A Christmas Treasure: Gone But Not Forgotten (December 12, 2005)

Helen & George (December 1980) To the left is Nola's favorite Christmas tree from Harry & David's.

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My husband, family and friends refer to me as the Christmas Looney. The name fits. At one time, I had sixty-five Christmas trees proudly displayed in our home year-round. My obsession with Christmas trees began when I celebrated my fifth Christmas.

My Aunt Nora sent us a very special gift for Christmas in 1948.  She selected it for our family with love from Harry and David’s in Oregon.  It was an eighteen-inch artificial tree like no other I had seen before or since.

The tree arrived in a box with its branches pressed up to the trunk.  I remember gently pulling each of the tiny branches out from the center of the tree.  Each branch was soft like a baby chick’s downy feathers.  It was a beautiful shade of Christmas green, and it had a real wooden trunk with beautiful bark.  Inside the tree’s box, we also found twenty miniature packages, all wrapped in multicolor paper.  Each package had its own real ribbon bow.  Inside the tiny packages were fruits and nuts, carefully selected by the folks I referred to as the Harry and David Elves.

I remember my mother let me arrange the tiny tree on top of our dining room buffet.  I was allowed to stand on one of the dinning room chairs.  There was a large mirror on the back of the buffet, which reflected the beautiful tree.  I was given the honor of arranging the packages.  I attached the tiny ones to the little branches; the larger packages I placed around the tree’s trunk.

In my eyes it was a magical tree.  It looked like a tiny but real tree, picked from a magical Christmas forest.  It needed no lights because the branches came to life in the light of the dining room, reflecting off the bright shiny packages.  On each of the twenty days before Christmas, we opened one of the little gifts and enjoyed the treasured fruits and nuts inside.

I was given the privilege every Christmas of carefully bringing that little tree out of its storage box and back to life on the buffet.  When the tree was up and decorated, the magic of Christmas began.

I left home to attend nursing school at the University of San Francisco in 1961.  My folks waited for my return at Christmas break to let me set up the little magical tree. I married between my junior and senior years and remained in San Francisco for another five years.  Every December I would return to Davis with my husband and our growing family to celebrate Christmas with my folks and my brother.  I was still given the honor of setting up my magical tree.

In 1969, my husband was accepted into a Ph.D. program at UC Davis, and we moved back to Davis.  The first Christmas after my mother died, my dad gave me the little tree.

Each year my Christmas collection seemed to grow.  By 1979, it was enormous; because it took so much time to get out and put away, we decided to leave it up year round.  The little magical tree had a place of honor on the living room piano.

The little tree remained there until 1996, when our house burned to the ground.  It was one of the few possessions we lost that I really missed.  I have searched every Christmas since then for a replacement.  This past fall, while traveling in Oregon, we stopped at Harry and David’s in Medford and took the factory tour.  Alas, no one there remembered those particular little trees.

I may never find a tree to replace that special little tree, but it will always remain in my heart and my mind as a special, magical Christmas memory.

Girl Scout Camping (May 30, 2008)

Girl Scout, but no camper!

                                                

     It was the summer of 1953; my best friend Helen and I, both age ten, eagerly applied to Girl Scout camp.  We had started Brownies together in the first grade, and this past year we had flown up to Girl Scouts.  We had always been in the same Brownie troop, but this year we were in separate Girl Scout troops.  I don’t think the separation was intentional. We were not rabble-rousers at our meetings; it just happened to be the way the girls had been divided for the two troops our class had.  Helen and I hoped that, even though we had not spent our year together at the meetings, we would still get to go to Girl Scout camp together.

     Our wish did not come true.  Helen was selected to go to Camp Bear Paw, while I was headed for Camp Timbertarn.  Helen said one of the girls in her troop was going to be at camp with her, but nobody from Davis was going to Camp Timbertarn with me.  I was very disappointed.

     Once I had accepted the fact that Helen and I were not going to camp together, I optimistically turned my attention to preparing for this adventure.  I said to myself, “After all, you’re not going to be alone at camp; there will be lots of girls from other towns and maybe I can make some new friends.”

