The Maker

 

5 Newbs looking fancy in 1989

Little brother, Bunns, is a high school teacher. When he came into this world, it never occurred to me that he would eventually have the power to influence thousands of other peoples children during his lifetime. I'm kind of glad. Knowing what the future might hold would have been frightening.

A typical little kid... protecting the neighborhood

Taking a break from influencing America's youth

He reached out recently requesting some assistance with a project that he had assigned one of the brainiac classes that he teaches. He was walking his students through an assigment to create a brief oral history  that centered on an artifact they might have in their homes. The project would involve an item and a story about that item as a part of the larger tapestry of their family's history. 

He wanted to provide an example of what he expected and asked if I would record a short description of our dad. 

He identified one of dad's gifts as being "a maker." Since I am so much like my father in being a "maker" as well, he asked if I would record a bit about him. I thought that preserving some memories of the man who raised me was a pretty cool way to spend an afternoon. 

There was a lot I could have said. Dad was a renassiance man who dabbled in a lot of things. But he was definitely a creative type with the ability to envision a final product and the steps to achieve it. 

He was good with his hands and was willing to give anything a try and as a result, not only taught himself new skills, but also left some pretty cool items for us as his children to treasure. 

Dad also had a beautiful singing voice. I wish that I had a recording, but I enjoy the many  music books and memories he left behind. 

The Scribner Music Library

Though I barely scratched the surface trying to describe my dad as a maker, I'm thankful I could leave an audio recording about him here as it helped little brothers students understand a bit more of what he wanted in the completed assignment. 

A Maker

Dad left a wonderful legacy in so many ways. Being a maker was only a part of it. He was a man of creativity and integrity. And he is sorely missed. 

This was taken about 10 years after the one above. 

My hair completed the journey to white and the brothers are well on their way.

It's another part of dads legacy!

Little brother said the assignment went brilliantly. "It's one of the best things I do all year." It was a sweet legacy project to be a part of.

 As for those twelve stones which he had taken from the Jordan, 

Joshua set them up at Gilgal. 

And when he said to the sons of Israel, 

"When your children ask their fathers in time to come, 

saying, 'What are these stones?' 

then you shall inform your children, saying 

"Israel crossed this Jordan on dry ground."

 Joshua 4:20-22

Other projects from this "maker"

Down Dementia Drive

This has been a big part of my story in recent years, and I struggled for a long time trying to decide whether or not I should share it. My hope is that in finally speaking up, I can encourage someone else as they experience caring for their own loved ones. 

Dad and mom in their younger days

In June of 2003, I sat on a ship in the port of Seattle and made a phone call that would be a crossroads in my life. I was checking in with my folks before going off grid and my dad gave me the really difficult news that he had been diagnosed with lung cancer. 

What followed were several trips west over the next 12 months from our home near Philadelphia. The frequent trips were to check on my parents, until the last one that kept me there for several months taking care of dad as he came to the end of his life. 

It was with him that I first experienced the ravages of dementia. His was the result of his cancer metastasizing.  

I had no idea that it was merely the beginning of a very long journey.

Our last family picture

Dad, shortly before his death

During that time of being dads caretaker, I spent a lot of time with my mom, and began the transition into being her caretaker as well. I just didn't know it was happening. 

Mom's dementia was harder to recognize than dads. His was expected because of his disease, and quite frankly, he did and said some funny things. One of the best laughs I had during that time was when he told a doctors waiting room full of people that he was a "solar powered sex machine". The cancer treatment had stolen his hair and the dementia had stolen his inhibitions but neither had stolen his sense of humor.

But because moms style was always "ready, fire, aim" it was hard to know what was really "not right" and what was "just mom". Erratic behavior was kind of her MO, but one of the many things she told me as I took care of dad was that she would never be as easy a patient as he was. It was a prophetic statement.

After a few years alone in the house my folks had once shared, and with more trips west for me to shore her up, it became evident that mom could no longer live alone and I could no longer be expected to keep her going while living thousands of miles away with my own family. Yes, I had two beautiful children and an amazing husband that made up my life. 

