Saturday, August 28, 2010

School Time, ahh!

The grade school that I attended in the early sixties had no kindergarten. My school career began in first grade. I learned a lot from my first year in school.

I remember walking in the front doors, big doors. Then I had to walk up a flight of stairs 10-20 and down the wood floored hallway where all the high school classes were held. I had to walk past the big kids. It seemed like a long hallway.

I smelled food cooking. The cafeteria was in the basement or what seemed like the basement, but in realty was probably the first floor.

I loved my first grade/second grade teacher, Mrs. Looney. She was so kind. My school contained two grades in one classroom. Mrs. (Beulah) Looney was my teacher. She was born on the fourth of July and lived to be over a hundred years old and only spent three or four in a care center. I learned some basic life experience in my first grade year...rural street smarts I like to call it.

I learned I could have a boyfriend who would push me in my swing at recess. (Yes, that is David to my right. He was also my carnival candidate partner. David was an older man--second grade.)

I learned that those siblings that go to school feel superior over those who have to stay at home.

I learned once you go to school, it's a downhill push--meaning you'll always be expected to attend.

I learned that in a rural area you can't get away with anything, because...everyone knows everyone in your family.

I learned how to read. "Tom! Betty! See Flip run." (Susan said this in case you're interested.)

I learned I could walk through the neighbors' yards all by myself to get to the school. (My mother watched me the entire way, but I didn't know that until much much later.)

I learned that hot dogs can make you and the entire school deathly ill if not cooked properly.

I learned what it took to get me to the next level: second grade.

I learned to make friends.

I learned that school makes you tired.

And that was my first school experience.

Saturday, August 7, 2010


I’ve been told a few times, I think too much. But honestly this must have come from my rural childhood where I had to think up things to do. I had to use my imagination. Even today, I continue to wonder and think about everything. I love that about me...that I’m a thinker.

Here were some of my thoughts:

I wondered, as I played with Barbie in the mid 1960’s, if I would “look” like her when I grew up. I don't. I hated when they changed the Barbie body to look more realistic more mainstream. Really, what girl wants to dream of looking realistic and mainstream? Not me. I wanted to look like Barbie. I thought my big busted, small waisted, dark haired Barbie was perfect.

As a rural kid, I thought it was ridiculous that I was sent to the principal’s office in second grade for talking too much in class. I thought it was cruel to ask us to raise our hand to ask or answer questions, but, we couldn’t ask or answer questions of our classmates, in the middle of class. I thought this was a bit restrictive.

As a child, I didn’t think I would live to the ripe old age of 16. I mourned this thought often because I wanted to get my driver’s license. I wanted to drive. Then I didn’t think I would live to see the age of 30 and wrote my husband and children letters of appreciation and love. I didn’t think I would live to see the year 2000. So when I was in Dallas on New Year’s Eve 1999, I thought it might be my last night. (I also took flashlights in my luggage in case all electrical grids failed, remember that?) I guess you know by now that wasn’t my last night. I’m pretty sure I won’t live to be 100 years of age. And don’t try to talk me out of that one.

It may be true--I think too much.

If you are an over thinker, you are my friend and perhaps I will adopt you as family. Do you have an example of over thinking? I actually prefer to call it...a good imagination.