FROM WHERE I SIT Elusive Springtime MARCH 16, 2013 Pat Spilseth
I smell the fresh scent of SPRING in the air. I’m imagining juicy green grass, newly sprouting, on my lawn, blue waves pounding the shoreline, and robins and bluebirds returning from sunny southern climes.
After all, isn’t the spring equinox March 20? There are two equinoxes every year – in March and September – when the sun shines directly on the equator and the length of day and night is nearly equal. Newspapers are calling reader to guess the date of our annual ICE OUT! Usually, there’s a prize to the best guesser.
Yes, it’s official; spring will definitely happen, eventually. Who hasn’t had enough of freezing sleet, snow banks, and endless flakes falling? I’m tired of looking outside my windows to dirty 12” snow banks, slippery sidewalks of ice, and speedy drivers crashing into each other. Then the sirens begin to wail, ambulances arrive, and stretchers appear, lawyers are called and law suits filed. Some people will do anything to make a buck!
I’ve had it with bulky, black, down overcoats, adding pounds to my body, stretchy wool hats, mittens, and rubber goulashes! Messy snow boots, crusty with sand and snow, litter the foyer of my house; coats, caps and scarves drape the bentwood hat rack standing in the hallway. The basket of furry slippers is next to the door, greeting guests as they arrive with wet boots.
I’m tired of hot soups, grilled cheese sandwiches, and tuna casseroles. I’ve eaten enough beef, pork, and turkey roasts to line my stomach for years. Cold winter weather brings on cravings for cookies, especially if the icy forces Buddy and me to stay inside. To combat the grayness of winter doldrums and isolation, I get out the butter, eggs, sugar and flour. I bake. I eat. I add unnecessary pounds to my aging body. But my spirits soar with a sugar high as smells from the oven waft into the rest of the house, drawing me into the kitchen for another cookie or two or three. Nothing can beat a gooey chocolate chip on gray days.
Most cross-country skiers, kids skating with their dogs, and fishermen in their cramped ice houses have left the lake empty of color and activity. But in a few short weeks, boats will roar through the lake channels and water skiers in wet suits will appear on the Bay. Para sailors will float in the skies with their colorful sails. As soon as the temperatures rise about 50 degrees, neighbors in canoes and kayaks will paddle past me as I sit on my deck reading. Everyone has been waiting for a eternity for springtime weather!
Grandkids will appear in my neighbor’s yard next door. Soon they’ll run to my house, looking for Buddy, my friendly Beagle and they’ll inquire what kind of cookies have I baked today. Then I’ll hear about Cooper’s new soccer and base ball teams, his batting average, and the cutie’s endless stream of girlfriends. After all, he is so handsome. Feminine Ellie will demonstrate her dance routine and kick a soccer ball to Ethan and Jackson who would rather play baseball and hope that Buddywill fetch their run-away balls.
Bikes will circle Casco Point as Dads bring out weathered docks to stretch out on the lake as soon as the ice clears. Pounding will commence: new roofs, decks, and new home construction has already begun. Spring cleaners will begin toting excess stuff to be stored in over-stuffed garages. Lawn furniture’s winter dirt and dust have to be sprayed with the garden hose; gardens must be tilled and seeds planted; lawns need fertilizer and an extra dose of moisture. Window washers will tote water buckets, rags, and spray cleaners to polish the glass and clean off spider webs left over from last fall. Homeowners will check on which chairs and boards needs a fresh coat of paint. Storm window will be removed and screens cleaned. Hanging baskets of flowers will appear on decks, and window boxes filled with geraniums and petunias will add a well-needed dose of vibrant color to life on the lake.