     In preparation for camp, my parents took me shopping for camping supplies.  I got an official Girl Scout cooking set, which included a metal cup, spoon and a two-sided pan for cooking and eating.  I also got a brown sleeping bag, which was a heavy-duty cotton material.  They also bought a bag just like it for my brother in case he decided to go to Boy Scout camp.  The inside of the bag was red and white and black plaid, my favorite colors.  My dad’s favorite color (but not mine) was brown, but he said it would be very practical for camping because it would not show the dirt.  He was right about that. I also got one new outfit to take to camp.  It was a pair of brown slacks and a brown blouse.  We got an indelible black pen so that I could write my name on my camping supplies.

     Remarkably, those two sleeping bags still travel with my husband and me every time we go off in the RV.  My name still clearly appears in letters about three inches high on the outside of my bag.  Those brown sleeping bags still don’t show the dirt and they wash well in our washing machine.

     When the day came to head to camp, my folks drove me to the site in Sacramento where the bus was picking everyone up for camp.  I wore my new outfit.  I kissed my folks goodbye and climbed on the bus.  My excitement was growing.

     It was about a two-hour ride to camp.  When we arrived, we were each assigned a campsite and a camping buddy.  My camping buddy, Lisa, was a tiny little red-haired girl with lots of spunk.  I hoped we would become friends right away; unfortunately, her cousin had also come to camp and she preferred to hang out with her.  It wasn’t long before she began to complain about everything and everyone at camp, and in the first five days she broke out in a rash from head to toe.  Her parent’s were called and home she went.  My campsite was much quieter after that.

     We had crafts in the morning, which I really liked.  We went on hikes, which were also fun.  Every afternoon we headed to the lake for swimming and canoeing.  Everyone was given an identification medal to wear while we were at camp.  When we went to the lake, we had to hang our tags on a large bulletin board.  When we returned from the water, we retrieved our ID tags.  Once in a while someone would forget to claim her tag and the leaders would say it was time for a prayer for our drowned camp buddy. The negligent camper would then rush up to gather her tag and everyone would laugh.   I thought that was a little gruesome and not very kind.

     I wasn’t crazy about the outhouses and the cold water we had to shower in.  It seemed very cold just washing our faces. It was so unpleasant that I washed less and less often as the two weeks went by.  I also was not very good at serving food.  Everyone took turns serving throughout our camp stay.  I vividly remember the day I accidentally poured a whole bowl of green salad on a counselor; I really felt humiliated.

     When the two weeks were over, I was ready to head home.  I had not made any good friends at camp; in fact, it was very lonely having a campsite alone.  We loaded onto the bus and started home, but it broke down after an hour; we sat by the road for three hours waiting for a new bus to pick us up.  When we arrived back in Sacramento, my folks did not see me.  I was still wearing my little brown pants and shirt, but my folks said I was so covered in dirt they didn’t even recognize me.  It was my last trip to camp!

Rocks in Our House (and in Our Heads?) (May 23, 2008)

 

     My husband and I both loved collecting rocks when we were kids.  In my adult years I continued to collect things, such as records, music boxes, snow globes and clocks. David collected coins and stamps, which he had done since childhood.  We both enjoyed picking up pretty or unusual rocks when we traveled to the beach, desert or mountains. But, unlike our early casual dabbling, post-retirement rock collecting has become my husband’s number-one passion.  I am not as avid as a rock collector as David, but still enough so that our children and some of our friends say: “You both have rocks in your heads.”  We may not agree with their assessment, but we do have a home full of beautiful and rare rocks.

      David collects primarily petrified wood, Stromatolites (the oldest form of living organisms preserved as rocks), marine fossils and agates.  My primary interest in rocks, needless to say, is their color; I like red ones (of course!) and those that either sparkle or have brilliant colors or designs. David collects rocks from all over the world through other rock enthusiasts who are willing to part with some of their treasures on eBay or at rock shows.  We have twice attended the world’s largest rock shows, which are held in Tucson, Arizona yearly, as well as those in Quartzsite.  I have gathered most of my favorite rocks at rock shows or family outings.

