Jr. High and a New Bike

It had been a few years since my father took away my first bicycle. His words, "Apparently, you're not grown up enough to be a responsible bicycle owner," still resounded clearly in my head.  Finally, in the eighth grade, where absolutely everyone had a bicycle, I was able to convince my parents I had grown up to be a very responsible bicycle owner-rider.  There were too many busy streets to cross to ride the bike to school, however Saturday afternoons afforded me and my friends to ride our bikes down country roads to Chino's farmlands. Of course the air was pungent with the odors from pig and cow farms, however coasting down the rolling hills, sitting side-saddle on the bike's crossbar was certainly daring and provided a thrill a minute.  One soon forgot all about the earthy smells.
         
No, never did crash and burn.  Watched out for other vehicles and even signaled with my left arm. Very professional bike rider I thought.  One afternoon, one of the neighborhood boys caught up with me while I took off down Forth Street.  He sidled up to my right side to ask me a question.  I noticed his little sister was a passenger on the crossbar.  Not paying attention to his own driving, he ran into the back of a parked car and both brother and sister ended up with some nasty scrapes from head to toe.  That ended the bike ride for the day.
         
Well, it wasn't very long, maybe a month or so when I again had the wanderlust.  I talked my friends into riding over to Walnut which was a 'podunk' town as people called it, where there were mostly walnut groves and small houses for the workers.  Remember, this was 1939 and The Great Depression was still quite apparent.  Our posse, out to investigate this strange place, rode close to the railroad knowing it would be easy to find our way back home, and the road wasn't well traveled.  Off to the side of the road, in a small forest of wild Oaks, we noticed there was a camp site of sorts. Quietly we walked our bikes under a shady spot and laid them down.  Whispering to one another we carefully approached the camp and soon discovered there wasn't a soul in sight.  Time to investigate closer.
         
Mind you, we made a pact then and there never to breath a word of this bicycle outing before we ventured any further.  Agreeing that the story would only upset our parents, and the fact that I might once again have my bicycle taken away, we concluded that this was a live or die situation.  Believe me when I say our adrenalin was high.
          
We must have discovered a 'hobo camp' apparently found many places along railroad tracks across the nation, but to us, this was a truly rare find.  We agreed not to touch a single item and held to our promise to one another.  There were several bed-rolls neatly piled to one side probably used to sit on when not sleeping.  Three upturned sectioned wood crates had been utilized as 'kitchen cupboards' where odd plates, cups and various cans of food were stored along with some utensils and a jagged can opener, the kind that you could easily cut yourself while zagging around the top of a tin can. 

The ground was clearly freshly swept reminding me of the Mexican houses in south Pomona where grass was not an option so the dirt was almost like concrete having the silt swept away on a daily basis.  There was an old broom against a tree that the hobo's must have used for the sweeping.  Directly in the center was an earthen pit surrounded with rocks blackened from the fire used to prepare meals.  An old metal grate was to one side of the pit and atop sat a coffee pot, the kind that you throw in a hand full of grounds, add water and boil.
         
One of the boys looked startled:  "I just heard something. Maybe someone is coming."  Naturally we each froze in our steps then backed out quiet as we had entered.  Quickly we had our bike's upright, got back into our saddles and headed back the way we came.  We never saw anyone.  Probably they were all making their rounds of the nearest neighbors to ask for small jobs and a meal.  Our hearts were pounding as we rode back home, probably the greatest speed we had ever mastered on our bikes.
      
Mother was on the porch in her wheelchair and father was mowing the lawn.  "So, how was your ride to Chino today?"  "It was OK I guess."  Father helped me park my bike up on the porch and I excused myself saying: "Mother, can I please have some of your lemonade?"  I didn't even wait to get an answer.  I sat on the sofa for a very long time. My little sister was having her nap time so the only sound I heard was father finishing his mowing out front.
          
I laid awake for what seemed like a long time after going to bed.  I vowed never again to wander off to a strange place and asked God to forgive me for not telling my parents.  I made an arrangement with God that one day in the future, several years in the future, I would tell the story to my parents.  I have no idea what arrangements my friends made on the subject, however I do know that 'mum was the word' for as long as I can remember.  I can still see that orderly, simple camp in my mind.  Proof that one can be neat and clean on very little income.  It just takes the will, teamwork and some energy.  I told my parents, as promised, after I was married and living a car drive away.  Somehow, I felt they had known for a long time.

Labor Day USA

No, Labor Day isn't in celebration of women who've gone through labor having a baby.  The day is set aside, however, to honor our hard working citizens (and what of non-citizens who continue to cross our wide open borders) who '24-7' keep this country running in fairly good order, give or take a few incidences.  But that's another story.

Now, with my habit of being a constant researcher of fact due to my years as a writer/reporter, I decided to pose this question as I did my late evening shopping on Wednesday when 24 hr markets deduct 5% off the tab for us senior citizens:  "Can you tell me when we began the Labor Day Holiday?"  None of the elderly could answer that question, nor could anyone in the market no matter their age or ethnicity.  So I awoke early this morning to do some research on the net as I too haven't a clue of when this whole idea of honoring workers began.