Spring clean up routine makes the season a busy time of year. But there’s a new sight and sound: along with the cardinals and nuthatches at my bird feeder outside the kitchen window, I hear a persistent loud woodpecker knocking at the redwood siding on our house. Those persistent ants are back! YUCK! Time to get out the ant poison, but careful, Buddy may think the poison is food, his endless obsession. At night I can hear the cries of raccoon babies prowling the trees in my yard looking for a hole to sleep; mice and moles will appear, and bunnies are hopping from shrubs to gardens in the neighborhood. Those elusive deer and coyotes that lurked in the park and marsh in my neighborhood will have added foliage to hide in as leaves appear on the maples, oaks and elms. It’s exciting to see deer run through our yards and dive into the lake to swim across the Bay to a more wooded area. They’re so fast and so beautiful.
Spring is almost here. Though I haven’t put away winter coats, sweaters and cords, I long for lighter clothing, bright colors, and getting the Adirondack chairs out onto the deck. Maybe I’ll pump up the bike’s tires, just in case the weekend’s promised warmth will allow a few spins around the neighborhood. 914
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Ancient Mayan Ruins
FROM WHERE I SIT Ancient Mayan ruins in Mexico Feb. 15, 2013
Last week we flew to sunny Playa del Carmen, Mexico, and visited the ancient Mayan ruins at Tulum. Each time we take a trip outside the USA, I’m reminded of how young my country is in relation to other countries around the world. When we visit our daughter in Mexico City, we’ve enjoyed the ancient canals of Xochimilco, a UNESCO World Heritage Site in the far south of Mexico City. These canals were built in pre-Hispanic times by the Aztecs who created floating flower and vegetable gardens. Tourists buy flowers, fruit, Corona Mexican beer, and tacos from boats floating on the canals and enjoy the music of mariachi bands floating on another boat. Many canals were part of Mexico City until the Spanish came with their horses and filled in this mode of transportation.
In the 1990’s Dave was flying American Airline flights to Cairo, Egypt, and took his family along to a different world. We rode camels to the pyramids and colorful Ramadan tents erected in the desert. We visited bustling, ancient markets from before Christ’s time and entered the City of the Dead where people live in tombs of wealthy, deceased residents where electricity was piped in for TV reception. People living there still cook on open fires on dirt floors.
Sometime I’d like to visit England’s Stonehenge where historians are still studying the monumental rock formations created thousands of years ago. I loved friendly Italy where I visited Rome’s Coliseum to see where gladiators had fought lions and Cameo Joe sold ivory cameos to fascinated tourists. As I walked through the underground tombs, where bones slept and ancient Christians worshipped, history’s timeline cast an eerie spell over me.
Most of us are fascinated by Europe’s towering cathedrals, castles, and royalty. Tourists can observe that life was so different in those years filled with opulent splendors for the ruling classes, but Charles Dickens wrote of the underclass’ dire poverty, their daily struggle to raise families with little food and shelter.
We read that Mexico’s Tulum ruins are the third most visited archaeological site in Mexico just outside of Playa del Carmen on the Riviera Maya south of Cancun . On a cliff overlooking the Caribbean, Tulum represents an advanced civilization that flourished from around 1200 AD until the arrival of the Spanish. It was one of the last cities built and inhabited by the Mayans. Tulum was inhabited by 1000 to 1600 people who lived in platform dwellings along a street and supervised the trade traffic. Most inhabitants lived outside the walled city, leaving the interior for residences of the governors and priests and ceremonial structures. At its height, between the 13th and 15th centuries, it managed to survive about 70 years after the Spanish began occupying Mexico and brought Old World diseases causing the city’s demise.
Tulum means “enclosure”. It was protected from invasions by a 16 ft thick wall on three sides, interrupted by five gates. The original name is believed to have been Zama or Dawn, reflecting the west-east alignment of its buildings facing the sunrise. Tulum had access to both land and sea trade routes, making it an important trade hub, especially for obsidian, a dark stone highly valued.
Tulum appears to have been an important site for the worship of the Diving or Descending god, the main god honored at Tulum depicted on several buildings as an upside-down figure above doorways. Castillo, or the castle, is Tulum’s largest and most prominent building. It served as a landmark for sailors. Directly opposite the castle is a cove and landing beach at a break in the sea cliffs, perfect for trading canoes to come in.