     When we first developed our interest in serious rock collecting, we started by joining two clubs in the Sacramento Area.  We first joined the Sacramento Mineral Society, which introduced us to rock-working equipment.  We learned the basics of cabochon making; one takes a stone and grinds and polishes it into an attractive shape suitable for setting into a piece of jewelry. The club also offered classes in wire wrapping, a process whereby one wraps stones in gold or silver wire to make jewelry.  This was actually the first class I took.  Other classes I took were Dichroic glass-making and bone carving.  I was one of the first to sign up for both of those classes.  I am still a beginner when it comes to any of these arts, but it is great fun practicing and giving away or wearing the works I make.

     David has a real artistic flair for arrangement.  Although he doesn’t make jewelry, he has created extraordinary rock displays throughout our home, at many rock shows, and even one at the Davis Senior Center.  He always gets rave reviews from other rock enthusiasts, as well as from me.  He has also done some rock cutting and shaping, rock polishing and rock tumbling. He purchased a piece of equipment from another club member to make rock spheres, but this is a skill he has yet to explore.

     Our second rock club is called Fossils for Fun.  The members not only collect and share information about fossils, but most of us are getting to that stage of life where we are beginning to fossilize ourselves. David has presented several educational talks at these meetings as well as joining the other members in show-and-tell of their latest treasured finds at each monthly meeting.  Both our clubs and all our affiliate clubs sponsor rock shows as well as rock hounding field trips.  At this stage we are still only contemplating the “roughing it and digging it out of the earth by hand “ experience.  Our general armchair and rock show approach to collecting has been quite satisfying to both of us.  But, who knows? We may yet dawn pith helmets, sunscreen, and jeans, grab our picks and shovels and head to the hills. We haven’t ruled it out.

     If you’re ever near our neighborhood in Davis, please give us a call; we’d be happy to provide a personal rock tour.  You, too, will understand after the tour why some folks believe we have rocks in our heads. But you will also have the opportunity to experience first hand the extraordinary rocks displayed in our house.

The Best Things in Life are Free: This I Believe (May 9, 2008)

     Recently I came across a poem that expressed what is an accurate summation of what I believe is most important in this life. 

The Best Things in Life Are Free
(Author Unknown)

 

When we count
our many blessings;
It isn't hard to see
that life's most valued
treasures are the
treasures that are free.

For it isn't what
we own or buy
that signifies
our wealth.

It's the special
gifts that have
no price:
our family,
friends and health.

                

     From the earliest time I can remember I have had a driving force to help my family and friends.  I remember thinking, even as a small child, that life can be tough and the best way to get through it is to help each other to ease the hard times and, once through those, to share the joy of the good times together.

     Nursing was the vocational path I chose as an adult to facilitate my desire to help provide care and comfort to my fellow man whether they faced a curable illness or a fatal one.

     I have found great personal satisfaction in helping people recovering from an illness, an injury, a surgery, birth of a new baby, living in the convalescent home, coping with the last stages of life, or comforting a family member who has suffered the loss of a loved one.  My hope and belief is that my efforts have provided help and comfort to the families, including my own, that I have worked with in hospital, outpatient or home settings.

       Yes, I believe that the hardships we each face in life can be eased to a large degree when one person helps another.

     I have found great personal joy in just visiting my ill friends and family, and I have experienced that joy myself when I was recovery from surgery and my family and friends took time out of their busy lives to spend time with me in the hospital and while I recuperated at home.

     There are two other sayings I have heard often in my life that also reinforce my belief that helping, standing by or just encouraging each other is the most valuable part of life.

Grandma Jessie Belle use to always say: Whatever you put out, you get back.  I have experienced this first hand.  I have helped other folks in crisis and, when we faced the personal crisis of losing our home to a fire, we were showered with help from caring folks all around us, in the neighborhood, in our church, from out of town, and from family.  That experience alone showed me that, intrinsically, people want to help each other. 

     The other saying that fits right in to all that I have been writing about is: Do unto others as you would have others do unto you.  I have always found that in treating my fellow man, just as I hope they would treat me, they most often do just that.