So the decision was made by my brothers and myself to move her near me. It just made sense and the Lord opened the door for her to be able to afford it. My brothers and I were in agreement, and as time passed, we quickly saw the wisdom in it. 

Shortly after the big move

She was able to enjoy living independently for a time after moving here, but it wasn't without significant time on my part to keep her going. Cleaning her place, doing her laundry, changing her bedding, doing her hair, doctors visits, the trauma of getting her to the dentist, managing her medication, cleaning up messes created by bowel incontinence, and the frequent reminders that she needed to bathe. 

She often jokingly said it was like I had another child. To which I would respond "No it's not. Because my children obey." She found that hilariously funny.

There was also the anger. She had always been a very angry person, but it went to a whole new level as she deteriorated. She made frequent erratic claims of people stealing her things, paranoia because people were talking about her, and even accusations leveled at me for various imagined offenses, angry late night phone calls complete with screaming and hang ups... 

And she was so afraid. Fear was a constant companion through her life, but now she knew something wasn't right with her. She had no control over what was happening in her head and her fear just compounded the anger she felt.

In actuality, no one stole anything. She squirreled things away because she was afraid they would, and by God's grace, I quickly learned her hiding places and was able to restore her things to her until "someone stole them" again. Her neighbors were so very kind and were the reason she was able to stay in independent living as long as she did. As much as I was with her, there were still things I didn't know because they were all so good at covering for each other.

I had gone down a hole that I didn't even realize existed. 

When the time came to move her into assisted living, I really believed it would get easier, and some of the tasks were lifted from my shoulders, but some were not. In addition to her own late night calls, I began receiving them from the kind and caring nursing staff informing me about one thing or another. 

I have so appreciated the care she's been given, but have to tell you, I get very tense when the phone tells me it's a call from the "Raisin Ranch". (a term coined by my funny big brother) She falls often, and is at times very combative with staff. 

She began experiencing "sundowners" shortly after moving into assisted living, and would often pace the halls at all hours of the night. Those times always brought a call from the staff and I often made the trip to try and calm her down. That was never successful because I wasn't the one she wanted to see, and she just wanted to "go home". In her mind, I was the reason she couldn't.

I quickly learned there is no reasoning with a person suffering from dementia. Distraction is your best ally. 

Little brother teaches mom the finer points of taking "selfies"

I made several trips to the ER with her, most often late at night. Those were especially difficult because her default to worry became exponentially amplified as she aged and that stress brought on the incontinence that is so much more difficult to deal with in a public place, but I had a lot of practice. The ER runs also had to happen when I was out of town, so I learned how to manage those long distance.

My parents changed me, fed me, and kept me clean as a child, and dads illness called for me to do the same for him. After his death, the task of doing so for my mom also fell to me. I've cleaned up messes that I would have insisted I couldn't bear to deal with, but you do what has to be done. 

Mom and dad were born the same year, and he died entirely too soon at 75 years old. After moving here and spending 2 years in independent living, and 7 years in assisted living, mom was registered for hospice care 2 years ago. She is now 91. 

I just recently realized that my journey down dementia drive started in 2003. That's a long time, but when you're in the midst of "it" you just lose track of how much time is passing.

While mentally mom is gradually fading away, relatively speaking, she's in good shape physically for her age and state. While she spends most of her time in a wheel chair, she's still mobile with a walker for short distances. 

She hasn't known me for quite some time and seems to think I'm just another one of her caregivers. As long as she's in her familiar space, she's fine with me being there, but COVID-19 has made that impossible. Now visits have to take place in a beautiful outdoor area that is completely unfamiliar to her. She must wear a mask and so do I, and the fear of being left in this unknown place with me causes a fear in her that results in completely shutting down. She's still chatty and relatively responsive in her own room, but during a visit with me in this outdoor space, there is no speech, no response... nothing. 

So until I can once again visit with her in her own space, I won't see her physically. Her own feelings of safety and security are more important and that's stolen from her when I try to see her right now. 