The Temple of the Frescoes in front of the castle was used as an observatory for tracking movements of the sun. 13th century frescoes are contained inside, but visitors are no longer permitted to go inside. The Mayan frescoes represent the rain god Chaac and Ixchel, goddess of weaving, women, the moon, and medicine. Supernatural serpents are a common motif. On the cornice of the temple is a relief of the head of the rain god.. From a distance visitors can make out his eyes, nose, mouth and chin.
Coastal and land routes converged at Tulum, apparent by the number of artifacts found in or near the site. Contacts with areas all over Central Mexico and Central America are apparent by copper artifacts from the Mexican highlands plus flint artifacts, ceramics, incense burners, and gold objects from all over the Yucatan. Salt and textiles were some of the goods brought to Tulum by sea. Typical exported goods included feathers and copper objects coming form inland sources. They could be transported by sea to rivers and taken inland by seafaring canoes with access to the highlands and lowlands.
Today, we continue to wonder at the knowledge of the Egyptians, Aztecs, and Mayans, who understood when to plant, when to harvest, and how to build pyramids. The knowledge of the moon, sun, and tides these ancient civilizations had is totally amazing to anyone visiting these sites today. 859 words
Last week we flew to sunny Playa del Carmen, Mexico, and visited the ancient Mayan ruins at Tulum. Each time we take a trip outside the USA, I’m reminded of how young my country is in relation to other countries around the world. When we visit our daughter in Mexico City, we’ve enjoyed the ancient canals of Xochimilco, a UNESCO World Heritage Site in the far south of Mexico City. These canals were built in pre-Hispanic times by the Aztecs who created floating flower and vegetable gardens. Tourists buy flowers, fruit, Corona Mexican beer, and tacos from boats floating on the canals and enjoy the music of mariachi bands floating on another boat. Many canals were part of Mexico City until the Spanish came with their horses and filled in this mode of transportation.
In the 1990’s Dave was flying American Airline flights to Cairo, Egypt, and took his family along to a different world. We rode camels to the pyramids and colorful Ramadan tents erected in the desert. We visited bustling, ancient markets from before Christ’s time and entered the City of the Dead where people live in tombs of wealthy, deceased residents where electricity was piped in for TV reception. People living there still cook on open fires on dirt floors.
Sometime I’d like to visit England’s Stonehenge where historians are still studying the monumental rock formations created thousands of years ago. I loved friendly Italy where I visited Rome’s Coliseum to see where gladiators had fought lions and Cameo Joe sold ivory cameos to fascinated tourists. As I walked through the underground tombs, where bones slept and ancient Christians worshipped, history’s timeline cast an eerie spell over me.
Most of us are fascinated by Europe’s towering cathedrals, castles, and royalty. Tourists can observe that life was so different in those years filled with opulent splendors for the ruling classes, but Charles Dickens wrote of the underclass’ dire poverty, their daily struggle to raise families with little food and shelter.
We read that Mexico’s Tulum ruins are the third most visited archaeological site in Mexico just outside of Playa del Carmen on the Riviera Maya south of Cancun . On a cliff overlooking the Caribbean, Tulum represents an advanced civilization that flourished from around 1200 AD until the arrival of the Spanish. It was one of the last cities built and inhabited by the Mayans. Tulum was inhabited by 1000 to 1600 people who lived in platform dwellings along a street and supervised the trade traffic. Most inhabitants lived outside the walled city, leaving the interior for residences of the governors and priests and ceremonial structures. At its height, between the 13th and 15th centuries, it managed to survive about 70 years after the Spanish began occupying Mexico and brought Old World diseases causing the city’s demise.
Tulum means “enclosure”. It was protected from invasions by a 16 ft thick wall on three sides, interrupted by five gates. The original name is believed to have been Zama or Dawn, reflecting the west-east alignment of its buildings facing the sunrise. Tulum had access to both land and sea trade routes, making it an important trade hub, especially for obsidian, a dark stone highly valued.
