Spanx, tights -- just don't call them ...

Today I was accused of being too young to have ever worn pantyhose. I cannot remember how we got on this topic but my answer was “yes, I have worn pantyhose. Still buy them in a shade of nude, but I avoid wearing them when possible.”  Pantyhose is not a word I like using. Can’t the company think of a better name? Spanx sound like a way of saying pantyhose. What about the word “tights” – I think we should call them tights for now. Which reminds me of this Six Feet Under episode. I am so glad I’m not required to where pantyhose. Where was I? Oh yes.

Remember Leggs Eggs? That whole conversation got us on the topic of Leggs Eggs. My mom used to wear suits to work everyday  (she was a network analyst at one of the largest banks in Omaha) which meant she was always buying pantyhose. I’d get so excited because I like to play with the Leggs Eggs containers.  One year she tried to tell us the Easter Bunny hid messages in the Leggs Eggs to help us find our Easter Baskets.

“Mom, you and the Easter Bunny have the same handwriting,” I said.

“Well, he’s a bunny, he doesn’t know how to write,” she said.

“Does he also wear pantyhose?”

I can’t remember how she answered that one. That Easter “the bunny” wrote messages in her Leggs Easters and led my brothers and I (I think I was 10) all over the house looking for the pot of gold in our Easter Baskets. I was quite fond of Peeps and malted milk balls and needed that sugar fix before we left for Mass and the mass gathering of cousins, aunts and uncles at my grandparent’s house.

Why I give

Each year at work, we're asked to donate to the United Way.  Well, we get emails and a pledge card in our check and are asked to give and contribute towards a company-wide goal. Some hate being asked for money. Some are the first to turn in their pledge card. I help with our workplace  campaign because of something my mom said a long ago to me when I was 16 years old.

In high school, I worked at Baker's, a grocery chain now owned by Kroger. My mom shopped at Baker's each week as far back as I could remember along with my grandma who would take me with her to the store each week with her when I went to kindergarten by her house. My grandma would make a deal with me -- "Shannon, stay by my grocery cart. If you get lost and they have to page me, no Whatchmacallit bar." (Are you seeing a trend? It's starting to explain my sweet tooth).  I was known for wandering off and then crying that I was lost so they'd page my mom and grandma. Of course, they were mortified each time when I did this.  I liked going to Baker's as a child because I'd hang out by the magazines and read about Duran Duran while my mom would shop with her list and coupons. The staff all seemed to know her and we always went to the same cashier.

Back then, Baker's was locally owned and a pretty cool place for a teenager to start gain work experience. I don't think Baker's had any standards in hiring their grocery sackers. The ultimate goals was to train their employees to be "people pleasers." Back then, there was a trend going on in Omaha that most grocery stores didn't have grocery sackers and you'd save money if you bagged your groceries yourself. Not Baker's. We were trained to take out even one sack of groceries even if the customer would fuss, we'd still do it. They even gave us topics to talk about so we had more to talk about than the weather and how the Huskers were doing during football season.  Baker's shaped my customer service skills. I swear, I went to a week long training class on how to sack groceries correctly in a paper sack and a plastic bag. It drives me bonkers when I go to the grocery store and they put potatoes on top of my bread or bleach with my apples.

Baker's was a very community minded store. They were always doing a food drive or sponsoring an event in the community. At our weekly produce test meeting, one of my fellow employees got up and talked about the United Way and why we should give. The woman was a volunteer at the local chapter of Big Brothers, Big Sisters. I never qualified for this program though I came from a divorced family and didn't have a big sister but I still felt passionate that there was kids out there that needed the service. My co-worker asked us to please consider giving one hour of pay (then it was $3.75) a month to help someone who needs it. I was touched but I was really saving up for my car insurance because I was going to buy my mom's '92 Chevy Monte Carlo and couldn't spare the $3.75 a month. I tucked the pledge card in my purse and went on trying to remember the number for green peppesr (4065).

A few days later, I was cleaning out my purse and I was about to throw the pledge card away when my mom grabbed it.