     Yes, I believe it is our time and attention that we share with each other, not possessions, that lead to the best life.

Some of the best things in our life:

Haggerty Family (December 1976)

Haggerty Family (Spring 1983)

Haggerty Family (1985)

 

Jess Settles In—Lucky Us (April 25, 2008)

     Jess had the ability to settle in anywhere and make the most of her surroundings. She would have been happy in Kate’s small bedroom, but David decided he would move his office into that room and give Jess his larger study so she could have more space to spread out and enjoy her treasures.

      The study had a large window at the south end of the room and two large windows on the west.  The windows, overlooking our back yard and the covered patio, provided lots of light on sunny days.  There was no built in closet in the study, but we found an old-fashioned wooden closet with two doors. Above the closet were two attached cabinets, perfect for Jess’s handmade quits and other bedding.  Below the closet doors was a large wooden drawer, perfect for Jess’s picture albums, scarves and other treasures.  Jess brought her own dresser and her own double bed.  The kids all loved her bed, which provided them the opportunity to have sleepovers at home with Jess. She told great bedtime stories and loved to cuddle up with the little ones, just as much as they loved to cuddle with her.

       Jess brought with her a treasured cabinet sewing machine, which today is lovingly enjoyed in the San Francisco home of our son Tom and his wife Alayne. Jess was a fabulous seamstress—just one of her many talents.  As soon as she arrived, she took over the sewing tasks of the family and started teaching the kids how to sew.  This talent proved very valuable to all of them over the years.  One example was the year William bought himself a tuxedo, at the Salvation Army thrift store in Woodland, for a formal dance.  He got a beautiful white jacket with black satin lapels and black slacks with a black satin strip running up the pants.  He got the whole outfit for less than $10.00, including the shoes.  William, like his great grandma Jess and his mom, loved shopping for bargains at thrift stores.   He did have to tailor the pants to fit himself, which he did without hesitation, having learned from the best—Jesse Belle. She taught him how to use a sewing machine as well as sew by hand; having learned his lessons well, he did a great tailoring job.  Both teacher Jess and his parents were very proud. 

     Jess also brought along her mangle iron, which she loved.  She was a whiz on that iron, but she could also use a hand iron. She provided teaching lessons to the kids and some of their friends on the art of ironing.  All the kids were great learners.  I purchased each of them their own iron, and they took to it like a duck to water.  They each went through high school when cotton had returned as the most popular clothing material, so it was a wonderful blessing to both them and me that they had perfected the art of ironing for themselves.  I thanked Jess daily for those lessons!

     Another of Jess’s talents was baking homemade bread.  Everyday we were spoiled by delicious, hot homemade bread.  I never had anything that tasted as good and hit the spot as well as that bread Jess shared with the family.  The kids especially loved what she called her dough gods (i.e., pan-fried bread dough).  If word got out that Great Grandma Gee Gee was mixing up a batch of dough gods, the kids and their friends flocked to the house for a little sample.  Needless to say, the neighbors also loved her baking.  When the smell of Jess’s warm baking bread drifted through the house, our daily cares always blew away.

     Jess was the kind of grandma every kid would have wanted; David always counted himself fortunate to have spent many enjoyable hours with her as a child.  She spent hours of time with each child.  She would teach each of them skills, read stories to them, tell stories of her childhood, play games, or just sit and listen to how their day had gone.  She made each of them feel special and very much loved.

     She made everyone who came to the house feel right at home as well.  I remember when one of our friends first came over to meet Jess.  Jess was sitting in a rocking chair with her legs over the side of the chair.  My friend said, “Why, she’s just like a teenager!”  I also remember the day our neighbor across the street called to say her mother was visiting from Minnesota.  Jess had met her on a previous trip and said to ask her over for coffee.  When the visitor arrived, Jess greeted her wearing a velour green pants suit and jeweled slippers.  The visitor was wearing a frumpy dull dress and conservative shoes.  Jess sat her right down and said,   “You need to start living!  Get rid of that old lady dress and those shoes! Buy yourself a pair of pants and some fancy flats.  I bought my first pair of pants forty years ago and love wearing them everyday! They are so much more comfortable than those old dresses.”  At the time Jess was 92 and the neighbor’s mother was 85.

