Category Archives: Memories

Regret

Memories, Musings, , , , ,

My daughter asked me, a few weeks ago, if I had any regrets and if so what they were. I could not think of any, offhand, and told her so, but today I thought of one regret.

In 6th grade we had a student teacher – Mary Woiwode. I don’t remember too much about her. In my memories she was short with short dark hair. I remember only one lesson she taught – an art lesson. She looked at the drawing or painting I was creating and noted the diagonal line I drew on the page. She said she thought it represented the two sides to the issue (I think we were supposed to be creating our impressions of communism – or else I am mixing this up with another memory) – the light and the dark sides. The only other thing I remember about that painting was that I drew or painted some birds in the sky and a classmate wondered why there were pterodactyls or bomber jets in my artwork. Miss Woiwode’s validation of my primitive art was an important point in my life and I’ll not forget it.

The most memorable event during Miss Woiwode’s tenure in our classroom was the visit of her brother — Larry Woiwode — a published author. His book, What I’m Going to Do I Think, was a literary success and his second book, Beyond the Bedroom Wall had been considered for a movie. Mr Woiwode was young and, in my 6th grade girl’s eyes, handsome. He must have been in his mid to late twenties. I don’t remember much of his speech, except that he prefaced his answer to my question about the courses someone should take in college if one wanted to be an author, with “What a great question!”. That and he borrowed my turquoise pen to sign autographs and I insisted he keep it. I think. Or else someone else did that and were so open about their emotions that I absorbed it and made it my own memory.

This visit was an important one to the school. It was recorded and broadcast on closed circuit television. This was in the late 1960’s. I always wonder if the recording still exists and if so, in what format.

Until I met Larry Woiwode and asked him about college courses I had no desire to be a writer. But after meeting him as a 12 year old, I realized that I had the power to create words that others might read and laugh or cry. But that is not the regret.

Here is the regret. Miss Woiwode was getting married soon after her student teaching in our classroom ended. She invited the entire class to the wedding. I think we even got invitations in the mail. Maybe not. But I distinctly recall standing in my room in front of my closet. My mom asked if I wanted to go to the wedding. I think I said no. My mom seemed relieved. It seems that she may have said something about me not having anything to wear to the wedding. This might have been the day before the wedding or weeks before it. I know that I really wanted to go, but pretended I didn’t.

After the wedding the girls that did go talked about it. It was beautiful. Miss Woiwode was beautiful. And they danced — they danced with the groom and they danced with the brother.

My regret is that I didn’t dance with Larry Woiwode.

I didn’t know this was a regret until I watched a couple of videos of Mr Woiwode addressing a group of people last year in his native state of North Dakota, then I realized that all these years I’ve regretted not going to that wedding and being in the same room with this man again.

So Larry – if you see this. I’ve saved a dance for you.

Thoughts of Grandpa Green

Family, Memories, Photographs, ,

Last week I started to scan and upload to Flickr a collection of photographs I took from my mom’s house this summer. I know only one person in the batch I uploaded – my grandfather, seen below.

I cannot say how old he was in this photo. I thought it might be his graduation photo, but then I realized I have his wedding photo, and he looks a bit older here.

I’ve written extensively about my Grandpa Green, how he helped shape my character and helped foster a love of reading. And even how he wrote a poem about me when I was born. There really isn’t much more to say.

He was a quiet man who liked to read, play solitaire, drink beer and golf. He was a crossword puzzle wizard. He hated salads (said they made his nose wiggle) and wore a folded tissue under his wristwatch (to keep the ticks off, he said). I loved him. He was only 63 when he died – possibly an indirect result of his dislike of salad. I was 16.

Past Thanksgivings

Memories,

We spent Thanksgiving visiting and eating a delicious vegetable filled dinner with our good friends, Alison and David and their children Laura and Peter. As I dropped off to sleep last night I thought about past memorable Thanksgivings.

I suppose that when my Grandparents lived in Elgin we used to gather there for Thanksgiving dinner. I don’t remember Thanksgiving at my Grandparents’ house in Elgin, but I’ve seen enough photos of my Grandfather carving turkey that I’m pretty sure my supposition is correct.

One year my parents had other plans, and it seems that all of my aunts and uncles did as well, because no one remembered to invite my Grandparents for Thanksgiving dinner. I guess they stayed home and had hot dogs. It was a bit if a joke for a while, and my mother even made them a decoupage box with “Hot Dog for Thanksgiving” and various images of Turkeys and hot dogs attached to it.  I recently saw that box at my parent’s cabin in Wisconsin.

