Downsville, New York. The best town by a dam site. Hamlet of the town of Colchester, but the largest hamlet in that town. The home of the Eagles. One stop light. A handful of stop signs. A diner. A couple grocery store/gas stations. One post office. A volunteer fire department. Home of the Downsville Bridge, on the East Branch of the Delaware River. A place with a lot of memories for a lot of people. A place with a lot of heart.
This is the town I lived in from the time I was 2 years old until the summer after my freshman year of high school. I started kindergarten at the K-12 school - Downsville Central - in 1979. I knew everyone in my class. There were only around 30 of us. I could walk through town without worry because everyone knew me and my family. Many of the people I'd come across were family. My best friend and I would either play at her parents' pizza parlor and ice cream store or at my Dad's service station. We sold lemonade one summer on the corner, but didn't really make any money.
I joined Girl Scouts and my first troop leader was my best friend's grandmother. My aunt was one of my next leaders, and a friend's mother was my last. We met in the Fire Hall on Tuesday afternoons. It was also where we'd hold penny socials. I still remember getting buying tickets and putting them in styrofoam cups for items that I thought I'd want... or sometimes ones without anything at all, because I hated to see anyone's items not be claimed.
From Kindergarten... or maybe it was first grade... on, I got out of school early on Thursday afternoons to walk with some of my classmates down the street to the local Catholic Church. There we learned about God and what it meant to be Catholic. We always had our religious education in the rectory next door to the church, usually presided by parents of the students. We went from bedroom to dining room to kitchen to living room as we got older. And we loved to have Father Mullins and his dog Porkchop come through, because Father Mullins was such a warm, wonderful man.
We took field trips to Launt Pond to learn about organisms that lived in the water. Or sometimes to play. We took buses further away, to Cooperstown or Oneonta. There was always somewhere to go and something to learn.
I had friends and I had enemies. Sometimes they changed weekly. Things that I did, both the good and the bad, seemed to follow me throughout my days. But when things got really bad, I knew that the town would be there to help. In sixth grade, a friend's house burnt to the ground. We took up a collection to replace her Cabbage Patch doll. The rest of the town was helping with the necessities. We wanted to help with something that would mean more to her.
Most of the men in town worked at the quarry. Most of them still do. Most of the women stayed home with the kids. Now they are working outside the home - either in town or, more regularly, far outside it. My sister drives 45 minutes each way to get to her job. But she'd never consider leaving Downsville. It's her home.
It wasn't always a pleasant place for me to be. As I got older, I was teased more and more. I was poor, I was sensitive, I was socially awkward, I was overweight and I was smart. All the things that kids use against those they want to ostracize. And with the town as small as it was, that meant I didn't really have anywhere else to go. It's one of the reasons why I left, why I moved from this tiny town to a larger one in Florida where I could fit in with someone.
Even with all of that, Downsville is still the home of my heart. The people that teased me mercilessly in those days are now friends, asking how things are going in my life while I ask the same of them. People that I looked up to as adults are now treating me like an adult. I can come home and be recognized, even having left over 20 years ago. I still have a lot of family there, which helps it feel like home. But that isn't the only thing that makes me want to return. It's the sense of community that you can't get in a larger city. It's the knowledge that people will be there for you if you need it. That you'll always have someone to keep an eye on your kids if you need to run to the store, or have to make an emergency trip to the doctors. It's the knowledge that people matter... even if they don't always get along.
There are times I'd love to have my boys growing up in that environment. When I'd love them to have the sense of community that I had growing up. But I also love the larger school system we have here. Teddy's a lot like I was growing up. In a smaller school, I'd worry about him running through the same problems that I did. Academically, he's where he needs to be. And even socially, I know that we have good friends here. But I'm hoping to be able to spend a lot of summers there so Downsville will become a home to them, somewhere in their hearts, as well.
And a lot less fun than the other options.
Showing posts with label memories monday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label memories monday. Show all posts
15 August 2011
08 August 2011
Memories Monday - Come to Nashville
The first time I came to Nashville was at the end of April, 2005. Rich had been awarded his PhD in Molecular Biology earlier in the year and now was the time for us to start looking for a place for Rich to do his post-doctoral fellowship. We may have been able to stay in Philadelphia. We wouldn't have had to move, his family would have been nearby, I would have still had my job... But we were planning to move back to Philadelphia some day and it's easier to get a lab if you've done your post-doc somewhere out of the city. We looked at places somewhat nearby - Baltimore, Boston, NYC - as well as some places a little further out -Minneapolis, Atlanta, Nashville. Two of the places that he sent his CV to asked for an interview. We went to Minnesota first and... it was ok, but I don't think it would have been the job Rich would have wanted.
When he got the call from the person in Nashville, Rich was pretty excited. Not only was the PI (primary investigator, the person in charge of the lab) someone Rich was familiar with from his own research, but his best friend was getting his doctorate at Vanderbilt as well. So Rich and I flew down to Nashville together - Rich's paid for by the PI and us paying for mine. We were put up in the Holiday Inn close to Vandy's campus, a nice enough hotel within walking distance of the campus. And across the street was Centennial Park, which also houses the Parthenon. It was nice having one of our first views of Nashville being such a famous place.
Rich had a day or two of interviews, during which I was able to keep myself amused. I walked around Vandy's campus, took in some of the businesses near by and just had a great time. Everyone that I met was incredibly friendly. And, best of all, I was able to have one of my favorite breakfast dishes, Biscuits and Sausage Gravy. They just don't make it in the northeast and I'd been wanting some so badly. I was also able to introduce Rich to sweet tea. I'm convinced that became one of the reasons he liked Nashville.