"You're throwing your United Way pledge card away?" she said.

"Umm, yea. Why?"

"You know United Way helps those in need? They help singles moms who need to go to college so they can feed their children and not depend on welfare," she said. I stared blankly wondering what her point was. "Singles moms with no college education and small hungry kids. Small hungry kids who she wanted to send to Catholic school. You know those uniforms are expensive."

"Oh, I get it, you're saying the United Way sent you to college?" I was sorta getting her point.

"Well, not the United Way but one of the agencies, Catholic Charities, helped me get into the community college so I could study computers and feed my hungry children so they could go to Catholic grade school, " she handed the pledge card back to me with a pen. "You can give something. You're only going to spend it on clothes and Guess jeans anyway," she was right and had a point. I gave $4 a pay check and I've been giving (when my work place allows it) ever since.

When I moved to Bend, I had the pleasure for working for the United Way. Each year, many community members volunteer to go out and tell their United Way story. When I worked for the United Way, I told that story once to a group in Sunriver. I didn't think I could get through it without crying since my mom died. I didn't want anyone asking me "I'm sure your mom is proud" and have to be a buzz kill and say my mom isn't alive. Maybe if I would have told that story, I could have inspired more 16 year olds to give? So I'm telling you no -- that's why I give.

It's United Way time across the country. If you have a work place campaign, it's easy to give and most places, like Central Oregon, 97% of your donation will go to those in need. To learn more about the United Way in your community, check out their website.

It won't hurt

With all the sickness and swine flu going around it got me thinking about when I was little and sick. I don’t remember being a sickly child but I did have my moments.

One time in the 2^nd grade, I had the flu. Instead of waking my mom up in the middle of the night, I threw up in the corner in my room.  The next morning, I still didn’t feel so good so I laid with my blanket in the hallway outside my mother’s bedroom door, sleeping and waiting for her to get up. Of course, she wasn’t too happy that I threw up in my room and didn’t wake her (though she said was worried I was dehydrated, I thought it was because I might have ruined the carpet). Getting sick always threw a monkey wrench in her day. Since she was a working single mom, she had to call my grandparents to see if they could watch me so she couldn’t miss work.

Once I ate a whole bottle of Flinestone vitamins because they tasted good. I thought they were candy but my mom called poison control only to find out I would end up being fine. Close call. I didn’t want my stomach pumped. (Rumor has it, my older brother had drank a bottle of cough syrup – twice and had to have his stomach pumped. I also think he was the one who swallowed my Grandma Rita’s diet pills and had to have his stomach pumped again).

When I was really sick, she’d have to run me to the doctor’s office. As much as I wanted to get well, I hated the doctor’s office. The one thing I looked forward to was the little kid’s table with new books to look at and if the wait time was long, I’d go through all the books and be bored out of my mind. The doctor would check my ears, throat, nose and then reward me with a lollipop. Fun times! When we got home, if I was up for it, she’d make me a can of chicken soup and fill me up with orange juice.

In the summer before third grade, I got the chicken pox. Since I had to lay around on the couch for two weeks at my grandparents, my mom bribed me into be good with a new coloring book and maybe some if I was really good and didn’t scratch the chicken pox, I would get to go to the bakery and pick out a donut when I was better.

The worst I remember being sick was when I was a sophomore in high school and I had walking pneumonia. I came down for breakfast and my mom had a worried look on her face so she called the doctor’s office and brought me in. An x-ray later, I was diagnosed with pneumonia and had to rest and be out of school for a week. I remember my mom telling the doctor that I was white as a ghost and if they weren’t open, it was off to the emergency room we were going. I remember being thankful my mom cared so much. She took the week off from work to take care of me.

When I went away to college, I came down with the worse case of strep throat. Though my mother was only 45 minutes away, she insisted that I visit the university health center to be checked out. When a couple days went by and my symptoms weren’t getting better, I came home and went to the doctor only to find out I also had the flu. I stay home a couples days for a home cooked meal and more chicken soup. I thought to myself that though I was an adult, I didn’t want to ever be far from my mother.