Tulum appears to have been an important site for the worship of the Diving or Descending god, the main god honored at Tulum depicted on several buildings as an upside-down figure above doorways. Castillo, or the castle, is Tulum’s largest and most prominent building. It served as a landmark for sailors. Directly opposite the castle is a cove and landing beach at a break in the sea cliffs, perfect for trading canoes to come in.
The Temple of the Frescoes in front of the castle was used as an observatory for tracking movements of the sun. 13th century frescoes are contained inside, but visitors are no longer permitted to go inside. The Mayan frescoes represent the rain god Chaac and Ixchel, goddess of weaving, women, the moon, and medicine. Supernatural serpents are a common motif. On the cornice of the temple is a relief of the head of the rain god.. From a distance visitors can make out his eyes, nose, mouth and chin.
Coastal and land routes converged at Tulum, apparent by the number of artifacts found in or near the site. Contacts with areas all over Central Mexico and Central America are apparent by copper artifacts from the Mexican highlands plus flint artifacts, ceramics, incense burners, and gold objects from all over the Yucatan. Salt and textiles were some of the goods brought to Tulum by sea. Typical exported goods included feathers and copper objects coming form inland sources. They could be transported by sea to rivers and taken inland by seafaring canoes with access to the highlands and lowlands.
Today, we continue to wonder at the knowledge of the Egyptians, Aztecs, and Mayans, who understood when to plant, when to harvest, and how to build pyramids. The knowledge of the moon, sun, and tides these ancient civilizations had is totally amazing to anyone visiting these sites today. 859 words
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Coolness!
Driving around the lake yesterday I saw a few tree leaves with tinges of red. Is fall coming or are they distressed trees proclaiming their protests to this hot, humid weather?
Friends tell me, “I’m looking forward to Thanksgiving. I can’t wait for the snow to fly. At least I can put more clothes on.”
There is a limit to how much clothing one can shed. A neighbor, living behind stockade fences, gardens, and pine trees, enjoys watering her plants in her underwear. but how many of us have foliage to shelter our almost-naked bodies from unexpected visitors? Dave was out in the neighborhood campaigning for his political favorites when he entered the neighbor’s sanctuary. His eyes spotted a seemingly nude figure watering her plants: he did an about face and ran. That would have been an embarrassing encounter for both parties. I doubt he would have gained her political support.
Even my brain is sluggish along with my lethargic body. No matter how much ice water I consume, or how often I dive into the lake, I can’t get my groove back; I have no energy. The lake feels like bath water, but if I dunk my head under the water numerous times and remain in my wet swim suit, life feels better.
Dreaming, I’m planning my Thanksgiving table with a big, fat turkey and all the trimmings. I’ll serve Mom’s delectable cranberry cake with the butter-rum frosting oozing over each piece. The Thanksgiving platter, chips and all, will be placed in the center of the table which will be covered with the once-a-year cloth purchased in Provence, France. We’ll invite scads of guests to enjoy the feast and play games afterwards. Buddy will attempt to catch any tidbits falling from our plates. All will have stuffed tummies and enjoy a nap following the meal.
Sweaters and corduroys, wool skirts and thick socks, skates and cross-country skis fill my dreams. Cooling off improves my moods and my body feels better simply dreaming of cold nights and flannel PJ’s. Christmas music will flood the house and I’ll start planning my Christmas tree trimmings.
As the torrid sun beats through my windows, I can feel my body sweating. It’s back to reality. It’s 92 degrees outside. The lake is not filled with swimmers and boaters. It’s too hot and humid. When will summer come to an end and we can enjoy the coolness of fall breezes and wool clothing?
Friends tell me, “I’m looking forward to Thanksgiving. I can’t wait for the snow to fly. At least I can put more clothes on.”
There is a limit to how much clothing one can shed. A neighbor, living behind stockade fences, gardens, and pine trees, enjoys watering her plants in her underwear. but how many of us have foliage to shelter our almost-naked bodies from unexpected visitors? Dave was out in the neighborhood campaigning for his political favorites when he entered the neighbor’s sanctuary. His eyes spotted a seemingly nude figure watering her plants: he did an about face and ran. That would have been an embarrassing encounter for both parties. I doubt he would have gained her political support.