The setting is lovely, but too stressful for her

This time only reinforces the importance of making sure your loved ones are well taken care of in your absence. In addition to the nursing staff in her community, mom also sees a nurse practitioner and her hospice nurse on a weekly basis. For now they are my sweet and faithful eyes and ears and they sing the praises of moms assisted living home.

Bottom line? Dealing with dementia is a dirty, hard business, both for those experiencing it themselves, and for their caretakers. Everyday brings a new issue that you can't possibly prepare for because the disease has a mind of its own. 

Dementia results from physiological changes to the brain. Simply stated, there are physical gaps in the brain tissue that result in mental gaps in those who have it. My mom tells very believable fantastic stories because she's just trying to fill the holes in her memory. They aren't lies, but an attempt to bridge gaps that make no sense. 

My goal in even writing this is two fold. First to process what I've been doing for the last 17 years of my life. I can't believe I've been on this journey for such a long time, nor would I have believed you if you had told me what would be expected of me when I took that first step with my dad. 

But more than that it's to help others who might stumble upon this accounting and find help and encouragement here. You're not alone, my friends. The community to which you belong is a big one. You're often asked how your loved one is, which is such a hard question to answer. The whole truth is just too hard to vocalize, so you just say "relatively, she's doing well". We all know it's not the truth at all, but to tell the truth is just too hard. It's too big.

Rarely are you asked how YOU are. But those of us on this journey understand. We know how you are, because we know what is expected of you and we're right there with you.

Nothing could have prepared you for what you're experiencing right now. But the God Who created you laid this path before you because He knew it's what you needed. His intent is for us to honor others and that looks different in every family. 

Honoring someone is in part, providing the support they need when and in the way they need it. It includes doing hard things. Sometimes feeding them like babies, changing diapers, and cleaning up messes you didn't think you could ever deal with. Yet God gives you the grace when the time comes. Sometimes it's handling their finances like my sweet husband does for my mom. But for you, right now, honoring your loved ones, whether they are parents or others, is doing exactly what you're doing, and doing it excellently. 

Watching over those that can't watch over themselves. Doing the hard things that they can't do for themselves. That, my friends, is a noble calling. 

Don't be discouraged. You're doing a good thing. 

And so my journey continues. It's a bit different everyday, yet stays very much the same. I don't know what my future holds, but my God does. And He never fails. 

Beloved, if God so loved us, 

we also ought to love one another.

1 John 4:11

Honor your father and mother; 

and you shall love your neighbor as yourself.

Matthew 19:9

So that we can confidently say, 

"the Lord is my helper. I will not be afraid."

Hebrews 13:6

Just as I have been with Moses, I will be with you. 

I will not fail you or forsake you.

Joshua 1:5

Other projects

Traveling

Because of my husbands job, we've had lots of opportunities to travel over the years. Our children grew up just assuming everyone could walk into the airport, get on an airplane and go somewhere at a moments notice. Chicago for lunch anyone? Just because. The youngest illustrated their view of life quite simply one time while sitting in the car on a rather long drive. We had gone to a state park about two hours from our home for an outdoor adventure. About an hour into the trek, she sighed heavily and remarked, "why didn't we fly?" A simple question. And I had to agree. Anyplace that took more than an hour to get to definitely called for air travel!! Flying wasn't daddy's job, it was just what he did. The same child also claimed that "My daddy doesn't work. He flies." 

Our children learned early on how to prepare for travel, and to do so quickly. No packing a week ahead of time. We never had that kind of notice. They also learned the principal:

 "If you pack it, you carry it. If you can't carry it, you don't take it." 

"Parent" was not synonymous with "pack mule" in our family. They didn't realize what a burden we placed on them until high school when the class trips began and other girls showed up with ENORMOUS suitcases that they had no hope of carrying, and just assumed the boys would do the load bearing for them. I was there to see the shocked looks on their faces, complete with eye rolling. So we raised some attitude problems. Oh well.