          Jess was our own Auntie Mame and Mary Poppins rolled into one.  She was a blessing in our lives and in the lives of everyone she met.  In my estimation, she was an angel on earth and we treasured every day we got to spend with Jesse Belle.

Jessie Belle Moves to Davis (April 18, 2008)

Jess in Redondo Beach with her landlord.

                                          

     From the day I met Jess, I hoped, just as David did, that one day she would move in with us.  I had met Jess on my first trip to Southern California to meet David’s family in the spring of 1964.  It took fourteen years, but in the spring of 1978 our wish came true and Jess joined our family in Davis.

     Jess was living in Redondo Beach in Southern California.  She had purchased a tiny little cottage near the beach by saving up every dime and nickel she could. A friend told her about the cottage that a parishioner had donated to their church.  The church was looking for a buyer, and they were willing to sell it for a little down and a little each month.  It cost her about $1000 when she bought it in the 1950s.  Her husband, Bill, was opposed to buying anything, so Jess went behind his back and purchased the house. She never told Bill; she said they were renting it.  Bill had a stroke in the mid-1950s and she nursed him in that little 300 square foot cottage.  She was grateful they didn’t have to pay rent through those lean years.

       After Bill died in 1960, Jess continued to live in her little dream cottage until the city of Redondo Beach exercised eminent domain and reclaimed the beach property for redevelopment.  They did pay Jess $3000 for her little house, but she then had to move to a house where her rent was $500 a month and her income was $600 a month.  Jess was very thrifty, having lived in poverty most of her life.  She knew how to have more fun on less money than anyone I ever knew.

      Jess did some world traveling on her old age pension after old Bill died.  She cruised to Panama and flew to Europe to see the sights.  She said that old adage about life beginning at seventy proved to be true for her.  She had the best clothes money could buy from the thrift store, and people always wanted to know where she got her outfits.  Tall and slender, she looked great in anything she put on.  She was also a shaker and a mover at her local senior center, where she dubbed the members Seasoned Citizens.   She organized weekly activities and many parties for the whole group, plus bus trips to see the sights in Southern California, with discounted rates she arranged for everyone in the group.

     In the spring of 1978, for the first time since I had met Jess, she complained that she was very tired.  She always cooked herself a big dinner meal; she would set the table, put all the food in serving dishes and then was too exhausted to eat.  Because she was coughing and sneezing a great deal, she made an appointment to see her doctor.  He immediately hospitalized her with a diagnosis of pneumonia.  After about five days in the hospital, Jess told us that the doctor had decided he was going to do surgery on her.  She said he was going to look for something in her abdomen, her stomach, her liver or her intestines.  I asked if he was just going to cut a big cross in her tummy and search all around the whole area.

     I was surprised to hear that a patient with pneumonia was now heading for surgery. I put a call into her doctor, who told me she was having a lot of abdominal pain and he suspected a tumor.  He told me her pneumonia was much better. Because she was tough (which I already knew), he felt comfortable in doing the surgery and assured me he would call us the minute the surgery was over.  He was as good as his word, but his words were not what we wanted to hear.  He said Jess had cancer of her liver with wide-spread abdominal metastases.  He said that he did some reconstructive work in her abdomen to make her more comfortable, but he did not plan to do any other treatments.  He said at her age the cancer was slow growing.   I told the doctor we wanted Jess to come and live with us, and he said that was a great idea.  Fortunately for all of us, Jess agreed she was ready to move.

     She recovered rapidly after her surgery as she always did.  She had a big garage sale to get rid of all the stuff she didn’t want to bring.  When she was ready, David flew to Los Angeles, rented a U-Haul truck and gathered up Jess and her treasures.  I stayed behind in Davis with our four children, who at that time were 13, 11, 9, and 6 years of age.  We all pitched in and got Jess’s room ready for her while David was gone.   Kate, the youngest, had agreed to give Great Grandma Gee Gee (the nickname the children had for Jess) her room; she moved in with brother Tom, her idol.  He had a bunk bed; he slept on the top and gave Kate the bottom.