Even my brain is sluggish along with my lethargic body. No matter how much ice water I consume, or how often I dive into the lake, I can’t get my groove back; I have no energy. The lake feels like bath water, but if I dunk my head under the water numerous times and remain in my wet swim suit, life feels better.
Dreaming, I’m planning my Thanksgiving table with a big, fat turkey and all the trimmings. I’ll serve Mom’s delectable cranberry cake with the butter-rum frosting oozing over each piece. The Thanksgiving platter, chips and all, will be placed in the center of the table which will be covered with the once-a-year cloth purchased in Provence, France. We’ll invite scads of guests to enjoy the feast and play games afterwards. Buddy will attempt to catch any tidbits falling from our plates. All will have stuffed tummies and enjoy a nap following the meal.
Sweaters and corduroys, wool skirts and thick socks, skates and cross-country skis fill my dreams. Cooling off improves my moods and my body feels better simply dreaming of cold nights and flannel PJ’s. Christmas music will flood the house and I’ll start planning my Christmas tree trimmings.
As the torrid sun beats through my windows, I can feel my body sweating. It’s back to reality. It’s 92 degrees outside. The lake is not filled with swimmers and boaters. It’s too hot and humid. When will summer come to an end and we can enjoy the coolness of fall breezes and wool clothing?
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Shades of Grey Sells!
Sex sells...isn’t that obvious from current Best Seller lists of books, videos and movies. Sex, speed, and thrillers tossed with a bit of lusty romance and deception Is really the fastest selling recipe for books, music, movies to the public
I was curious. Aren’t you? Best Seller lists are prominent on the internet as well as lots of magazines and newspapers. But the SAME book keeps making that list! Why? What’s the appeal? Is it a racy book? Sounds like it might be. And the scuttlebutt of comments from readers really had me intrigued, even titillated~ humm
50 Shades of Grey has my neighborhood book club appearing with flushed cheeks, heads downs, whispering certain pages to be sure to check out. Naturally, who wouldn’t be curious?
I bought the book, only the first book of the trilogy. I read it. I found out.
Nope, it didn’t make me rush to the store to purchase the next of the series. Even though a friend’s face lit up and her voice grew more agitated and louder, it still didn’t spark my race to the book shop. She was totally enticed by the action. The male character, though not a hero to me, was successful, handsome and charming. But he has a dark streak. I presume that dark side of his personality coined the title 50 SHADES OF GRAY.
When a friend was busy raising two children, often she felt shunned at neighborhood parties. When unknowns gathered and proceeded to asked her what she did for a living, she replied, “I’m busy at home raising two little children.” The inquirers would drift away, uninterested. She began to feel worthless, undervalued.
She needed to add some spice to her resume for the next neighborhood cocktail party.
My pal would bat her long lashes, strike a pose and answer, “I’m a domma matrix!” That got the interest of all in hearing distance. She decided to add a bit of zest, “I find leather, cufflinks and whips to be quite the lure for many who contact me.”
But, was her husband made aware of her new profession? I think not.
Of course, she was only teasing. She was no longer a boring matron playing only Chutes and Ladders with her kids. Neighbors now looked at her with new eyes.
Maybe that’s the basic lure of the SHADES OF GRAY books. They simply add some spice to a long marriage or a boring life.
I was curious. Aren’t you? Best Seller lists are prominent on the internet as well as lots of magazines and newspapers. But the SAME book keeps making that list! Why? What’s the appeal? Is it a racy book? Sounds like it might be. And the scuttlebutt of comments from readers really had me intrigued, even titillated~ humm
50 Shades of Grey has my neighborhood book club appearing with flushed cheeks, heads downs, whispering certain pages to be sure to check out. Naturally, who wouldn’t be curious?
I bought the book, only the first book of the trilogy. I read it. I found out.