But even with our packing savvy, we've still never accomplished what I can only dream about. Handsome and I were preparing for a trip recently, and I was struck with two things. First of all men can get away with very little. They don't even have to take a razor if they don't want to. They can roll out of bed, throw on a semi clean pair of shorts and tshirt, and a baseball cap and look fine. I envy men for that. I'm not a natural beauty, and now that age has entered the equation, it takes a bit more "paint on the barn" to look presentable. If I rolled out of bed and donned the same ensemble as men can pull together, I'd scare small children and embarrass my family. That means I take longer to pull myself together, and I pack more. Not more than I can carry, mind you!

But I've always wanted to be like my dad when it came to travel preparation. I think he was a wannabe truck driver. He loved the sound that just the right tires made on the pavement. Used to say they "sang". The open road intrigued him and he took great pride in tying the canvas water bag onto the front grille of the car in just the right way. 

 

I don't remember ever drinking from one of these, but I DO remember him pouring water from it over the car radiator cap. We actually traveled through Death Valley more than once with a couple of these tied up front.

Dad talked about "Brownies", and double clutching, and other trucking things. He had an International Harvester pick up at one time and taught me to drive a stick in it. It was quite the man truck. Interesting that he always said he didn't care to travel. But I think he actually meant that he didn't like the kind of travel mom aspired to. She had a little more extravagant taste. Dad was happy camping. He was a simple guy that always wore work boots, blue jeans, a plaid western cut shirt with the pearly snap buttons and short sleeves, and a trucker cap. Always the trucker cap. You know the kind that are plastic mesh in the back and some kind of stiff foam in the front with a logo or slogan? "I'm spending my children's inheritance" or "D**n seagulls!!" complete with a very realistic looking bird dropping on the bill. That was actually my personal favorite. But I digress.....

What really intrigued me about dad when we traveled was the way he packed. It took him a grand total of 5 seconds to shove a pair of clean skivvies in his jeans pocket and he was packed and ready for the road. Needless to say, it drove............. my mom.............. crazy. I can still hear her saying "NOOOooooORRMM!! She was able to turn a single syllable name into three and voice her displeasure in considerably less than the amount of time it took dad to pack! 

I've had to resign myself to never being able to walk out the door without even a purse in hand to go on an adventure. I'll always have to carry a bag of some type with more than one clean pair of skivvies. But I'll always envy my dad's simple approach to travel.  As long as I don't have to carry my gutchies in my pocket!

 Hundreds of thousands of miles on these bags

You who ride on white donkeys, 

You who sit on rich carpets,

And you who travel on the road-----

Sing!

Judges 5:10 




My Other Projects 

Sea Horses and Other Beasts

When I was five years old, dad loaded the family into the yellow Rambler station wagon and we set out for Long Beach to my Aunt Mary and Uncle John's house. I think the intention was just to visit. The gatherings of moms family were always very............... loud. A lot of talking. A lot of loud talking. With some loud laughter thrown in. 

The family called my Uncle John a crazy Lithuanian. He brylcreemed his hair straight back, always had a tan and smoked stinky cigars. He also told funny stories. He had served in the military and in fact, he and my Aunt Mary, moms older sister, had met while both serving in the Navy. She was stationed in Washington D.C. and came home with Uncle John. I understand it was quite the surprise.

I found him hysterical because he put such a funny twist on things and he was always so sweet to me. I don't know when I noticed the first time, but he was missing a pinky finger. I was fascinated by that, and finally screwed up the courage one day to ask him about it. He said he lost it when he was picking his nose. "Jammed my finger up my nose, pulled it out and that thing was gone!" My status as "high functioning blonde" started when I was extremely young, so of course I believed it, and spent a fair amount of time trying to get a look up his nose to see if the stump was still there. His finger was actually shot off in World War 2. 

Aunt Mary and Uncle John had an itchy mohair sectional of the very latest chic mid century vintage. It was black with sliver sparkles in it. Isn't it weird the things you remember? On this particular day they also had a puppy. When we walked in the door, this little brown flash of lightening ran toward us and of course, my brother Ming and I thought he was the best thing ever. Up until that point, we didn't have pets, but when Uncle John saw how taken we were with this puppy, he immediately told us we could have him. Never asked my dad if it was ok, just said he was ours. Who knew when we got in the Rambler that day that we'd be returning home with a wiener dog named Toby? Dad was sure that John had picked him up in a bar. I'm not sure what that connection was, but it seemed pretty important to dad.