I did get to have breakfast with him and his PI the first morning, and dinner at a local micro-brewery, Boscos. We had dinner with the PI and one of the guys that was already in the lab. I got a chance to try some good beer and have some seared tuna. I knew that, if Rich got this job, Boscos would be a place I'd want to go to regularly.
We'd taken a few days after the interviews to spend time with his best friend and his fiancee. They showed us around Nashville. We went to Gaylord Opryland, had dinner at Cici's Pizza, had lunch at Calypso Cafe, saw each of their labs at Vandy... just a good time together.
The day before we left, we decided to check out Centennial Park. They were having a large craft fair and it was nice to just walk around and check out things. Having had suitcases that needed to be brought home was the main thing that kept me from buying a bunch of things. It was great taking that weekend to get a feel for, what we found out a few later, would be our new home.
We've been here for 6 years now. We've explored a lot more of Nashville than we had that first weekend, though there's still so much more to go. Rich is no longer working in labs, having found that being a research scientist isn't quite what he wanted to do. But he has found a new career as a Biosafety Officer, and it's one that he really enjoys. There's a very real possibility that we won't end up back in the northeast any time soon. Rich is going to have several more years in this job before he can seriously look toward a higher level position at another university. But that's okay. Because we like Nashville. And the last six years have taught me that it's a place I don't mind raising my children and calling home
When he got the call from the person in Nashville, Rich was pretty excited. Not only was the PI (primary investigator, the person in charge of the lab) someone Rich was familiar with from his own research, but his best friend was getting his doctorate at Vanderbilt as well. So Rich and I flew down to Nashville together - Rich's paid for by the PI and us paying for mine. We were put up in the Holiday Inn close to Vandy's campus, a nice enough hotel within walking distance of the campus. And across the street was Centennial Park, which also houses the Parthenon. It was nice having one of our first views of Nashville being such a famous place.
Rich had a day or two of interviews, during which I was able to keep myself amused. I walked around Vandy's campus, took in some of the businesses near by and just had a great time. Everyone that I met was incredibly friendly. And, best of all, I was able to have one of my favorite breakfast dishes, Biscuits and Sausage Gravy. They just don't make it in the northeast and I'd been wanting some so badly. I was also able to introduce Rich to sweet tea. I'm convinced that became one of the reasons he liked Nashville.
I did get to have breakfast with him and his PI the first morning, and dinner at a local micro-brewery, Boscos. We had dinner with the PI and one of the guys that was already in the lab. I got a chance to try some good beer and have some seared tuna. I knew that, if Rich got this job, Boscos would be a place I'd want to go to regularly.
We'd taken a few days after the interviews to spend time with his best friend and his fiancee. They showed us around Nashville. We went to Gaylord Opryland, had dinner at Cici's Pizza, had lunch at Calypso Cafe, saw each of their labs at Vandy... just a good time together.
The day before we left, we decided to check out Centennial Park. They were having a large craft fair and it was nice to just walk around and check out things. Having had suitcases that needed to be brought home was the main thing that kept me from buying a bunch of things. It was great taking that weekend to get a feel for, what we found out a few later, would be our new home.
We've been here for 6 years now. We've explored a lot more of Nashville than we had that first weekend, though there's still so much more to go. Rich is no longer working in labs, having found that being a research scientist isn't quite what he wanted to do. But he has found a new career as a Biosafety Officer, and it's one that he really enjoys. There's a very real possibility that we won't end up back in the northeast any time soon. Rich is going to have several more years in this job before he can seriously look toward a higher level position at another university. But that's okay. Because we like Nashville. And the last six years have taught me that it's a place I don't mind raising my children and calling home
01 August 2011
Memories Monday - Childhood Reading
I've been a reader for... well, as long as I can remember. I know that I started school being able to read. I remember the days of trying to teach my sister to read, convinced that she was reading when she had just memorized the words to We Can Jump
. I loved to read anything that I could get my hands on. That hasn't changed in over 30 years, either.
My mother told my kindergarten teacher, Mrs Wilbur, that I could read, but she was very skeptical. She thought that I, like my little sister, had just memorized the words to books. One couldn't blame her. I'm sure she'd heard parent after parent insist that their child could read when they couldn't. So she smiled and nodded, then just taught me with the rest of the class.
Until one afternoon nap time, that is. That was the day she was writing something at her large, wooden desk and she heard a little voice behind her repeating what she wrote. She turned around to find that I had gotten up from my cot and was actually reading. She couldn't deny my mother's charges any longer. I don't remember exactly when this was, but I do know it must have been fairly early in the year (reason to be explained later). Within the next couple of days, I had two less nap days a week because I was going to one of the second grade teachers for reading instruction.
The exact details of what we read together have disappeared like smoke on the wind, but I still have flashes of memory of sitting next to Mrs Grey (the second grade teacher) at one of the small tables in her classroom and reading. I know that I came away from kindergarten a far better reader than when I'd left it.
One of the things I do remember doing with Mrs Grey, however, was writing my own story. My family and I had traveled from New York to Florida for Christmas that year. We were going to see my grandparents. They'd moved only the year before and we thought it would be a nice family vacation. I still have memories of that trip (which may be a later Memories Monday entry), and when I got back, Mrs Grey and I talked about the trip and about what I wanted to say. I don't remember if I did the writing or if she did - it could have gone either way. But I do remember large sheets of paper, with practice lines at the bottom and blank areas at the top. I remember coloring the pictures (which weren't very good - art has never been my strong suit) and I remember dark black marker words below it. And I remember standing in front of my classmates reading the story of my trip for them as they sat on the listening rug.
When first grade started, I was back with my class for reading. I was bored with it, because I'd learned so much more the year before. But first grade didn't have nap time, and I couldn't go to another teacher for advanced reading. So I muddled through, knowing the things that the teacher was teaching, yet not being able to learn more. Some of my classmates were catching up with me, but not a lot. In second grade, we were separated into reading groups and the group I was in was able to do independent reading if we finished the assignment. There were these different colored boxes of cards with short reading comprehension stories on them. Each color was a different level. By the end of the year, I'd breezed through those as well.