Nope, it didn’t make me rush to the store to purchase the next of the series. Even though a friend’s face lit up and her voice grew more agitated and louder, it still didn’t spark my race to the book shop. She was totally enticed by the action. The male character, though not a hero to me, was successful, handsome and charming. But he has a dark streak. I presume that dark side of his personality coined the title 50 SHADES OF GRAY.
When a friend was busy raising two children, often she felt shunned at neighborhood parties. When unknowns gathered and proceeded to asked her what she did for a living, she replied, “I’m busy at home raising two little children.” The inquirers would drift away, uninterested. She began to feel worthless, undervalued.
She needed to add some spice to her resume for the next neighborhood cocktail party.
My pal would bat her long lashes, strike a pose and answer, “I’m a domma matrix!” That got the interest of all in hearing distance. She decided to add a bit of zest, “I find leather, cufflinks and whips to be quite the lure for many who contact me.”
But, was her husband made aware of her new profession? I think not.
Of course, she was only teasing. She was no longer a boring matron playing only Chutes and Ladders with her kids. Neighbors now looked at her with new eyes.
Maybe that’s the basic lure of the SHADES OF GRAY books. They simply add some spice to a long marriage or a boring life.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
MOZART INHOBOKEN
Pat Spilseth writerscircle@mchsi.com
MOZART IN HOBOKEN
What happened to sass and tumultuous tumbles
in and out of love
and adventurous forays with reptilian characters
that lent such disturbance to my existence?
The scrappy spark of my youthful face
has receded and fallen in abandonment of years.
A jowled neck burrows into sagging shoulders
hoisting boned cups to perky awareness.
No longer a girl in bloom
I’m paralyzed with self-doubt
making me prey to wannabe yogis and bona fide geniuses
who temper my depressions with wit and affectionate wisdom.
They’ve been here too
and moved on to another plane or drug-induced planet,
a flight of fancy to other worlds of inspired minds.
Let’s be candid… but, gentle with our candor.
What happened to the tempestuous adolescent
gasping with laughter
at each indiscretion?
Sometimes I soar close to smoky beginnings
where I face all manner of monsters
with composed ferocity and gritty eloquence.
Sober, I cajole myself,
partaking in a few pleasures.
All grown up, I’ve become Mozart in Hoboken.
In my nearsighted, squinty view
It doesn’t pay to see things too clearly.
It’s too bright.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Broken Twigs Emptiness
POEM: BRANCHES February, 2012 Pat Spilseth
Broken twigs twist in the wind,
free fall
as squirrels jump and soar into empty air.
Skeleton fingers
scratch the sky.
This is the winter
that never was
No skaters;
a lone skier glides past
random fishing shacks
on the frozen lake
Danger lurks beneath the ice.
Power ridges buckle,
heave ice floats into monster piles,
flowing water drowns interlopers.
Beware
winter’s ice is not safe.
But it draws me
into its emptiness
Broken twigs twist in the wind,
free fall
as squirrels jump and soar into empty air.
Skeleton fingers
scratch the sky.
This is the winter
that never was
No skaters;
a lone skier glides past
random fishing shacks
on the frozen lake
Danger lurks beneath the ice.
Power ridges buckle,
heave ice floats into monster piles,
flowing water drowns interlopers.
Beware
winter’s ice is not safe.
But it draws me
into its emptiness
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Prom Promises
FROM WHERE I SIT Prom Promises April 5, 2012 Pat Spilseth
It’s prom time. Can you still remember being sixteen or seventeen, getting ready for your magical evening at the prom? The annual high school prom is a rite of passage, one of those memorable rituals of American youth. Its anticipation is full of hopes and dreams few of us will ever forget, no matter if your prom date is Prince Charming or a dud.
I remember...
There I was, in my perfect hairdo, sprayed stiffly with Aqua Net, and a dab of Wind Song perfume purchased at the Corner Drug Store. My image in the full length mirror smiled back at me, dressed in a lovely, hand-me-down, white dress of tulle and satin. The garter belt holding up my tan nylons was scratchy, and the garters pinched, but I was determined to feel lovely. I slipped into my stiff, white 1” heeled slippers, making me just a tad taller that my anticipated date. I grimaced, but...oh, the pain was worth the breath-taking beauty I observed.