"Tobias T. Mutt" went on to live until after I was married, and was a big part of not only my growing up years, but also my courtship with my husband. As a kid, he had some fish, guinea pigs and a desert tortoise but never had a dog of his own. My better half spent endless hours wonderfully amused watching Toby fall asleep while standing up. His legs were only a few inches long, so it didn't take much of a nod to smack his snout on the cement to wake himself up. To me, it was "just Toby." To my handsome boyfriend, it was a barrel of laughs. 

During my childhood, I also had lots of fish, water turtles, hamsters, the guinea pig and desert tortoise I inherited from my boyfriend when he went away to college, and sea horses that I had gotten through mail order. They were pretty cool, and even had babies in my care, but met their maker when my cousin tried to "help" by feeding them hot dogs. 

Little brother, Bunns, came along about a year after we got Toby. By then, Toby had gotten used to being the baby of the family and loved by all, and was quite depressed when mom and dad came home with the new baby. The rest of us could do anything we wanted to do to Toby, but if little brother just pointed at him, it sent Toby into fits of snarling and barking. 

Toby is no longer with us. But I'm glad that Bunns is still around. 

Then God said, 

"Let the earth bring forth living creatures after their kind: cattle and creeping things and beasts of the earth after their kind;" 

and it was so. 

God made the beasts of the earth after their kind, and the cattle after their kind, and everything that creeps on the ground after its kind; 

and God saw that it was good. 

Genesis 1:24-25

1964

Early 70's

Happy Birthday, Dad

My dad at 19 years old. Brand new to California, 

and contemplating just how big that ocean is. 

He always hated the beach..........

Today would have been my dad's 86th birthday. His name was Norm Newberry, and he was a good, hardworking family man from Nebraska. At the age of 14, his own dad suddenly passed away, and even though he wasn't the oldest of the brood, my dad always felt that it was his responsibility to care for and support his large family. His mother, my grandmother, was able to keep the family relatively stable until dad graduated from high school, but shortly after that, the family moved to California. In his heart of hearts, he was always a Nebraska boy, and would have loved nothing more than to raise us in his home town of Alliance. His own father would have been so proud of the man he became.

Dad was from simple stock. The family wasn't wealthy, nor did they possess myriad advanced degrees, but they made a good way by working hard and doing what was right. I haven't been a 'Newberry' for nearly 40 years, but I still carry the lessons my dad taught me. He wasn't perfect, but he passed along so much and I do my best not to embarrass him. The older I get, the more I appreciate those simple homespun lessons I learned from my dad.

He was a dental lab technician, and most mornings, when I got out of bed as a child, he was already gone for work. He also ran a 'side business' in order to support us and that kept him working at the kitchen table until long after I went to bed. I remember on a few occasions that I insisted I could keep pace with him and stay awake until he finally retired for the night. So I sat across the table talking with him until finally falling asleep with my face buried in the last thing I was trying to eat when I finally gave in. He taught me the importance of working hard and earning my own way.

He was pretty stubborn, and I think that was what made him capable of handling the sometimes huge challenges that life handed him. When I was in eighth grade, he and my little brother were in a serious car accident. Dad spent months in a hip cast with pins in his leg before transitioning over to a leg brace. While he was still in a wheel chair, he lost his job. So with a family of five depending on him, he started his own business full time. He turned part of the bonus room upstairs into a dental lab while still in a short cast and later in the leg brace. He did all the construction, plumbing and electric required to create the lab all by himself and that same lab served to support the family until he finally retired in his sixties. Occasionally he would express his frustration at the situation, but he never bad mouthed the dentist that had let him go at such a difficult time. 