     By the time Jess arrived in Davis, you would never have known she had even had any surgery.  She jumped right into the swirl of our young family life.  Having grown up in a large family, she had no trouble settling right in, just as though she had always been with us.

To be continued

More Comparisons between the Childhoods of Jess and Nola (April 4, 2008)

     Jess grew up in a log house.  The neighbors all got together and helped her folks construct the house out of logs cut from the trees on their newly-homesteaded property of 120 acres.  One of the twelve babies died shortly after birth, but eleven grew up on that homestead and helped their folks with all the house and farm chores.

     I grew up in a ready-made house with a mortgage, which my parents paid on monthly for many years.  We just had one small lot in Davis, with a front yard and a back yard-- no 120 acres to explore or care for. And there were only four of us, counting Mom and Dad.

     Jess grew up in a house with a log-burning stove that was used for both cooking and warming the house.  Someone in the family had the job of cutting down trees and chopping the logs for use in the stove.  Pa had the job, until the boys were old enough to take over this task.  There was no such thing as air conditioning in Jess’s youth, except for the wind and snow that nature provided. The Lemon children loved to play on the snowy hills, build snowmen and have snowball fights.

      We had a gas stove used primarily for cooking.  In the summer, we hated to use the oven; it produced more heat in the already hot kitchen that had a westerly sun beating in the windows at dinnertime.  Just like Jessie Belle, we had no air conditioning; I remember the first air conditioning in Davis was in the cow barns at the University campus.  In winter, we heated the house primarily with the central heating system.  We had no snow to play in during the cold winter winds, unlike Jess and her siblings.  We did have a fireplace that burned logs that my dad bought from anyone who advertised logs for sale.  Occasionally, he might have to chop a few to make them fit in the fireplace, but most were ready to burn.  I don’t think my brother ever had the opportunity to chop even part of a log.  Our fireplace was more aesthetic than functional, as it actually drew heat from the living room up and out the chimney.  But it was great fun to sit in front of the fire in winter; we told stories and popped corn with our hand-held screened popper, which we shook over the fire to keep the kernels from burning and turning to soot.

 

          Jess and I both adored our mothers and never considered it a chore to help them around our homes.   Housework varied a great deal from her farm in Minnesota in the early 1900s and my house in Davis in the 1950s.

     Jess’s family had no indoor plumbing, so washing clothes meant that someone had to pump water into a bucket outside, haul it into the kitchen and heat it on the wood stove. Clothes were washed by hand on a washboard, using lye soap that had been made at home.  We had indoor plumbing, an electric washer and a clothes line outside for nice days, and a clothes line in the basement for rainy days.  We bought our detergent at the grocery store.   At Jess’s house, the clothes were hung outside on the line in good weather to dry in the sun.  In winter, they hung the clothes in the house on a line strung across the kitchen.

 

        At Jess’s house, cleaning the floor meant sweeping the dirt outside with a homemade broom, then scrubbing the floor on your hands and knees with a bucket of heated water and a brush.  Because we had carpet in most of the house, we pulled out the Hoover vacuum, plugged it into the electric outlet and ran it over the rugs.  When we wanted to clean the bathroom and kitchen floors that didn’t have carpet, we used a mop and a bucket with a built-in ringer.

     Jess’s house had no electricity; light after dark came from homemade candles and glass lanterns that burned kerosene purchased at the general store.  We merely walked to the wall and flipped on the light switch, which illuminated the electric lights we had throughout the house.

     Jess’s family had no electric appliances.  When Jess’s mom wanted to beat something in a bowl, she used a big wooden spoon.  When we wanted to bake, we got out either the electric mixer or our manual hand-held eggbeater. By the time I was in high school, we also had a hand-held portable electric mixer, which eliminated the need for the eggbeater.

     If Jess’s family wanted nuts in their cookies, they got out a knife and cut up the nuts.  We reached in the cupboard and took out the nut chopper; it consisted of a cross blade with a long plunger attached to the lid, which we used in a glass jar with a removable wooden bottom.  By the time I was in high school, we had an electric blender.

To be continued