There was still time to practice in the mirror. Cocking my head slightly and trying to look dreamy, I put on various facial expressions: should I look demure, ecstatic, surprised, or engage in the latest look I’d read about in “Seventeen” magazine, my teenage Bible? I wasn’t quite comfortable with that flirty look, but “Seventeen” told me that it was the “look” a date was attracted to.
I’d read in the teenage glamour magazine that it was a good idea to practice smooching with a mirror, just in case my date tried to kiss me. One should be prepared. This would be my first kiss. I was a late bloomer. I’d dreamt about this earth-shaking event for months. I was a bit nervous. Just thinking about this monumental event made me blush! Pulling a tube of Pink Kisses lipstick from my white beaded, tiny clutch purse, I lathered color on my quivering lips. Licking my lips several times to make them glisten, as the magazine had told me to do, I hesitantly approached the mirror. Clutching the looking glass shakily with both hands, I pressed my fevered face to the cold mirror and pecked a kiss. That felt weird! I didn’t want to appear too “forward”...that could botch my reputation as a “nice” girl. I tried smacking the kiss with more force. But that sucking noise was a bit overpowering. The noise reminded me of embarrassing, offensive sounds I sure hoped wouldn’t happen to me on this magical evening.
I preferred thinking about the flowers he might bring. I loved daisies. Roses and carnations made me think of dead people. Would he choose a wrist corsage of inexpensive carnations or perhaps he’d bring a small bouquet of flowers from his mom’s garden. That would really be embarrassing! I hoped he wouldn’t pin the flowers on the bodice of my dress. Most high school boys I knew weren’t real smooth. I envisioned getting poked with the piercing pin and bleeding red blood on my white gown. I’d be utterly mortified!
Was that the doorbell? Maybe Mom will get it. Gee, I hope Dad is busy in his sheriff’s office, but what if Blackie and Verdi were sitting at the bars of their jail cell windows checking out my date? That would be totally mortifying! Johnny would have to go through the gauntlet of staring convicts behind bars leering at his suit, probably making snide comments, maybe whistling. Would he even come to the door to pick me up?
Clomping down the stairs from my upstairs bedroom to the kitchen door, I saw him. Gee Whiz...Johnny looked so handsome and grown up in his narrow black tie, starched white shirt and shiny black suit. WOW!
But wait! What’s that under his arms? Is he trying to be funny? Standing tall, dark, and handsome with a crooked smile on his face, my Johnny looked embarrassed. Hobbling on crutches, he knocked at the kitchen door. Stammering an apology for being late, he explained that he’d sprained his ankle at the baseball game after school. Shuttering, I knew, deep in my heart, that my prom evening was doomed.
But remember, there’s still hope for the kiss...
Pasting a smile on my disappointed face, we limped through the Grand March at the Lakeside Ballroom while parents snapped flashbulb photos of their dressed up kids with Brownie cameras. Johnny quickly grabbed a booth, asked for a bucket of ice, and we spent the night with his foot on ice to keep the swelling down. Looking back, I believe that the last place on earth Johnny wanted to be was at the high school prom at the Lakeside Ballroom. It wouldn’t have mattered if his date had been Sandra Dee or Farah Fawcett. Johnny groaned, grimacing in pain as he added freezing ice to the bucket.
Dream on, girls...Enjoy your night of glamour and romance. You’ll be gorgeous. Assuredly, his Mom has told him how to behave and practiced dancing with him. Pretend your date is Prince Charming, dancing with his beautiful princess. As “Seventeen” magazines advised me back in 1962, just put on a smile and have fun! 868
It’s prom time. Can you still remember being sixteen or seventeen, getting ready for your magical evening at the prom? The annual high school prom is a rite of passage, one of those memorable rituals of American youth. Its anticipation is full of hopes and dreams few of us will ever forget, no matter if your prom date is Prince Charming or a dud.
I remember...