Dad was an excellent listener, and often got to the point of what we were trying to say before we even knew what the point was. He taught me how important it is to make a conversation a two sided affair. Never let things end until asking the other person how they are and listening to the answer. Nothing is more hurtful and frustrating than talking to a person for a long time and not once having them ask about you and your family. Like they're the only important ones in the conversation and you really don't matter. It happens all the time in our egocentric society. I work hard on this one. I want people to know that I care and I'm so thankful when they care enough to ask about me and those I love.

Dad also liked a good debate and would often say the most bizarre things to spark one. Unfortunately, at the time, I often didn't catch that they were merely verbal challenges 'to make us think' and would actually think he truly believed in what he had just said. Of course, it set me up perfectly. He was an amazing wordsmith too, so I usually walked away from the conversation scratching my head and wondering what just happened. My little brother inherited this talent with words and the ability to reason me around the corner into a state of complete confusion. My daughter recently shared the label 'high functioning blonde' with me. I'm not a blonde, but it fits. 

My dad enjoyed "dad-ism's" that we heard often growing up. "How are you, Norm?" To which the answer was always "I'm pregnant!" If we inserted ourselves into a conversation and asked who he was talking about, he would answer "Who? Who? Your feet don't fit a limb!" I spent so much time trying to figure out what a 'fitalim' was that I was into adulthood before I really understood what he was telling me. I think that was much kinder than telling me to stop being nosy. Even in the last weeks of his life, when he could no longer be understood when he spoke, was in terrible pain and confined to bed, dad was still full of the dad-ism's. I was able to pass along the answers to the questions being asked simply because I had heard them so many times over the years. He body was failing fast, but his sense of humor was just fine.

It was my honor to help in my dad's care in the final months of his life. He gave me so much and it was a gift to me to be able to give back dignified loving care. With his family surrounding him, praying and citing Scripture, and in his own home, his life on earth came to a close. Dad didn't like moving, and when he and my mom moved into the little house in which he died, he commented that he'd only leave that place 'feet first.' That's exactly how he exited the last time. In the time that he did battle with the cancer that eventually took his life, he never complained. And at every opportunity he expressed his gratitude for what was being done for him. Amazing. Simply amazing. 

I can't believe it's been over ten years since his death. He was a life long smoker and lung cancer finally had its way with him. My oldest daughter had the privilege of christening his 'grampa name' and he was tagged 'Papa' early on. Since he's been gone, four of his six grandchildren have married and brought a total of nine great grandchildren into the family. Number ten will be here in just a few weeks. Dad loved kids, and he was better with babies than most women are. Nothing would have made him happier than to have had a houseful of them. I so wish my son in laws and my grandchildren could have known him. 'Papa' was a good guy. 

I wish you could have known him too. He wasn't perfect, and could be a bit curmudgeonly at times, but he was genuinely nice and I guarantee that he would have made you comfortable and given you a reason to smile. My ultimate example in life is my heavenly Father, and He is the One I seek to please. But I have a pretty great legacy from my earthly father too. I always try to stay mindful to live up to both, and by God's grace, sometimes I'm able to. 

Tell those around you how important they are to you today. Tell them how much you appreciate and love them. Time goes by too fast, and before you know it, the opportunity will be passed. 

Just as a father has compassion on his children,

So the Lord has compassion 

on those who fear Him.

Ps. 103:13

The family had gathered in California for a visit, and it wasn't very often that all of the kids and grandkids could be together, so on this visit, we made sure to get some good family pictures. It was the same weekend that he learned grandchild #6 was on the way. The look on dads face perfectly reflects how he felt about family. Time together is all he ever wanted. I inherited that from him.

With Bunns, Ming and the folks

We've bid farewell to two, but added fifteen!

The summer before he died. This was taken in my little brothers back yard and he was watching the bedlam of his children and grandchildren playing cards.
Nothing made him happier than being surrounded by family.

Blue 10 on 10

The 10th of every month brings with it the creative challenge of sharing 10 photos of beautiful things from the day. Today, it's 10 on 10 in the 10th month of the year and the possibilities are endless!! It's quiet around my house right now, so I have the chance to use a little imagination, and I'm struck with the richness of the color all around us. 

