The Christmas Candle

Seeing images of Jerusalem while watching a movie last night reminded me of a special candle my father used to light every Christmas Eve. Here is the account Pepe gave me over the phone today of how he obtained the candle.

In 1965 (before Nana and Pepe adopted me!), Pepe was stationed aboard ship in Sigonella, Sicily (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Naval_Air_Station_Sigonella). He learned of an opportunity to take a flight to Rome and he jumped at the chance. While in Rome, he attended Catholic mass in the Vatican lead by Pope Paul XI. When I asked him how close he was to the Pope, he replied, "Well, it was just like attending church here...in a regular church. I was that close. As they carried Pope Paul down the aisle after mass, I tried to reach out to touch him, but I wasn't able to. Everyone was trying to touch his cloak."

Pepe then took a bus tour of Israel and Jerusalem. During his visit to Bethlehem, he visited the Church of the Nativity, the oldest operating church in the world. It is built over the place Jesus was born. Check these links out to see more--it is truly beautiful:

• Virtual tour of the Church of the Nativity:  http://jerusalem.com/tour/nativity_church_3D/web
• Beautiful images of the Church of the Nativity: http://triggerpit.com/2011/03/28/church-of-nativity-walk-trough-where-jesus-christ-was-born/

Pepe then marveled at the black-cloaked priest praying and worshiping at the Wailing Wall, all that is left of the original temple. He laughed as he described the priest bowing and praying in unison..."Such a funny and peculiar sight to behold," he said. Learn more about and see images of the Wailing Wall:  http://www.levitt.com/slideshow/s01p05.html

Perhaps Pepe's most profound experience was walking the Stations of the Cross--the actual path Jesus walked on his way to crucifixion and burial. This site explains more about the steps Catholics reflect on when contemplating the death of Jesus: http://onlineministries.creighton.edu/CollaborativeMinistry/stations.html It was at the tomb where Jesus was buried that Pepe purchased a candle. He lit this candle every Christmas eve for just for a few moments at a time and he would tell my Uncle Craig and I how he obtained the candle.  He would remind us why we celebrate Christmas. It made each Christmas eve so special and so relevent. Today he told me the candle had special prayers and blessings associated with it, and when lit every year it was as if you were at the tomb where Jesus was laid to rest. I remember the candle being roughly a foot long, the circumference of a carrot, and white.

Your Pepe is a deeply devoted Catholic...I am so happy I was able to help him recall such a special day in his life! I am also happy I am able to share a little nugget of specialness about your grandfather!

Love you!
~Mama

Popsicles and Parfaits

As we were conversing after dinner last night, Pepe reminded me of how much he used to like making Koolaid Popsicles for your Uncle Craig and I. I'd forgotten about that after-dinner treat! (We drank a lot of Koolaid growing up--it was cheap!)

I remember sitting Indian style on the floor in front of the TV (StarTrek was on) with our black and orange Dachshund, Snooky, curled in my lap, slurping away at a frosty dessert. I must have been around ten years-old. This picture of a Tupperware Popsicle tray looks just like the one your Nana had. Imagine them filled with grape, cherry, orange, or lime Koolaid!

Pepe's Koolaid Popsicle memory made me remember a treat Nana used to make for Uncle Craig and I: Jello Pudding or Jello Parfaits.

Here is a picture of a set of Tupperware Parfait cups that looked just like those Nana had. Imagine them sitting on the self in the refrigerator. Inside each cup, layered alternately with with Cool Whip, was butterscotch, vanilla, chocolate, or tapioca pudding. Can you picture them with layered with lime, cherry, or orange Jello and Cool Whip? What a treat!

I wonder what childhood treats you remember me making you (grin)?

Love,
~Mama

Strawberry Juice

Dom's excitement over bowl of sugared strawberries I just prepared sparked this memory:

Mom used to slice fresh strawberries into a bowl, sprinkle them with sugar, cover them tightly, and then store them in the refrigerator for several hours. Though my brother and I wanted to eat them right away, we knew it was best to be patient and wait for the time when Mom would give us the go-ahead. The very best part of the anticipated treat was the syrupy goodness at the bottom of the bowl!

I think it is kind of cool when I do the things for you kids that my mother used to do for me. :)

Love,
~Mama

Pot Pies and TV Dinners

Ahhhhh! How I loved the TV dinner in its foil compartmentalized package! Just look at it!