Here's the scoop.  The first recognized date of any significance appears to be September 5, 1881 in New York City where the Labor Union officially recognized the workers.  The idea, which came before this date is attributed to one or another guy by the name of McGuire (there were two, perhaps brothers or cousins?) and evidently each one claimed the idea was theirs.  Anyway, needless to say after a parade and a few speeches at least some New Yorkers were impressed enough to repeat the event the following year.

Slowly other states picked up the idea of having the first Monday of September as an annual event to honor the workers.  But, wouldn't you know, it wasn't until more than a decade passed (and this sounds familiar) that Congress on June 28, 1894 passed an act making Labor Day a federal holiday.  For awhile there were parades and speeches across the country but eventually no one was around to form a parade because they all went on holiday and the speeches only appeared in newspaper print.

For many years, Sunday was tied in to make it a two day holiday. Now, there are no parades, no speeches, hardly anyone remembers why we have the three day holiday.  Instead of workers being let off to relax on Labor Day many put in even longer hours to accommodate the wealthy non-workers who fill the posh resorts.  And, lets not forget the Labor Day sales at department stores and other retail establishments across the country.

Maybe Labor Day should become more of a day of mourning for those workers who no longer have a job what with the rising rate of unemployment?  As for me, I'm staying home again this Labor Day weekend   because it's not safe to be on the highway with all the traffic heading for resorts and camping.  Why would you want to spend your holiday with thousands of people you don't even know?  And as my late husband would say:  "Why go anywhere when you're already there."  Home can be a most relaxing place and if you love company invite your friends over for a Bar-b-q.  And, take a moment to remember the workers who created the best this country has to offer and say a prayer for the workers who are 'out of work' and without a home in which to relax over this Labor Day. 






 

Cats Rule

Lady Sabrina

Presently I am the proud hand-maiden to three cats, all of which have been 'adopted' and are now adored and pampered.  Of course, anyone who shares their home with a feline knows there is only one choice and that is to admit that the cat is at the top of the pecking order, even if you also have canines which I have two of, both Basset lap-dogs.

         
The top 'alpha' is Sabrina, a senior cat of ten years, a tortoise-shell with crossed-eyes so you're never quite sure if she's looking at you or some ghost over your shoulder.  As soon as I sit down at the computer to check my e-mail, do some serious research or writing, I can depend on Sabrina taking her position to my right, nestled close to my PC screen.  And, always within paw's reach of my hand in case she feels the need for some personal attention.  Right now she's cat-napping since I did take my usual time-out to play 'bat-the-catnip-mouse' that hangs by a sturdy string close by.  Sabrina had been kept in a small cage much of her life and since adopted she makes sure she takes advantage of every available space.

         
The other two cats are males.  Larry, now six,  was just a  kitten  when my son found him at a cat rescue.  At that time Sabrina had already taken over his apartment and she wasn't too happy to be expected to put up with a kitten that required so much of his attention.  Larry soon grew into a very handsome dude, a Siamese guy with markings as if wearing a cut-a-way chocolate-brown coat, white vest, brown cap, white gloves and spats. Sabrina soon made it clear that he had to stay at the second level of the apartment, which meant traveling from room to room atop bookcases, folding screen tops, furniture backs and finally lying atop his television.  Larry amused himself, during evenings, leaning over the TV screen swiping at the moving images.  Although he now outweighs Sabrina, he still is considered below her status, however is allowed to share the same level. 

         
With my son being a bachelor and my husband having passed away two years ago, we now share my over-size home along with the cats and dogs.  Our latest addition to the feline community, is a Maine Coon named Chester (I added:  'Sir Chester' that suits him well) who vies with Larry for second place on a daily basis.  Often, one or the other takes their place on the left side of my computer.  At this moment, they are both content to be off in separate bedrooms playing King of the Moment no doubt.  

Sir Chester

         
Just now, Sabrina has turned completely around with her tail in my direction and her head tucked into the dark corner behind the computer.  She must be completely secure in the knowledge that for the moment she doesn't have to confront the other two cats which she now and then puts in their place with a 'hisss' and a paw smack.  I should mention that all three cats had been declawed  before we adopted them.  It seemed such a sad thing to have happened.  However, we find that they can pack a punch without claws and use their paws like hands.  It's almost impossible to pull an object away from one of them when they have a hold on it.

         
Since the cats probably would need their claws for ultimate protection, we do keep them in the house which is fine with them.  Just open a screened window and they nap there on a sunny day happy as can be. Open a door to the outside and they're not even interested.

         
It's interesting that cats soon establish a 'time share' for space available.  This may be a time to lie on a bed, or the desk top, or a favorite chair.  The multi-cat sand box is probably the most important time share space and this never seems to propose a problem what soever.  Although, I do notice that they form some sort of waiting line nearby when I clean the cat box each morning.  Sometimes, one apparently can't wait any longer and hops into the cleaned box before I reset the lid.  So, I have to wait a few minutes until the deed is done.
         