Reading has always been an important part of my life. Even when I couldn't get what I needed from my teachers in school, I always found a way to keep pushing my learning forward. But I'll never forget Mrs Wilbur and Mrs Grey, taking the chance to give me what it was that I needed back in 1979.
. I loved to read anything that I could get my hands on. That hasn't changed in over 30 years, either.My mother told my kindergarten teacher, Mrs Wilbur, that I could read, but she was very skeptical. She thought that I, like my little sister, had just memorized the words to books. One couldn't blame her. I'm sure she'd heard parent after parent insist that their child could read when they couldn't. So she smiled and nodded, then just taught me with the rest of the class.
Until one afternoon nap time, that is. That was the day she was writing something at her large, wooden desk and she heard a little voice behind her repeating what she wrote. She turned around to find that I had gotten up from my cot and was actually reading. She couldn't deny my mother's charges any longer. I don't remember exactly when this was, but I do know it must have been fairly early in the year (reason to be explained later). Within the next couple of days, I had two less nap days a week because I was going to one of the second grade teachers for reading instruction.
The exact details of what we read together have disappeared like smoke on the wind, but I still have flashes of memory of sitting next to Mrs Grey (the second grade teacher) at one of the small tables in her classroom and reading. I know that I came away from kindergarten a far better reader than when I'd left it.
One of the things I do remember doing with Mrs Grey, however, was writing my own story. My family and I had traveled from New York to Florida for Christmas that year. We were going to see my grandparents. They'd moved only the year before and we thought it would be a nice family vacation. I still have memories of that trip (which may be a later Memories Monday entry), and when I got back, Mrs Grey and I talked about the trip and about what I wanted to say. I don't remember if I did the writing or if she did - it could have gone either way. But I do remember large sheets of paper, with practice lines at the bottom and blank areas at the top. I remember coloring the pictures (which weren't very good - art has never been my strong suit) and I remember dark black marker words below it. And I remember standing in front of my classmates reading the story of my trip for them as they sat on the listening rug.
When first grade started, I was back with my class for reading. I was bored with it, because I'd learned so much more the year before. But first grade didn't have nap time, and I couldn't go to another teacher for advanced reading. So I muddled through, knowing the things that the teacher was teaching, yet not being able to learn more. Some of my classmates were catching up with me, but not a lot. In second grade, we were separated into reading groups and the group I was in was able to do independent reading if we finished the assignment. There were these different colored boxes of cards with short reading comprehension stories on them. Each color was a different level. By the end of the year, I'd breezed through those as well.
Reading has always been an important part of my life. Even when I couldn't get what I needed from my teachers in school, I always found a way to keep pushing my learning forward. But I'll never forget Mrs Wilbur and Mrs Grey, taking the chance to give me what it was that I needed back in 1979.
25 July 2011
Memories Monday - A Hot Day in July
9 years ago this Wednesday was a hot Saturday in July. Rich had taken the train in from Philly to spend the weekend with me. We had planned on going into Valley Stream to get my eyes checked and get some new glasses for me. (It had been about 5 years since my last eye exam.) So we took the train to the local Pearl Vision, only to be told that we should have made an appointment. It would be an hour or more before we could get in. So we decided to spend some time walking around. Green Acres Mall was nearby and we figured the walk would be good for us. Being around lunch time, we decided to head for the Red Lobster that I knew was near by.
Unfortunately, what I didn't realize was that it was on the other side of the mall and the heat was getting to me worse than I could have imagined. By the time we got to the restaurant (having walked outside the whole way), I had a minor case of sun poisoning. I ordered lunch, but before it got there, I became so sick that we had to have my lunch boxed up. We still needed to get back to the train station, but I knew that walking back in the heat would only make matters worse. Going through the mall, though, would get us most of the way there in air conditioning.
We came in through JC Penny's, only to find out that they were having a jewelry sale going on. We'd been talking about getting married for awhile, so I wanted to look at the rings, give him an idea of something that I wanted. I was hoping to find an aquamarine set in gold that wasn't too big or gaudy looking. Aquamarine is my birthstone and has always been one of my favorites. But the sale had caught the attention of a lot of people, and there was no way that we were going to be seen any time soon. Rather than wait around there, we decided to pass for the moment and finish walking through the mall.
As soon as we left Penny's, we were faced with another store - King Richard's Jewlers. Rich and I agreed, later, that it was a sign for that day. We went in, just to look around. I'd had such a hard time finding small aquamarines in gold that I didn't expect to find anything. But sitting in one of the cases was the perfect ring. 10 karat gold with a small aquamarine, accented by two tiny diamonds. It wouldn't overwhelm my petite fingers. It was the perfect ring for me. And Rich decided that he was going to buy it for me.
"Just don't expect to get it now," he warned me. "I want to find a special time to give it to you."
The jewelry store was able to do sizing there, so we only had to wait an hour before we'd be able to pick up the ring. We wandered around the mall for a bit, window shopping at the various stores. I honestly don't remember any of the stores that we looked at that day. I was just so happy to have found a ring that I fell in love with.
When the hour was up, we went back into the store. The gentleman behind the counter wanted to make sure that it fit nicely, so Rich slipped it on my finger. I was about ready to slide it back off when he told me, "No. Leave it on." My heart stopped, wondering if it meant what I thought it did. But Rich just paid the gentleman for the ring and took the empty box that it had previously been nested in.
Outside the store, he looked at me with a smile on his lips and love in his eyes. "Will you marry me?" I started to cry, throwing my arms around him as I whispered, "Yes."