Buttery intant potatoes. Sweet medley of peas and carrots. Succulent, perfectly sliced turkey, swimming in gravy, lying atop savory stuffing. And the "pièce de résistance":  cherry pie! Mmmmmmm! The TV dinner came frozen in a box, like the one you see here. It was tightly sealed with a thin foil cover. It was popped into the oven at a specified tempurature and baked for a specified amount of time. When finished, half the fun was the anticipation of what laid beneath the foil top...seeing if each food item remained neatly in its own compartment or if it had oozed into its neighbor's. The brownie and the chocolate pudding often migrated into the macaroni and cheese or into the corn. My brother and I would then sit cross-legged on the floor in front of the television with our meal; Snooky, the Dachshund sitting prettily closeby, watching our forks' every move, hoping for a little morsel to fall.

 

On some nights, Mom would make us Pot Pies. Would it be chicken? Turkey? Beef? These delicious little ditties also came in foil packages. My favorite way to eat them was to collapse the top crust into the meat, veggies, and gravy. The crunch lended itself well to the soft, buttery bottom crust...oh-so-tasty!

 

Nowadays, TV dinners come packaged in paper and plastic--not nearly as fun...no anticipation of the contents inside. Pot Pies also come packaged in paper and plastic, and sans bottom crust...the nerve!

 

Love,

~Mama

Monkey Bars

Fourth through sixth grade--10 to 12 years-old; living in San Diego, CA.

All the cool girls could flip off and twirl around the monkey bar. I could not. I found more enjoyment and less of a feeling of inadequacy when dragging my magnet through the sand and pulling up iron particles. I was too scared to flip off and twirl around the monkey bar, unlike the cool girls. They were brave. I could, however, swing upside down, back and forth from my knees on the monkey bar...not cool, especially if your shirt accidentally fell down over your face and bared your flat-chestedness to all the playground. (Gulp.)

How to Flip off the Monkey Bar

1. Grasp the monkey bar firmly with both hands.
2. Throw your lower body forward; swing forward and backward, gaining enough momentum so that you can swing your legs up past your shoulders, between your hands, and hook your knees over the monkey bar.
3. Let your hands go from the bar and swing  your torso hard back and forth (this is as far as I would go) hard.
4. When your body reaches as far forward as it can, unhook your knees and let the momentum of your body carry you forward and your legs around until you land on your feet.
5. Throw your hands up in the air in triumph and gloat while everyone looks at you in admiration.

How to Twirl Around the Monkey Bar

1. Grasp the monkey bar firmly with both hands.
2. Throw your lower body forward; swing your legs forward and backward, gaining enough momentum so that you can swing one leg up past your shoulders and between both hands.
3. Swing your body hard and use your hands and your strength to hoist your upper body up until you are sitting on top of the bar--knee on the bar, other leg dangling below the bar.
4. Carefully place both hands under the bar and lock your fingers around your shin.
5. At the same time, throw your body forward and allow the momentum to carry you around the bar over and over.
6. Use your dragging leg and your upper body strength to cause you to spin faster and faster around the bar while everyone looks at you in admiration.

(I am pretty sure I seized the opportunity to run to the bathroom and make a couple of soap balls//toilet paper bombs and decorate the bathroom ceiling during the "look-at-me-and-admire-me part.)

Love,
~Iron-collecting, janitor-pissing off Mama

Bathroom Shananigans

Six grade and living in San Diego, CA--I must have been 12.

The soap dispensers in the bathroom held a pink powdered soap. With one hand, you pushed the metal lever back and forth, while the other hand poised ready to catch the dry granules. After a sufficient amount was dispensed, you added a small amount of water atop the soap. With your free pointer finger you stirred the mixture, adding just enough water to make a sloppy, wet paste. Then, you worked the paste into a damp ball. Finally, you hucked it HARD at the ceiling. If you were really good at soap ball-making, it stuck! NOTE: You did not do this if anyone else was in the bathroom!

Toilet paper worked much the same way: You wadded a handful of toilet paper in your hand. With your free hand, you added just enough water to make a sloppy glob. Next you lobbed it toward the ceiling (it did not take nearly as much effort as it did the soap balls), and if it stuck, you were good! (You still had to run like hell before anyone came into the bathroom and caught you!)