Today's 10 on 10 is brought to you by the color BLUE!!

Bits and pieces of this beautiful hue from around the house.

Happy Friday!

There's a mistake here. Do you see it? But it's family history made in the Philippines, so we keep it around.

 It took me half the day, but I finally decided what my 10 on 10 would be!

These make me wish I could develop a taste for tea!

A gift from a special friend.

California in a bowl, right there!! Little bits of beach from Catalina Island.

This came a long way across the ocean before it came to rest in our house.

I love storing things in old jars.

The very best colors are the ones God put in nature.

This holds special memories of my dad.

The Lord also spoke to Moses, saying, 

Speak to the sons of Israel,

And tell them that they shall make for themselves

Tassels on the corners of their garments

Throughout their generations,

And that they shall put on the tassel of each corner a cord of blue.

It shall be a tassel for you to look at

And remember all the 

commandments of the Lord...

Numbers 15:37-39

Linking up to: A Bit of Sunshine

Around the Corner

I was a year old when my folks built and moved into the home I would grow up in. We still lived there when I walked down the aisle, and then went on to bring my children there to visit. I'm sure my folks had no idea what kind of history would be tied up in that place when they signed the papers on it. They were young parents of 2 children, striking out into an area that was relatively undeveloped, and to say that their families were against it would be putting it mildly! But the area grew exponentially and they ended up doing ok on their small $16,000.00 investment before retiring. And we had a good place to spend our childhood.

Around the corner from our house, a shopping center went in with a grocery store and various and sundry other places of business. I remember a donut place and a five and dime called TGY. I loved that place because my 25 cent allowance went a long way there. It was at TGY that I accumulated a huge assortment of Tootsietoy cars. I got the tootsietoy's because they could be had on a budget. My friend Mona got the Matchbox cars, but they were too pricey for me. Looking back now, those little cars that I loved so much were probably steeped in lead and the most unhealthy toy I ever had. Makes me glad I never chewed on them. Though, they might be to blame for............. well, you know..........

Neil's bikeshop was there, The Card Castle, and the Broasted Chicken place. I don't know exactly how you "Broast" a chicken, but I really liked it. There was a bakery that made the coolest lace cookies, and a slot car place. I remember going there with my dad. The race tracks were big with lots of twists and banks and turns, and the point was to win the race while keeping the cars in the slots on the track. Dad was pretty good at it. But my goal in life was to mash that button all the way down and get those cars going as fast as I could. They made a phenomenal sight as they flew off the end of the track. I'm glad my dad didn't remember my love for speed when he decided it was time for me to drive. 

The really cool thing about that shopping center was the carnival they held in the parking lot every year. It was life changing because it was there that I developed a love for going fast, hanging upside down, the rides with unexpected twists and turns, feeling my stomach in my throat, and junk food. The REAL junk food that carnivals are famous for. Cotton candy, deep fried stuff............. yeah baby. The lights were bright, the music was obnoxious and off key, our flip flops got sticky, it was loud, the air smelled like exhaust from the ride motors and kids often threw up after getting off the rides; it was true Americana!! 

My allowance went a long way there too, and the folks thought nothing of letting us walk around the corner at night to ride the rides. A time of innocence that I miss. I heard my parents talk about "Carnies", the people who worked the rides and traveled with the carnivals, but they didn't seem too worried about them and I never had a problem. 

Along with the memories, I accumulated an assortment of cheap carnival prize toys, and a goldfish or two. Those fish lived forever and grew to Jaws proportions. I finally let them go in a pond nearby. Environmentalists now would probably have a cow, but we didn't know any better, and there were lots of other goldfish in there, so I thought they'd have some friends. It was either that, or mom was going to flush them. I chose the healthier alternative.

My son, do not forget my teaching,

But let your heart keep my commandments;

For the length of days and years of life

And peace they will add to you.

Do not let kindness and truth leave you;

Bind them around your neck,

Write them on the tablet of your heart.

Prov. 3:1-3

Carnival pictures