Later he told me that he'd had every intention of holding on to the ring until he could find the perfect romantic moment to ask for my hand. But when he saw it sitting on my finger, he knew that he never wanted to take it off. He knew then and there that this was this perfect moment. So he let me keep my ring on.
I don't wear it any more. A combination of one of the prongs breaking, thereby releasing the stone, and the fact that I've gained quite a bit of weight since that day 9 years ago have made it impossible for me to do so. But I have the ring and I have the stone. And someday, I'l going to get it repaired. Because it was my perfect ring from a perfect day.
Unfortunately, what I didn't realize was that it was on the other side of the mall and the heat was getting to me worse than I could have imagined. By the time we got to the restaurant (having walked outside the whole way), I had a minor case of sun poisoning. I ordered lunch, but before it got there, I became so sick that we had to have my lunch boxed up. We still needed to get back to the train station, but I knew that walking back in the heat would only make matters worse. Going through the mall, though, would get us most of the way there in air conditioning.
We came in through JC Penny's, only to find out that they were having a jewelry sale going on. We'd been talking about getting married for awhile, so I wanted to look at the rings, give him an idea of something that I wanted. I was hoping to find an aquamarine set in gold that wasn't too big or gaudy looking. Aquamarine is my birthstone and has always been one of my favorites. But the sale had caught the attention of a lot of people, and there was no way that we were going to be seen any time soon. Rather than wait around there, we decided to pass for the moment and finish walking through the mall.
As soon as we left Penny's, we were faced with another store - King Richard's Jewlers. Rich and I agreed, later, that it was a sign for that day. We went in, just to look around. I'd had such a hard time finding small aquamarines in gold that I didn't expect to find anything. But sitting in one of the cases was the perfect ring. 10 karat gold with a small aquamarine, accented by two tiny diamonds. It wouldn't overwhelm my petite fingers. It was the perfect ring for me. And Rich decided that he was going to buy it for me.
Not my exact ring, but pretty darn close.
"Just don't expect to get it now," he warned me. "I want to find a special time to give it to you."
The jewelry store was able to do sizing there, so we only had to wait an hour before we'd be able to pick up the ring. We wandered around the mall for a bit, window shopping at the various stores. I honestly don't remember any of the stores that we looked at that day. I was just so happy to have found a ring that I fell in love with.
When the hour was up, we went back into the store. The gentleman behind the counter wanted to make sure that it fit nicely, so Rich slipped it on my finger. I was about ready to slide it back off when he told me, "No. Leave it on." My heart stopped, wondering if it meant what I thought it did. But Rich just paid the gentleman for the ring and took the empty box that it had previously been nested in.
Outside the store, he looked at me with a smile on his lips and love in his eyes. "Will you marry me?" I started to cry, throwing my arms around him as I whispered, "Yes."
Later he told me that he'd had every intention of holding on to the ring until he could find the perfect romantic moment to ask for my hand. But when he saw it sitting on my finger, he knew that he never wanted to take it off. He knew then and there that this was this perfect moment. So he let me keep my ring on.
I don't wear it any more. A combination of one of the prongs breaking, thereby releasing the stone, and the fact that I've gained quite a bit of weight since that day 9 years ago have made it impossible for me to do so. But I have the ring and I have the stone. And someday, I'l going to get it repaired. Because it was my perfect ring from a perfect day.
05 April 2011
Memories Monday - Library (On Tuesday)
I've always had a love affair with libraries. From the time we first started going to the school library (1st grade, probably), being in a place with so many BOOKS just fascinated me. I loved when I was able to move from picking out books from the children's section to the YA section. Books without pictures! Who needs pictures when the pictures come into my mind? And then, every once in awhile, I'd be allowed to pick out books from the HS section of the library. I'd proven that I could handle the reading of them.
For awhile, I even volunteered at our town library. It started as a way to get one of my patches in Girl Scouts. I stayed because I loved it.
The Downsville Library was one large room on the top floor of what I think was a converted home. It wasn't that large, especially compared to the libraries I've been to since. But it was beautiful to me. You needed to walk up a somewhat narrow set of stairs to get there. The landing was at the top of the stairs on your right. The door to the left was storage but the door to the right... the door to the right was heaven.
During the limited hours that the library was open, that door was always open. Your first step in took you from the cold concrete to an orange carpet. It was threadbare in places, but I never paid too much attention to that. My attention was always on the books. There were shelves on every wall, filled with all kind of books - big books, little books, fiction, non-fiction, children's books, YA books, classics and new books. As I said, heaven.
There was a large desk on your left as soon as you came in. That was where I spent a lot of my time during my volunteer time. It was where fines were paid (though I always had a hard time asking for money) and books were checked out. The card catalog was nearby and I'd browse through that for favorite authors. Or I'd sit at the desk and read a book when there was nothing left to do.
The wall on the right was where the non-fiction books were kept. I had the exact location of where various numbers of the dewey decimal system started. But the non-fiction books didn't take up that whole wall. The last set of shelves had fiction books there as well (near the end of the alphabet, if I'm remembering correctly).
The next wall was interrupted by two tall windows. They helped brighten the room, making it even warmer and more inviting. Every other area that was not window were covered with more books. I would need to use a step-stool to reach the top shelf. Though it was rare that I'd need to get books that high.
There was one other window in the library, on the far wall. It was the cut off place for fiction and YA. To the right was where the fiction started. To the right was where the YA books started. Non fiction was closest to the window, with fiction to it's left. The next wall was smaller because the library went further back in that portion than the rest of the library. So there was a jog of wall where it came back to meet the wall that held the desk. That wall was also covered with YA fiction. I picked many favorites from that wall.