Love,
(Naughty) Mama

The Bucket

"Doug! Go get 'The Bucket'!" my mother would holler to my father whenever my brother or I had the flu. Normally, the bucket held the cleaning solution and water she used while mopping the floors. When either one of us kids were sick, "The Bucket" would be transformed into a puke-catcher. Mom would put about a quarter of an inch of water in the bottom of "The Bucket" and place it on the floor where we could easily lean over from our beds when the urge to puke came. I guess the idea was to keep her from having to wash soiled sheets or a trail of vomit from our beds to the bathroom. I am pretty sure I recall her washing  a lot of sheets. Heh heh heh!

Funny, I do not recall you kids being sick very often...and I certainly do not recall ever getting "The Bucket" ready!

~Mama

Trading Lunches

I'm in grade school, maybe 5th or 6th grade. My best friend is Tandy Campbell. Her mother packs in her brown bag lunch the most delicious-looking turkey, mayo, lettuce, and tomato half-sandwich, which I envy her for and want--that is until I get the nerve up to ask her if she wants to trade her sandwich for mine. My sandwich is the same every day: peanut butter and jam. There is always too much peanut butter and my sandwich sticks to the roof of my mouth. Tandy agrees one day to trade her luscious turkey sandwich half for my  peanut butter and  Hawaiian Punch (Yes! There really was a Hawaiian Punch flavored jam!) sandwich. I have no idea why, but after this, she lets me coerce her into the trade just about daily even though it seems she really doesn't want to.

On a number of weekend days I am asked to visit Tandy's house and her mother makes the same divine half-sandwiches for lunch and serves them to us with a bowl of steaming Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup. I think her mother is the best mother alive. We listen to her brother's  Bread  and Cream albums (on 33 rpm vinyl).

Tandy once got grossed out by the way a banana looked cut in half and refused to eat it. To this day I have no idea what is so repulsive about a banana's innards.

I  often think of my friend Tandy, with her mousey round glasses and long, straight brown hair. I wonder if she remembers me.

Love,
~Mama

Baton Twirling

When I was about 10 I twirled baton! There I was, in ribboned pig tails and a short, bright skirt, Bobbi socks and bleach-white Keds, grinning ear to ear while marching along in formation with my twirl mates in a local parade. Occasionally our troop would stop and perform a short, well-rehearsed choreographed piece for the crowd: figure eights and horizontals, long arm and double wrist rolls, under the leg tosses, spins and catches. The crowd would gasp and applaud each time we caught our batons in sync (well, sort of), and flinch and duck at flying-out-of-control metal sticks.

I ponder...how many little girls learned to twirl the baton? I remember a classmate of mine in high school, Kim, who was an outstanding Majorette. She lived across the street from me and practiced frequently in her driveway. She was graceful, yet powerful and performed with such surety. Her costumes were so beautiful on her petite frame as she adorned our football field during halftime. I often wished my mom had kept me in the sport because I would have liked to twirl with Kim.  Instead, I was a cheerleader, which was really was the sport I grew to love.

There were times I thought about getting you, Aly and Jay, into twirling, but it just wasn't offered at any of the bases we lived at and I never maintained the skill I had when I was so young to teach you myself. Maybe you will encourage your daughters to try it out and make their grandma proud one day.(?) :)

Love,
~Mama

Nuts

I was watching television the other night and a pistachio commercial came on. It reminded me that my family has always been nuts about nuts. Around every Thanksgiving, Mom would arrange walnuts, almonds, Brazil nuts, and  pecans in their shells in a large platter. She'd lay nutcrackers and picks atop the mini mountain and we'd spend days crushing shells and digging out meaty goodness. Shards would fly and Mom would bitch when finding crumbs and debris months after the snacking frenzy ended. Still, it was a yearly ritual she allowed.

Nuts could be found in our house year-round. Pop loved his pistachios! The red ones were his favorite. He'd alternate with peanuts once in a while.  Geez, I hated when he mistakenly bought unsalted peanuts! Dad would have a bag o' nuts on on knee and a bowl for the shells on the other. My brother and I would sit on the floor with our own bowls, sucking away at the outside until they were soggy and then crushing the shells to extract the two gems found inside. Sometimes we got gypped...one healthy nut and its shriveled companion. Other times we'd find a little buddy wrapped cozily around just one nut. Gross!

Mom loved cashews, but they were expensive, so she did not share with us often. She would sometimes by cans of mixed nuts...funny, no one ever wanted to eat the peanuts left after all the other succulents were picked out!