When my grandparents moved to Chetek we visited them for Thanksgiving at least once. That was year before my grandfather had his leg amputated, and the last time I saw him before his surgery. He was complaining of pain in his leg and foot and was going to visit the chiropractor the next week. He thought it was from moving something heavy. It turned out he had a blood clot in his leg, which the chiropractor didn’t catch until it was too late.

Once my parents built their house in Wisconsin, we spent several Thanksgivings there. On those occasions we would drive up on Thanksgiving day and then eat Thanksgiving dinner the day after Thanksgiving. One year we brought Dean’s friends Glenn and Steve and Steve’s girlfriend, Chris.

One memorable Thanksgiving was spent with Dean’s family. They’d eat at his Aunt and Uncle’s house. His Uncle was an opinionated person who had nothing good to say about teachers. Because I was a teacher at the time, his words stung so much I never felt comfortable around him again. He had that effect on all the teachers in the family.

I think my favorite Thanksgivings were the ones we spent in Pittsburgh, sharing the meal with fellow students from all over the country and globe. I think we did that twice, but perhaps it was only once. One year we’d just recently been burglarized and had planned on having the dinner at our apartment, but instead took the turkey over to one of Dean’s office-mate’s home.  I recall feeling a little annoyed – knowing I did the cooking, but the hosts got all the thank yous.

Once we moved to the DC area we quit going back to Illinois for Thanksgiving, for the most part. We probably shared Thanksgiving with our friends Paul and Kelly at least once. In 1990 we were invited to Long Island, NY to spend Thanksgiving with Kelly’s parents in a house they were renovating. Because the house was in disarray Kelly’s mom thought it would be fun to dress up – as a contrast to the house. Kelly, who was always thinking of ways to play practical jokes on her family, thought it would be fun to dress up in funny clothes – like formal wear from the 1970’s. We found deliciously ugly prom dresses at Salvation Army and wore them to dinner. It was a lot of fun and everyone had a great time. That year was my first time in NYC where we saw a play, rode in a taxi, ate cheesecake in the village, got locked out of the parking garage and had to take the subway (where a police incident was happening in front of us)  back to Long Island. That was also the year I met Cindy.

We shared many Thanksgiving meals with Dean’s sister and her family. One time was in 1998, I think, when I’d just begun to hang out on the Internet. I’d installed ICQ and had made a few chat buddies. One was a young man who was stationed in Virginia Beach as a naval enlistee. I asked what he and his young family were doing for Thanksgiving and he said they had no plans. I asked if he’d like to come to Bethesda for dinner. He asked his wife and they accepted the invitation. I told them dinner would be in the early afternoon and they could arrive as early as noon. He seemed to understand. The next morning at 9:00 am the doorbell rang and Richard, his pregnant wife and their young daughter were on the doorstep. They’d arrived in Bethesda at 7 am, but felt it was too early to knock. I was teased for years after that – inviting Internet Strangers to dinner, but it felt right. And as it turned out Richard was younger than our nephew Chris. They were missing their families in Missouri and I guess we were surrogate parents for them for that one day.

A couple of years ago we went to Pittsburgh with Dean’s friend Mike to spend Thanksgiving with his sister and her family. That was a nice trip. We also spent at least one Thanksgiving with Sandy and Arieh before they moved to Chile. We may have gone to visit Neal and Marie one year as well.

After Dean’s sister’s husband passed away Diane often traveled to Bethesda for Thanksgiving. The past few years she’s come with Chris and Sheri, her son and his wife, who live in Charlottesville, VA. Those have been nice, low-key Thanksgivings where we mostly sat around and relaxed and visited with them.

This year I didn’t expect Diane, Chris or Sheri for a couple of reasons. Sheri’s folks moved to Virginia, so I suspected they’d want to have Thanksgiving with her family. Diane was planning on going to Illinois – first to be with her mother, but after her mother passed away in October, to be with her brothers and maybe help deal with her mother’s things. She ended up not going to Illinois, but not coming here either. She needed to veg out at home — something she deserves after the past couple of years.

While some people have longstanding traditions for Thanksgiving – we tend to have brief and fleeting traditions. I’m not sure which is best, but I kind of like our way.  Each year holds the promise of a surprise.