There was one long set of free standing shelves. It continued on from that small wall, cutting off the desk from that smaller section of the library. The side closest to the YA books were the children's books. I remember picking books out for my sister from that shelf. The other side were the genre books - mysteries, Sci-Fi, Westerns. And that was another area I explored continually.
There were several tables and chairs scattered through the floor. But it never felt crowded. I usually used the tables for gluing pockets into the back of new books for the library cards. I was fascinated with the rubber cement and used to enjoy peeling it off and rolling it between my fingers.
Sometimes, I was allowed to type up new library cards or cards for the card catalog. They needed to be typed in very precisely. I would keep another card nearby so I could remember what needed to be where.
I loved the library cards. This was back before digital was even considered. Some of my younger readers may not remember them, but I'm sure some of my older readers do. Rather than scanning a bar code or entering information into a computer, there was a card with the name of the book and the author at the top. If it was a non-fiction book, it would have the dewey decimal number there as well. When someone wanted to take a book out, they'd write their name on the first available line. We would stamp it (and I loved the stamp) with the date that the book was due. We would keep that card and put another card with the due date into the pocket. We filed the library cards in a box with the dates they were due. Then we could take a look to see what books were over due.
There was only one librarian. Althea. I loved working with her because she showed me so much about the library. She taught me more about the books and how to shelve books, how to ready books to shelve them, how to get books from Interlibrary Loan (and the books we had to look through for that were HUGE). Working with her was one of my highlights of growing up in Downsville.
Libraries now are bigger and fancier. It's easier to find the books that you want and when your books are due. Libraries have websites that offer so many services to their patrons. The buildings are bigger and brighter. And I love it. I love having so many more books to look through, story times that I can bring my boys to, and a lot of librarians to help me when I need it. But there will always be a part of me that misses that small library on the top floor of a converted house in Downsville.
For awhile, I even volunteered at our town library. It started as a way to get one of my patches in Girl Scouts. I stayed because I loved it.
The Downsville Library was one large room on the top floor of what I think was a converted home. It wasn't that large, especially compared to the libraries I've been to since. But it was beautiful to me. You needed to walk up a somewhat narrow set of stairs to get there. The landing was at the top of the stairs on your right. The door to the left was storage but the door to the right... the door to the right was heaven.
During the limited hours that the library was open, that door was always open. Your first step in took you from the cold concrete to an orange carpet. It was threadbare in places, but I never paid too much attention to that. My attention was always on the books. There were shelves on every wall, filled with all kind of books - big books, little books, fiction, non-fiction, children's books, YA books, classics and new books. As I said, heaven.
There was a large desk on your left as soon as you came in. That was where I spent a lot of my time during my volunteer time. It was where fines were paid (though I always had a hard time asking for money) and books were checked out. The card catalog was nearby and I'd browse through that for favorite authors. Or I'd sit at the desk and read a book when there was nothing left to do.
The wall on the right was where the non-fiction books were kept. I had the exact location of where various numbers of the dewey decimal system started. But the non-fiction books didn't take up that whole wall. The last set of shelves had fiction books there as well (near the end of the alphabet, if I'm remembering correctly).
The next wall was interrupted by two tall windows. They helped brighten the room, making it even warmer and more inviting. Every other area that was not window were covered with more books. I would need to use a step-stool to reach the top shelf. Though it was rare that I'd need to get books that high.
There was one other window in the library, on the far wall. It was the cut off place for fiction and YA. To the right was where the fiction started. To the right was where the YA books started. Non fiction was closest to the window, with fiction to it's left. The next wall was smaller because the library went further back in that portion than the rest of the library. So there was a jog of wall where it came back to meet the wall that held the desk. That wall was also covered with YA fiction. I picked many favorites from that wall.
There was one long set of free standing shelves. It continued on from that small wall, cutting off the desk from that smaller section of the library. The side closest to the YA books were the children's books. I remember picking books out for my sister from that shelf. The other side were the genre books - mysteries, Sci-Fi, Westerns. And that was another area I explored continually.
There were several tables and chairs scattered through the floor. But it never felt crowded. I usually used the tables for gluing pockets into the back of new books for the library cards. I was fascinated with the rubber cement and used to enjoy peeling it off and rolling it between my fingers.
Sometimes, I was allowed to type up new library cards or cards for the card catalog. They needed to be typed in very precisely. I would keep another card nearby so I could remember what needed to be where.
I loved the library cards. This was back before digital was even considered. Some of my younger readers may not remember them, but I'm sure some of my older readers do. Rather than scanning a bar code or entering information into a computer, there was a card with the name of the book and the author at the top. If it was a non-fiction book, it would have the dewey decimal number there as well. When someone wanted to take a book out, they'd write their name on the first available line. We would stamp it (and I loved the stamp) with the date that the book was due. We would keep that card and put another card with the due date into the pocket. We filed the library cards in a box with the dates they were due. Then we could take a look to see what books were over due.
There was only one librarian. Althea. I loved working with her because she showed me so much about the library. She taught me more about the books and how to shelve books, how to ready books to shelve them, how to get books from Interlibrary Loan (and the books we had to look through for that were HUGE). Working with her was one of my highlights of growing up in Downsville.
Libraries now are bigger and fancier. It's easier to find the books that you want and when your books are due. Libraries have websites that offer so many services to their patrons. The buildings are bigger and brighter. And I love it. I love having so many more books to look through, story times that I can bring my boys to, and a lot of librarians to help me when I need it. But there will always be a part of me that misses that small library on the top floor of a converted house in Downsville.
28 March 2011
Memories Monday - The Strength Inside
From the time I was 20 until I was 26, I dated a man that was no good for me. He was living with someone else, had a child by her and yet told me that he loved me and they were just roommates. He would say things that made me question my worth as a lovable human being. Partway into our relationship, he married the woman he'd been living with, but told me it was just for their son. I believed all of this and more, and my fragile self-esteem got lower and lower every day.