As a teen, some of my favorite treats were Planter's dry roasted peanuts, Blue Diamond Smokehouse almonds, and Planter's dry roasted sunflower seeds. These I would hoard in my room and share with no one.

Nowadays, when I visit Nana and Pepe's home in Lisbon, I mosey up to the counter and see what kinds of nuts await. 46-years-old, and my parents never disappoint!

Love,
~Mama

Sibling Shenanigans

My brother and I had a lot of fun growing up. He was the sweetest boy ever! Soft spoken, shy, gentle...just adorable to look at. I cannot remember one time when I felt malice towards him. Having moved around a lot we were close friends. We've remained close, even when the distance has been far.

Mom and Dad liked to take nightly walks. They'd leave us alone for about a half hour to forty-five minutes after dinner during warmer weather and Craig and I would have a ball! One of the things we loved was having "feet fights." We'd lie on our backs on the floor, press our feet together, and push/pedal like crazy. The idea was to keep our feet glued together regardless of how crazy our pedaling became....laugh! Oh, how we'd laugh!

Another game we'd play was "airplane." One of us would lie on our back, bend our knees, and place our feet parallel with the ceiling. The other would sit on the other's feet. Then, together, we'd then count "One...two...threeeeeeee!" and the sitter would be launched up into the air and across the room. More laughter...heh heh heh!

More often than not, our good-natured play would eventually turn into disagreement and we'd end up wrestling. One would end up crying and running to his (yes, poor Craig) room with the other (yes, me) pleading, "Please, don't tell Mom!" neither of us told.

One time, while living in Washington State...junior high age, we had an altercation. I accidentally  struck Craig while wrestling and split his chin wide open. Talk about bleeding! I was so mortified at the thought of the wrath of Mom, I pleaded over and over and apologized profusely. Craig hid that wound for three days until one fated day Mom asked, "What happened to your chin?" Craig lied and said he sustained the injury when playing basketball with his buddies and someone's watch got him. I was so relieved when she believed him and it was then I instantly developed a lifelong respect and appreciation for such a wonderful brother.

I miss my brother so much...what a lucky girl I am to have had such a wonderful sibling! Cherish each other, babes. Never let the memories go!

Love, Mama

Big Wheel Fun!

Today is the celebration of the birth of my dear brother, Craig (45 years). He and I have always been great friends. We were the kind of siblings who didn't mind if the other was visiting his or her bedroom. I loved playing with his army men and his Tonka trucks. He liked me to read to him--my favorite thing to do on a weekend morning, side-by-side while trying not to wake Mom and Dad up. We got along famously--almost all the time.

One of the activities we really liked engaging in on the weekends was riding bikes. I had a white-seated, handlebar-tasseled banana seat two-wheeler and he had a Big Wheel. Oh, how I loved his Big Wheel! We were not allowed to ride each other's bikes, though, so it was a rare occasion when I could take it for a spin. Craig rode the crap out of that thing! The middle of the wheels were white, they were so worn, and the big wheel had a hole in it. Sometimes, when Craig tried to take off quickly, the wheel couldn't grip and it would spin/slide on the sidewalk without moving the rider forward. The sun had faded the red plastic body to a dull rust color and the seat was missing--taken off long before because it was more cool to sit your butt way back and extend your legs to the pedals. There were times, when Mom wasn't looking, Craig would ride closer to the front and I would stand on the back of the seat and hold onto his shoulders as he drove. I remember, too, he used to "fix" his bike by flipping it over and paddling the pedals by hand like crazy, then letting go and watching how long the wheel would spin. The cool kids had a Big Wheel. I wasn't cool, but I'll tell you, Craig was! Heck, he still is!

Happy Birthday, (big) little bro! I love you fiercely! :)

~Mama

Pollywogs

My Dad used to take my brother and I to a local pond to watch pollywogs. One time we brought a pickle jar with us with the intention of catching a few. Dad submerged the jar in the water and told us we would come back after a while to see how many we caught, but I was so excited I persuaded him I was happy with the few we had. The water was murky, but the wiggly tadpoles were clearly flitting about. We brought them home and put them into an aquarium hoping to watch their legs and arms sprout and their growing frog-bodies absorb their tails.

Alas, pollywogs in tap water quickly die!

A super-cute video by the Bare Naked Ladies is quite fitting for this post, I think! Enjoy, my loves.

Juice

My dad used to make sure our refrigerator was stocked with either tomato juice or V-8 juice. My favorite was the V-8. Back then juice came in large cans. Dad used to make triangular holes, one on either side of the can--one large and one small--and then cover it with tin foil.