I should mention that the two Bassets have a dog-door which only means picking up outside every afternoon (except when it rains).   Basically the dogs stay on the ground or basement levels and the cats on the second level by choice, or by good sense is my guess.  Bassets do love to chase small furry critters, but they wouldn't know what to do if they caught one.  So, the cats pay little attention to the dogs.  And, I might add that Sabrina doesn't have any hesitation of smacking either dog in the nose if they approach her.  Yep, she's the alpha over the dogs as well.  Daisy Mae is a two year old and Lulu Belle is eight.  Both have great respect for Sabrina.
         
Of course, Bassets are noisy, love to hear their own voice. They bark at almost anyone or any critter that comes into their view from a window or through the fence. And, these two even love singing to music. They have their favorite tunes.  Lulu begins the singing, then Daisy joins in running to her side from anywhere she may have been napping prior to the chosen song.  I figure I might as well join in the howling and have decided it's good for one's soul.  The cats pay little attention.
         
Cats, on the other hand, are generally quite.  Even their purring is soft and sweet.  These three do not meow loud so to speak.  However, Larry is a talker.  When he is able to have my son's full attention, he puts his paws across his outstretched arm and begins telling him about every detail of what has transpired throughout his cat-day.  He expects full attention and talks louder if necessary to get across his particular point.  There's no getting around it.  Larry understands what we say and totally expects us to understand what he's saying.  Go figure.
         
I know there are purest dog lovers and there are purest cat lovers.  I happen to be an individual who has grown up loving all creatures great and small and feel it's an honor to be accepted by these furry friends.  Each one has a special way of making every day a reason to smile.

Summer Job at Lake Gregory

Tanning by the Lake

A summer job at a lake in the California mountains had to be the absolute ultimate.  My parents were members of San Moritz Lodge on the lake and my father made arrangements for me and two of my best friends, Nancy and Anne, to wait tables during the lunch hours from 11am through 2pm.  Wow!  That left afternoons to soak up the sunshine and arrive back at school in the fall with tans to die for.
         
This was the summer of 1948 between Jurnior and Senior High School years.  We each had a boyfriend back in Pomona Valley, but it was fun flirting with the lifeguards who were Freshman students from Claremont Men's College.  We girls lived in a cabin co-rented by our families and they saw to it that we had an adult female 'house mother' who made sure we were well watched over.  We could be out in town with other young people providing they passed the test of being 'good, trusting companions' and that the three of us would stay together and be back before 9:pm so we were totally protected that's for sure.
        
I should ad that we three girls were probably the most 'square' damsels of the day, brought up in the church and in households that demanded honesty.  Each day, at the lake cabin, began with a hearty breakfast then chores assigned to each of us that were completed in time to get into our waitress uniforms and be dropped off at the lodge.  Our paychecks were put into savings  at the local bank and the tips were ours to spend as we wished for personal items and little gifts to take home at the end of summer.  One very important item was baby-oil mixed with a Iodine to insure a darker tan - and it worked.  Today my dermatologist suggests it was probably the worst idea we could've had and so far lucky not to have skin-cancer.
         
Our families came up on assigned weekends to keep tabs on us and bring the items we had listed as "desperately needed" to add to our wardrobes.  Of course it was especially handy to send our dirty laundry back to be washed and ironed then sent up the mountain with the next group.  And, it was fantastic to have special tasty dishes from home such as potato salad, cake, pie and cookies.  We always had a good lunch as part of our pay at the lodge, generally a soup and salad combo.  We were three skinny-minis so could eat just about anything which included a chocolate-fudge-sunday at least once a week.
         
One weekend, we convinced our 'house-mother' that we would be perfectly safe to go with two of the lifeguards down the mountain to watch car races in San Bernardino.  We left the track soon after arriving when a wheel came off one of the race cars and plummeted into the crowd.  We weren't close enough to see who was hit, but later heard over the radio that a young girl had been killed and several near her were hospitalized.  Certainly the worst date any of us had ever been on.  It was years before I could watch another car race.  Very sad indeed.
         
All in all, as the job and vacation came to an end, we basically had enjoyed a wonderful summer of earning regular paychecks and doing a whole lot of growing up.  Our boyfriends wrote to us every week and we quickly answered their letters, certainly leaving out the particulars concerning our flirtatious escapades.
         
After we graduated from High School we lost touch with one another.  I did catch up with Nancy at a 20 year Class Reunion.  I have no idea what Anne's future held.  Very difficult that women marry and take the name of their husband losing themselves.  If I had it to do over again I would insist on keeping my maiden name.  After all, this tradition is followed in many places of the world.  Seems the best we do here in the US is use an hyphenated name.  Oh well, a name can be just a name, but a summer job as a teenager can be fantastic!