In the fall of my 26th year, I moved from where I'd been living to live with my parents. I would still see him on the sly sometimes, with him driving the hour and a half to see me. Usually, it would be for a couple of hours in a hotel room. It was bothering me more and more every day. When I asked if he was going to divorce his wife, he accused me of making him choose his son over me. And I could never convince him that it was the case.
Around October or November, I finally called it quits with him. I told him that I couldn't be "the other woman" any more. I still loved him - I suspected that I always would - but I couldn't handle the pain of the secrecy any longer. It was easier this time than before for two reasons. One, I was living an hour and a half away from him, so he wasn't 5 minutes away. And two, I was the one that made the decision this time. He tried to convince me not to for a little while, but I stood firm. I refused to contact him via e-mail or phone and I started getting my life back on track.
On New Years Eve of that year, I got an e-mail from him telling me to meet him outside the bar down the street from my parents' house. I don't know why, but the thought of him contacting me again frightened me. I think it was because I hadn't wanted my step-mom to know and I was afraid that he'd come by the house. I told him no, I wouldn't meet him. But he managed to talk me into meeting him on my lunch break on the 2nd.
I don't know what I was expecting then, but I was nervous about meeting him. I'd built him up to this big threat in my mind, so I was nervous. But I should have been nervous for another reason.
We drove in relative silence until he found a quiet place to park. Then he turned to me and said, "I'm going to give you everything you ever wanted." He showed me a ring and divorce papers. My heart stopped. 6 months ago, it WAS everything I wanted. I wanted him to leave her and marry me. He didn't want to have kids and I'd convinced myself that I didn't want any either. I could be a good step-mother to his son.
But in that instant, when I saw the ring, I knew that it wasn't what I wanted any longer. I wanted someone I could trust. And I couldn't trust him. There were too many things hidden, both in his relationship with me and his relationship with his wife. I couldn't be sure that he wouldn't start seeing someone else on the side after he married me. I was finally getting my life back on track. I had a job that didn't involve being on the phone all day. I had a couple guys I was interested in (though all were long distance). I was finally feeling better about myself.
So I said, "No. I can't trust you and I won't marry you." They were the hardest words I'd ever said in my life because a part of me still loved him. As I said earlier, a part of me always would (and a small part, deep down inside, still does). But I couldn't go back because he wasn't good for me. I needed to continue the changes I was making in myself.
He asked to put the ring on my finger because he wanted to see how it looked. I let him. I looked at it for a moment, then slipped it off and handed it back to him. I don't remember now if I was crying or holding the tears back. But I know I asked him to drive me back to work.
I walked into my office (a space I shared with 2 friends) and the floodgates opened. We closed the doors and I sobbed. My friends understood and gave me comfort and support. It's what I needed then. And I'm glad I got it.
It was both one of the hardest and one of the easiest decisions to make. In doing so, I threw away a dream that I'd held on to for almost 7 years. It was that clink of finality as the door closed forever. But it was also the only choice I could make. I'd learned how important trust was. I was starting to learn, thanks to other friends, what it meant to be the person I was meant to be. I was listening when friends talked and not letting my heart do the only answering. I knew that I deserved better.
And I found better. It took me a couple tries before I found the man I knew I could spend the rest of my life with, that I could trust above all others, and that could and would be my best friend. With him, I have two beautiful, wonderful, funny, silly, loving little boys who call out excitedly, "Mommy!" whenever I walk in the front door or come downstairs in the morning.
But I may not have been ready for him if I hadn't made the journey that I did. If I hadn't found that last bit of inner strength that allowed me to say no when the dreams I thought I had could come true, would I be the person I am now? Even if I weren't with the same guy, would I have strength of heart to take a chance? Because Rich and I both took chances on each other.
I'm a firm believer that life leads you where you need to be. And I needed to be in that relationship. I needed to be at my lowest so I could see just how far I could come. I don't regret it, which confuses some people because it was almost 7 years of heartache and pain. Why WOULDN'T I wish that it never happened? Because I don't look at it as 7 years of heartache and pain. There were good times mixed among the bad. And the bad times... they helped shape me. It was 7 years of experience. And I never regret experience.
In the fall of my 26th year, I moved from where I'd been living to live with my parents. I would still see him on the sly sometimes, with him driving the hour and a half to see me. Usually, it would be for a couple of hours in a hotel room. It was bothering me more and more every day. When I asked if he was going to divorce his wife, he accused me of making him choose his son over me. And I could never convince him that it was the case.
Around October or November, I finally called it quits with him. I told him that I couldn't be "the other woman" any more. I still loved him - I suspected that I always would - but I couldn't handle the pain of the secrecy any longer. It was easier this time than before for two reasons. One, I was living an hour and a half away from him, so he wasn't 5 minutes away. And two, I was the one that made the decision this time. He tried to convince me not to for a little while, but I stood firm. I refused to contact him via e-mail or phone and I started getting my life back on track.
On New Years Eve of that year, I got an e-mail from him telling me to meet him outside the bar down the street from my parents' house. I don't know why, but the thought of him contacting me again frightened me. I think it was because I hadn't wanted my step-mom to know and I was afraid that he'd come by the house. I told him no, I wouldn't meet him. But he managed to talk me into meeting him on my lunch break on the 2nd.
I don't know what I was expecting then, but I was nervous about meeting him. I'd built him up to this big threat in my mind, so I was nervous. But I should have been nervous for another reason.
We drove in relative silence until he found a quiet place to park. Then he turned to me and said, "I'm going to give you everything you ever wanted." He showed me a ring and divorce papers. My heart stopped. 6 months ago, it WAS everything I wanted. I wanted him to leave her and marry me. He didn't want to have kids and I'd convinced myself that I didn't want any either. I could be a good step-mother to his son.