Another thing he used to do was pour the juice from a can of sliced pineapple into a cup for my brother or I to drink. That was a treat!

~Mama

My Name is Hannah...

Hannah Lise Carey. I do not know if my name is spelled correctly. I have never actually seen it in writing. I only know how it sounds. Han-na Leese Care-ee. I do not have a mother. I do have a mom. Her name is Judy and oh-how-I-love-her. I love my mother, too, even though I do not have one. Ooooh...I have one. I just do not know her. But I want to. So much. Sometimes I ache for her. My ache led me to search for her many times, but my searches were futile. I dream that one day she will find me. Then my mom will not resent me for finding her. It won't be my fault. I want to know my biological mother, but I do not want to hurt my birth mom.

I'm going to be 45 this year. Isn't it time we meet? Isn't it time our lives make sense? Isn't it time the voids be filled? I know my mother feels a void. If I let one of my three treasures go, I would feel a deep, dark, emptiness; an incompleteness. Surely she must miss me. She named me. She baptized me. Mothers who plan to put their children up for adoption do not do this. Perhaps she meant to keep me and then realistically could not.

My mom told me my mother was a student close to getting her nurse's cap. My father (who I apparently inherited astigmatism from--thanks father o' mine) left before I was born. My mother wanted me to have a life better than the one she had--did not want to raise me as a single mother as her mother had her. I respect her decision. I am not mad. But sometimes, like tonight, when I am reminded of mortality, I am sad. She does not know she has three perfect, radiant, impressive grandchildren and she will never witness the indelible mark they will leave on this world. I want to so badly to share this experience with her. To see her smile of approval. I want her to see how hard I work to...just to. I want her to tell me my heart and my drive, and my passion, and my optimism, and my dreams (and my German-thighs, and my way-too-premature gray hair, and my hazel eyes), come from her and that all is good and will be good. Because sometimes I just need to know I'm a good person. It would be nice to know that someone truly understands me. I just want to be part of something REAL, like my children are a part of me.

I want them to know who they are because I do not want them to age like me: I am afraid I will never completely know who I am.

~Mama

Things I Liked to do with Certain Foods

Pizza: [My favorite is extra cheese. I like to eat it by scraping everything off the top with my two front teeth, leaving the dough for last.]

Sugar Wafers: [Carefully lift off the top layer so that the frosting is intact on the bottom wafer. Then, nibble off each criss-crossed, frosting-covered section--the best, most delicious part of the cookie. Sweet and crunchy (my very favorite cookie to this day!).]

Cereal: [Dry. Milkless. I absolutely detest soggy cereal. What I really, really hate is taste of the milk after the cereal has been soaking in it. Gah! And Mom insists we drink all the milk after the cereal is gone. I prefer toast for breakfast.]

Toast: [Dry. Unbuttered.]

Sandwich: [One slice of bread, slathered with mayonnaise.]

Koolaid: [In a plastic baggie. Wet my finger, poke it into the koolaid powder, and suck it off my finger. It is usually lemonade-flavored. (If I got caught doing this, Mom would surely yell at me!)]

Hawaiian Punch jam and crunchy peanut butter sandwiches: [Luckily my friend Tandy likes them and will trade my whole one for her meat (usually turkey), lettuce, tomato, cheese, and Miracle Whip 1/2 sandwich. MMMMMmmmm]

American cheese: [Unwrap it from its plastic, and then squish it into a ball and nibble it down until it is gone.]

Spaghetti: [Cut the crap out of it with a knife and fork! No twirling for me.]

~Mama

Boob Stories

[Interjection: We lived in San Diego, CA at this time--nothing to do with the stories, but a point of reference/ time in case anyone is interested.]

When I was in 5th grade, I was (as I should have been) very flat-chested. I longed--like you wouldn't believe--to wear a bra like a couple of the girls in my class (yes, it's true). One girl in particular, Bridget, was "built" and the boys really liked her (her personality, however, left A LOT to be desired! I really, really disliked her). Thinking it would be impressive for others to see that I wore a bra (and therefore deduct that I had boobs), I stole an orange silky bra from my mother's drawer, and wore it to school...under an extremely light, blue-colored blouse. Yeah. I'm pretty sure it got noticed, but it probably wasn't so impressive.