Tonight, I took my son to get his swine flu shot and it brought back memories of all the times my mom drug me in for immunizations. She was always upfront in saying “well, you might be a shot” followed by “if you’re good, you can pick out a Barbie.” It always worked. I can’t wait until Lil B gets his little bribes.

To our little cabin in the woods

One of the things I miss about Nebraska is our family cabin we spent many summers enjoying. Each spring, my brothers and I would anxiously wait for Memorial Day and hope that the weather was nice enough to enjoy our little cabin near the Platte River. Our cabin was modest – two rooms – a kitchen with living, fireplace and well water sink along with a bedroom with bunks. There was no running water, so we used an outhouse. Outside we had a tire swing, picnic tables and a volleyball/badminton court. When the weather was good on Memorial Day, we’d drive I-80 to the Gretna exit and take many back roads over a sketchy bridge, past a few ponds, through some cornfields to reach our remote cabin. Our family gathered there – cousins from out of town, aunts and uncles and sometimes their friends. Mom would pack a cooler of food along with a small cooler of kool-aid for us to enjoy if we were thirsty. I really looked forward to the cabin because this meant I could see my all of my cousins (there are 14 of us). Our cabin was surrounded by a forest of trees – oaks, maples, mulberry and a few pines here and there. We had two paths that took us to the sandy banks of the Platte River where we’d play, fish, build sand castles and catch snakes and toads. When the weather was hot and the Platte was low, my mom, aunts and cousins would venture out on the Platte to play in the water and if we were lucky and the river was low enough (we’re taking about the river that is a mile wide an inch deep) we’d walk across to the island in the middle and explore.

[caption id="attachment_111" align="alignleft" width="201" caption="That's one big catfish, Mary Lu!"][/caption]

In the early 1980s, heavy snow melt in the Rockies flooded the Platte near our family cabin. The aftermath created a bigger sandy beach and two small creeks in which my uncles had to build small two bridges so we could get to the Platte River from one of the paths. That same year, the City of Lincoln (whom my family leased the land from) built a safer road into our cabin. No more scary creepy bridge. We entered through a locked gate, down a long road, through corn fields. My cousins and I missed that drive, through the cornfields, past the ponds. We would beg our parents to let us walk up the road each summer to look at that old bridge. We’d throw rocks in the ponds, fish and pick mulberries. When the corn was just growing, we’d explore the forest as well. One spring we found an old small abandon cabin. My mom told us it was an old hermit’s cabin and to not go back. We didn’t believe her and went back several times. Never did see the hermit and later found out it was my uncles’ deer hideaway while hunting.

One of the cabins up the road had a pond next to it we swam in when it got hot. We nicknamed it “frogger pond” because it seemed to always have tadpoles and frogs hopping around when ever we went. No one ever seemed to visit that cabin so we hung out there on hot summer weekend when the river was too high to swim.

An early memory of that cabin involved an old three wheeler we had (this was before 4-wheelers and ATVs). This was my dad’s and somehow my mom got the thing in the divorce so she left it at our cabin. My older brother Casey would take us for rides up and down the road on it and we’d fight over who got to ride next.

Fourth of July was always a treat. Since the City of Omaha banned fireworks without a permit in the city limits, we escaped to our Ashland hideaway to light our sparkles and bottle rockets. Most of the time, my uncle would drive to Missouri and buy illegal fireworks so he could perform his “Gruchi Brothers” show (this was a knock-off of the display that Rosenblatt would put on). By that time, the corn was pretty high and my Uncle Jerry set-up at dusk and we’d oooo and awww and not want to go home but mom would load us up and we’d fall sound asleep in the car.

Labor Day was the end of our summer visits. We’d have a last few swims in the Platte, say good-bye to our out-of-town cousins until Thanksgiving and swing on the tire swing one last time. My cousin Tracy and I would also make one last sand castle and catch a few frogs for good measure. We’d lock the cabin up and it would sit empty until pheasant, duck, goose and deer season arrived for my uncles and brothers.