But in that instant, when I saw the ring, I knew that it wasn't what I wanted any longer. I wanted someone I could trust. And I couldn't trust him. There were too many things hidden, both in his relationship with me and his relationship with his wife. I couldn't be sure that he wouldn't start seeing someone else on the side after he married me. I was finally getting my life back on track. I had a job that didn't involve being on the phone all day. I had a couple guys I was interested in (though all were long distance). I was finally feeling better about myself.
So I said, "No. I can't trust you and I won't marry you." They were the hardest words I'd ever said in my life because a part of me still loved him. As I said earlier, a part of me always would (and a small part, deep down inside, still does). But I couldn't go back because he wasn't good for me. I needed to continue the changes I was making in myself.
He asked to put the ring on my finger because he wanted to see how it looked. I let him. I looked at it for a moment, then slipped it off and handed it back to him. I don't remember now if I was crying or holding the tears back. But I know I asked him to drive me back to work.
I walked into my office (a space I shared with 2 friends) and the floodgates opened. We closed the doors and I sobbed. My friends understood and gave me comfort and support. It's what I needed then. And I'm glad I got it.
It was both one of the hardest and one of the easiest decisions to make. In doing so, I threw away a dream that I'd held on to for almost 7 years. It was that clink of finality as the door closed forever. But it was also the only choice I could make. I'd learned how important trust was. I was starting to learn, thanks to other friends, what it meant to be the person I was meant to be. I was listening when friends talked and not letting my heart do the only answering. I knew that I deserved better.
And I found better. It took me a couple tries before I found the man I knew I could spend the rest of my life with, that I could trust above all others, and that could and would be my best friend. With him, I have two beautiful, wonderful, funny, silly, loving little boys who call out excitedly, "Mommy!" whenever I walk in the front door or come downstairs in the morning.
But I may not have been ready for him if I hadn't made the journey that I did. If I hadn't found that last bit of inner strength that allowed me to say no when the dreams I thought I had could come true, would I be the person I am now? Even if I weren't with the same guy, would I have strength of heart to take a chance? Because Rich and I both took chances on each other.
I'm a firm believer that life leads you where you need to be. And I needed to be in that relationship. I needed to be at my lowest so I could see just how far I could come. I don't regret it, which confuses some people because it was almost 7 years of heartache and pain. Why WOULDN'T I wish that it never happened? Because I don't look at it as 7 years of heartache and pain. There were good times mixed among the bad. And the bad times... they helped shape me. It was 7 years of experience. And I never regret experience.
21 March 2011
Memories Monday - Senior Prom
I went to three dances in high school. My Junior Year Homecoming with Paul (and I need to find that picture to upload one of these days), my Junior Prom stag and my Senior Prom stag, but not alone. My friend Trish and I went together.
The day of my senior prom was a busy one. That morning, one of my closest friends got married. So I got dressed up for that. Which meant that my hair and makeup were mostly done for prom. The wedding was a lot of fun (thought the marriage didn't last too long). I left there at around 1 so I could get home, get my stuff and get over to Trish's by 2.
The good thing about not really having anyone to impress was that Trish and I were fairly laid back when it came to getting ready. I don't remember too many specifics, beyond Trish's sister being there and the possibility that we'd be sharing a limo ride with a couple guys from my class. But since they never got back in touch with us, we ended up going in my little blue Escort.
We left a bit early so we could make a stop by the McDonald's I worked at and I could show off. Then, since we still had time, we stopped over at my boyfriend's house to spend a little time with him before the prom. I'd wanted my boyfriend to go to prom with me, but my step-mom flat out refused to let me. Rob lived in public housing and she was convinced I wouldn't be safe if I went down there to pick him up. So... technically, we shouldn't have stopped by his place anyway. But there were a lot of things I did that I didn't let my step-mom know I did.
The prom itself was one of the most fun times I had in High School. Trish and I got our picture taken (as shown above), danced with a few different guys (including one that I had a bit of a crush on - and I danced with him to the song that Paul and I had considered ours, "Unchained Melody"), were out there for every fast song and stayed until the prom was over. We even picked up a guy... sort of. He'd come as our friend Nikki's date, but she was leaving early. Trish had been talking with him so we said we'd take him home.
When we left, Trish and I each took a column of black and white balloons that had been part of the decorations, which meant that Craig was stuffed in the back seat of my car, surrounded by balloons. We made another brief stop at my boyfriend's, then headed to Wags for late night shakes. My parents wouldn't let me stay out all night, but did let me go back out for breakfast. So we planned on me picking everyone up and driving to Perkins at around 6.
I don't remember much from breakfast beyond Rob being in his McDonald's uniform and a cake fight breaking out in our booth. I think Trish, Craig and I were a bit punchy. But we all had a good time.
It's a prom I'll never forget.
14 March 2011
Memories Monday - Learning to Drive
Today's Meet Me on Monday made me think of learning to drive. When I was really young, around 8 maybe, my Dad used to let me either shift the gear shift or sit on his lap and steer. No worries: it was always just up our driveway and never where other drivers could be in danger.
I moved to Florida to live with my dad when I was 15. In Florida, you can get your learner's permit at 15 and your license at 16. One of the first things I did was get my learner's permit so I could be foot loose and fancy free. Yeah, things never happen the way you expect.
I was going to be taking my driver's test on an automatic transmission car, but my dad wanted to make sure I knew how to drive a stick. You never know when you might be called on to drive one. So we took his little S-15 to the back roads of North Port (back when there still were back roads in North Port). While I never had to deal with hills, I did have to deal with a lot of other things, like poor visibility at stop signs and dirt roads. It took me a little while to get the hang of the clutch. But I learned it and felt confidant enough to drive it without worrying about what my dad would think.