There I was, in my perfect hairdo, sprayed stiffly with Aqua Net, and a dab of Wind Song perfume purchased at the Corner Drug Store. My image in the full length mirror smiled back at me, dressed in a lovely, hand-me-down, white dress of tulle and satin. The garter belt holding up my tan nylons was scratchy, and the garters pinched, but I was determined to feel lovely. I slipped into my stiff, white 1” heeled slippers, making me just a tad taller that my anticipated date. I grimaced, but...oh, the pain was worth the breath-taking beauty I observed.
There was still time to practice in the mirror. Cocking my head slightly and trying to look dreamy, I put on various facial expressions: should I look demure, ecstatic, surprised, or engage in the latest look I’d read about in “Seventeen” magazine, my teenage Bible? I wasn’t quite comfortable with that flirty look, but “Seventeen” told me that it was the “look” a date was attracted to.
I’d read in the teenage glamour magazine that it was a good idea to practice smooching with a mirror, just in case my date tried to kiss me. One should be prepared. This would be my first kiss. I was a late bloomer. I’d dreamt about this earth-shaking event for months. I was a bit nervous. Just thinking about this monumental event made me blush! Pulling a tube of Pink Kisses lipstick from my white beaded, tiny clutch purse, I lathered color on my quivering lips. Licking my lips several times to make them glisten, as the magazine had told me to do, I hesitantly approached the mirror. Clutching the looking glass shakily with both hands, I pressed my fevered face to the cold mirror and pecked a kiss. That felt weird! I didn’t want to appear too “forward”...that could botch my reputation as a “nice” girl. I tried smacking the kiss with more force. But that sucking noise was a bit overpowering. The noise reminded me of embarrassing, offensive sounds I sure hoped wouldn’t happen to me on this magical evening.
I preferred thinking about the flowers he might bring. I loved daisies. Roses and carnations made me think of dead people. Would he choose a wrist corsage of inexpensive carnations or perhaps he’d bring a small bouquet of flowers from his mom’s garden. That would really be embarrassing! I hoped he wouldn’t pin the flowers on the bodice of my dress. Most high school boys I knew weren’t real smooth. I envisioned getting poked with the piercing pin and bleeding red blood on my white gown. I’d be utterly mortified!
Was that the doorbell? Maybe Mom will get it. Gee, I hope Dad is busy in his sheriff’s office, but what if Blackie and Verdi were sitting at the bars of their jail cell windows checking out my date? That would be totally mortifying! Johnny would have to go through the gauntlet of staring convicts behind bars leering at his suit, probably making snide comments, maybe whistling. Would he even come to the door to pick me up?
Clomping down the stairs from my upstairs bedroom to the kitchen door, I saw him. Gee Whiz...Johnny looked so handsome and grown up in his narrow black tie, starched white shirt and shiny black suit. WOW!
But wait! What’s that under his arms? Is he trying to be funny? Standing tall, dark, and handsome with a crooked smile on his face, my Johnny looked embarrassed. Hobbling on crutches, he knocked at the kitchen door. Stammering an apology for being late, he explained that he’d sprained his ankle at the baseball game after school. Shuttering, I knew, deep in my heart, that my prom evening was doomed.
But remember, there’s still hope for the kiss...
Pasting a smile on my disappointed face, we limped through the Grand March at the Lakeside Ballroom while parents snapped flashbulb photos of their dressed up kids with Brownie cameras. Johnny quickly grabbed a booth, asked for a bucket of ice, and we spent the night with his foot on ice to keep the swelling down. Looking back, I believe that the last place on earth Johnny wanted to be was at the high school prom at the Lakeside Ballroom. It wouldn’t have mattered if his date had been Sandra Dee or Farah Fawcett. Johnny groaned, grimacing in pain as he added freezing ice to the bucket.
Dream on, girls...Enjoy your night of glamour and romance. You’ll be gorgeous. Assuredly, his Mom has told him how to behave and practiced dancing with him. Pretend your date is Prince Charming, dancing with his beautiful princess. As “Seventeen” magazines advised me back in 1962, just put on a smile and have fun! 868
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