One evening, when I was in 6th grade, my mother asked me to come closer and stand in front of her. She looked at me quietly for a second or two and then loudly hollered, "Doug! Doug come in here!" When my father came into the room, she exclaimed, "Look, we need to buy Laurie a bra! She's getting boobies!" Gah. Mortification!!

Oh boy!
~Mama

Disney and Knott's

From around the age of 10 to 12 my family lived in San Diego. We lived only two hours away from my great aunt-Rita (my grandfather's sister) and my great-uncle Joe and their four children. My brother and I used to get very excited about visiting them because it usually meant a trip to either Disney Land or Knott's Berry Farm. For some reason, I seem to remember Knott's more so than Disney. I still have a pink printed bonnet hanging on the bedpost of my parent's home from one trip there. It's one of those old-day, Little House on the Prairie-style bonnets. I used to secretly try it on in my girlhood and play pretend in the mirror with my bedroom door closed. I was not allowed to wear it, as it was strictly for decoration (!).

On one excursion to Knott's, the family decided to go on a donkey ride. My mother was a heavier woman whose ass strained under her weight. Yes, his poor back bowed tremendously. My Auntie laughed until she almost peed because the doomed creature refused to do anything but stand in place and poop. Another time (or was it the same trip?), my father made Auntie almost wet her pants by claiming my brother Craig's Davey Crockett raccoon tail hat was his hairy armpit. She really loved my dad!

I remember thinking the best treat in the world came from Disney: a full banana covered in chocolate, rolled in nuts, and frozen on a Popsicle stick. I tried a frozen banana when I went to Disney World with my boyfriend's family my senior year and I did not like them nearly as much as I did in my youth.

~Mama

Easter Memories

A colorful Easter basket made of cheap dyed wooden reeds overstuffed with plastic green "grass." Jelly beans lost within the "blades." Pluck them out and greedily suck on them until they are colorless jelly. Brilliantly wrapped foil chocolate crispies--eat them slowly and then lick the melted chocolate off each finger. Hollow bunny with missing ears, blue candy eyes and a pink tasty nose. White chocolate cross (Doesn't Mom know how I detest white chocolate and that Craig doesn't like it well enough to trade for something else with me?). A beautifully sugared egg with a spring scene inside. Why can't it be edible?


Church. The family spans the length of the wooden pew. Craig and I stand on either side of Mom because we will inevitably elbow each other until we get into trouble. It's better to avoid getting caught. Mom's "look"--eek!


Desperately hunting for more penny-filled eggs than Craig in Auntie and Uncle's Anaheim-sunny enclosed back yard. Stacks and stacks of empty Pepsi six-packs on the back porch (Auntie is addicted.). A fuzzy bunny piggy bank with quarters rattling inside. Spiral sliced ham and mounds of buttery mashed potatoes. Noisey conversations, laughing, and smiling faces. Dad tells Auntie a joke in French. She laughs so hard no sound escapes and a tear rolls down her face. Craig and I never understand what they talk about. Why didn't Dad teach us French? The trash compacter in the kitchen. Why does Auntie throw away all the leftovers? Mom would like to take them home, but the drive is two hours long. Stacks of comic books my cousin lets me read--Archie and Jughead, Veronica and Betty. Cool hand-me-downs she has outgrown; stuff my mom cannot afford to buy and I cannot wait to wear to school. (Remember Luv-it jeans?)



~Mama

Moving Across Country~Maine to California

My dad received military orders to move from Brunswick Naval Air Station, Maine to another base in California that I cannot recall...maybe in Chula Vista? I think he drove a blue Pontiac. I remember he put a piece of plywood the length of the back seat across the middle floor board "bump" (for lack of a better word) so that my brother and I could stretch out side-by-side and sleep. When we were sitting up, our legs splayed out in front of us because the spaces under the board on either side of the bump were packed with belongings--in fact, the whole car was packed. We were pretty small and we wore no seat belts, so we were able to face each other and play games, too.

I remember waking up one time and looking up and out the window at hills of dark green trees. I remember also, traveling across a bridge and seeing an eagle with a fish in his mouth. One night, we stopped for dinner at a Sambo's restaurant. I recall vanilla pudding for me and green jello for Craig. On another of our stops, an Indian Reservation, we went into a teepee and my mom bought me a little Indian girl with a Papoose on her back. She was about six inches high and dressed in soft beige suede decorated with colorful beads. Though it was a long trip, these are the only events I can recollect.

~Mama