I didn't actually get my license until I was 17. I had my own car to drive but for some reason, my folks didn't take me for awhile. The closer I got to graduation, though, the more they thought it might be a good idea. But there were a few other things I needed to learn first.
See, I'm a mechanic's daughter. I remember being in the service station that my dad owned, watching him change tires with the cars lifted into the air, checking fluids, changing oil. I remember wanting to help him pump gas for customers (but never being allowed to do so) and being fascinated by the air pump that filled up customer's tires. He lost the station when I was in 5th or 6th grade, and then moved to Florida. But that didn't mean that knowing how a car works was any less important for me.
Daddy taught me how to check my fluids, how to change my own oil (and I got COVERED with oil the first time I did it), pump my own gas and change my own tires. Until I was able to do all of those things, I wasn't able to get my license. I wasn't to be dependent on anyone else for simple maintenance. The harder stuff (like changing out a faulty starter or changing my breaks) I went to Daddy for while he could still do it. Even now, I'm willing to get under the car to do these things if Dad will advise me.
A lot of people are surprised that I know these things. My husband, who grew up in New Jersey where they don't trust you to pump your own gas, had me be the pumper whenever we were in Philly or NY for visits to family in friends. Now that we're in TN and it's a requirement, he's a lot more comfortable with it.
One of my favorite tire stories was when we were visiting with friends back in NJ. We'd borrowed my father-in-law's car for a trip to dinner with friends. Rich's best friend Steve and his wife Jessie were with us. Along the way, the tire blew. We pulled into a parking lot and Steve called AAA. They said it was going to be an hour before they'd get there. We would have been incredibly late. So I pushed up my sleeves, pulled the donut from the trunk and proceeded to change the tire. It took me about 15 minutes and we were on the road again. The rest of our group were pretty surprised, and I was pretty proud.
It's all part of driving, in my opinion.
I moved to Florida to live with my dad when I was 15. In Florida, you can get your learner's permit at 15 and your license at 16. One of the first things I did was get my learner's permit so I could be foot loose and fancy free. Yeah, things never happen the way you expect.
I was going to be taking my driver's test on an automatic transmission car, but my dad wanted to make sure I knew how to drive a stick. You never know when you might be called on to drive one. So we took his little S-15 to the back roads of North Port (back when there still were back roads in North Port). While I never had to deal with hills, I did have to deal with a lot of other things, like poor visibility at stop signs and dirt roads. It took me a little while to get the hang of the clutch. But I learned it and felt confidant enough to drive it without worrying about what my dad would think.
I didn't actually get my license until I was 17. I had my own car to drive but for some reason, my folks didn't take me for awhile. The closer I got to graduation, though, the more they thought it might be a good idea. But there were a few other things I needed to learn first.
See, I'm a mechanic's daughter. I remember being in the service station that my dad owned, watching him change tires with the cars lifted into the air, checking fluids, changing oil. I remember wanting to help him pump gas for customers (but never being allowed to do so) and being fascinated by the air pump that filled up customer's tires. He lost the station when I was in 5th or 6th grade, and then moved to Florida. But that didn't mean that knowing how a car works was any less important for me.
Daddy taught me how to check my fluids, how to change my own oil (and I got COVERED with oil the first time I did it), pump my own gas and change my own tires. Until I was able to do all of those things, I wasn't able to get my license. I wasn't to be dependent on anyone else for simple maintenance. The harder stuff (like changing out a faulty starter or changing my breaks) I went to Daddy for while he could still do it. Even now, I'm willing to get under the car to do these things if Dad will advise me.
A lot of people are surprised that I know these things. My husband, who grew up in New Jersey where they don't trust you to pump your own gas, had me be the pumper whenever we were in Philly or NY for visits to family in friends. Now that we're in TN and it's a requirement, he's a lot more comfortable with it.
One of my favorite tire stories was when we were visiting with friends back in NJ. We'd borrowed my father-in-law's car for a trip to dinner with friends. Rich's best friend Steve and his wife Jessie were with us. Along the way, the tire blew. We pulled into a parking lot and Steve called AAA. They said it was going to be an hour before they'd get there. We would have been incredibly late. So I pushed up my sleeves, pulled the donut from the trunk and proceeded to change the tire. It took me about 15 minutes and we were on the road again. The rest of our group were pretty surprised, and I was pretty proud.
It's all part of driving, in my opinion.
17 January 2011
Memories Monday - School Days
Like most people, I don't remember much of my early childhood. I have a few memories here and there - being in the hospital when I cut open my head at my aunt's at the age of two, looking at my little sister in the playpen, vague recollections of cutting her hair and getting into my mom's make up. Then there are my memories from kindergarten.
Like my younger years, very few of them are solid memories, just flashes here and there. The first one is actually before school actually started. The kids that would be starting school in September 1979 were able to come in one morning with their parents to see what school would be like. I lived five miles from town and there were no kids my age anywhere near by. (We lived on hundreds of acres, so I didn't even HAVE anyone too near by.) So when I came into school, I didn't know anyone. I don't ever remember play dates or anything like that. I know that I must have met a bunch of people, but only one person sticks out - Renee. Not because I made a great friendship with her - though we knew each other as we grew up (it was a very small town - our graduating class was around 35), we were never close. What I remember is standing next to her and seeing our names written in sand.
Under a bank of windows that overlooked the playground was a long shelving unit. I can't remember now what the shelves held - probably toys and books and things like that. But I do remember that one of the things on top of it were two lunch trays covered in sand for us to write and draw in with our fingers. I don't know if Renee had written her own name or if someone had written it for her, but I remember her standing next to it when I went to draw in the sand. I don't think either of us said anything to each other - I was really shy when I was a kid. But for some reason that memory sticks in my mind and refuses to let go.
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