picture of every year of every one of his seven children -- plus some of his parents and of course, my Mom. ❤ That's almost 100 photos of the ones he loved.

Now, my Dad (gone about three years now) was a reserved man, as many fathers of his generation, you know. The "Great Generation." They were about *doing* not emoting. My Dad took for granted that his love was obvious in his practical care of all of us, body mind, and spirit. He didn't wear his heart on his sleeve. Nope. But we found out where he did. He wore it in his wallet.

And here. Here's a goofy little share, then, to go with the story: all 12 years of little me. (Not 13, because I graduated out of 11th grade.) Mom and I had a ball with these. 

* A2 - A4, I was in the principal's office more than I like to admit. Not for disrespect to teachers or anything like that, but usually for fighting with boys. I had less than no use for them. Darn their hides. (Why I identify with Scout in To Kill a Mockingbird.)

* The Infamous Hair Disaster year. See it? 3rd grade, A-4. They sent us into the photographer straight after recess without even combing and straightening us back up 'What *were* the Sisters thinking?" ;)

* (B-4) Wrote my first novella at this age -- but got in trouble (temporarily) for passing the notebook around in class, serial fashion, every couple days so my friends could see what happened next. (My teacher gave me amnesty after reading it, bless his heart. 😊 He didn't even red pen it!)

* Full On Dork Year -- when I was channeling Nadia Comaneci -- obsessed with gymnastics after the '76 Olympics. (C-1) Good thing I grew out of that -- literally! Gymnastics did a number on my back that I'm paying for now, 44 years later! 

* The Fuzzy Sweater Before the Disaster picture. (C-2) For years I couldn't look at this picture without a pang of loss. This sweater was my *favoritefavorite* article of clothing. Got ruined in the wash shortly after this picture was taken, though 😪 (by whom, we will not say, but she didnt act like she felt the same sorrow about the accident that I did. Could be she was sick of that sweater...  Hmmm...)

* The Long Long Hair picture -- though you can't see any hair here. (C-3) "Should've pulled some over your shoulder." I agree, I should have. It's never been that long since. It came down to my waistband -- and wavy/curly TANGLY. I was glad to cut it off.

* The 1980s Victorian Era (C-4, 11th grade) -- when the newest phase was high collar ruffles and I still didn't have a whole lot of use for the male of the species at this time -- but I might have given thought to one who quoted Tolkien, wore suit coats with patches on the elbows, and vests with pocket watches and who smoked a pipe. I think I was looking for a tall Hobbit -- but they didn't exist in my high school. =Sigh=

And then, the next year, when I was 17, I taught 1-3 at OLV -- and was "Miss Chenoweth."  No more school pictures, which I guess, proved in a tactile sort of way, that I was "grown up."  At least I thought I was. ;) I now know that that never happened. 

Anyway, thanks for indulging me while I put the "log" in blog and record these memories with the photos. It's likely I'll never forget any of this -- even when I can't remember what I had for breakfast this morning, but I won't always be here and these tiny wallet-size pictures that my Dad archived in his old wallet are now also archived here, along with the record of my parents' love for us -- and mine for them.