My mom met my stepdad through my Uncle Jerry at that cabin. My Uncle Jerry married his wife Michelle at that cabin. We’d play hide and seek and listen to the songs of the 80s at that cabin. We picked morel mushrooms in the spring (and lost my Uncle Tom for a few hours – which is a whole other blog post). In the early 1990s the City of Lincoln informed my family they weren’t renewing our lease and we’d have to vacate the land –taking our cabin with us so in 1993, we moved our cabin across the river just to the east of Mahoney State Park on the banks of the Platte. It was a sad day for our family. Sure, my stepdad remodeled the cabin and we now had running water, but gone were the ponds, fishing spots, walking paths to the river and fireworks shows in the cornfields.

One of earliest memories was playing hide and seek with my cousin the cornfields. The new cabin didn’t have corn but a set of railroad tracks right behind that would keep you up if you spent the night. Don’t get me wrong – that cabin is a whole other set of blog posts – just ask my college friends. But it wasn’t the same.

In the spring of 1993, heavy snows in the Rockies brought one of the worst floods to Platte River. The flood was so bad, it shut down Interstate 80 and Highway 6 – the only way to Lincoln, Nebraska from Omaha. In the spring, we found out the flood waters went all the way up where are old cabin was located and didn’t recede, creating a lake. We would have lost everything for sure if we would have stayed. How’s that for karma?

I don’t have any photos of the old cabin but I have spent a good amount of time on Google Earth trying to view the area. The City of Lincoln was using the area to pump water to the city. While our cabin was there, they built a bridge to one of the islands so I use that as a landmark when spying on my old life on Google Earth. I often thought about mountain biking in but I never did. Maybe someday I will go back, jump the fence and check it out. It’s a big part of the memories with my mom as it was her family’s cabin. Everything seemed so innocent back then.

Kiss and tell

I interrupt my posting about mom stories to show you a not-so-typical day at work. Each year, the company I work for has a Halloween contest and folks go all out. Since it was the day my department's new director was starting, I figured being a kitty cat was pretty safe and wouldn't scare her away. (Last year our dept went as our admin team -- the contest is that intense).  When I went to my 9 a.m. meeting, our CEO and the admin team were dressed up as KISS. Full make-up, platform shoes, blood, wigs, guitars and all. Our clinic was full of interesting characters that day -- the 80s prom, garden gnomes, 80s arcade games.

You can read more about it on Marvin's blog.

You can see now why I love my job!

Halloween, South O style

My husband and I were sitting around talking about how we celebrated Halloween when we were kids.  You see, I wasn't going to buy candy because I really didn't feel like locking the dog up and dealing with the crazy barking but Brian insisted I get candy.

"When I was a kid, we went to every house," he said. "I don't want someone pulling a 'trick' on our house."

"Well, isn't that the point of having a porch light on?" I said. He stared at my blankly.

"You know you only go to houses with lit pumpkins or porch lights on, right," I said.

"That's not how we did it. If you didn't have candy, well, we weren't to nice to the people," he paused. "I kinda didn't hang around the best crowd." Well obviously.

I actully thought I was crazy so I posted this on Facebook:

So my husband just told me that when he was a kid they would knock on everyone's door on Halloween. I told him we only knocked on doors that had lights on. He had never heard that. Isn't that the rule on Halloween? Or was that a midwest rule?

All 14 comments from my friends sealed the deal that you were supposed to only go to houses with porch lights on.

I used to be able to go back all the way to age five and tell you all the costumes I used to go as but maybe all those beer drinking days have burned some brain cells. I can only remember the gypsy, the punk rocker (went as this many times) and the witch from grade school.  I might has went as a news anchor but I might be imagining that as that is what I wanted to be when I grew up. The last time I trick or treated was my freshman year in high school when I wore my band uniform.

My husband and I reminisced about the costumes with the masks of Scooby Doo and Smufs that KMart used to sell in the 80s. (what happened to those?) I think my younger brother Chris was a few Star Wars masked characters when he was a kid. I don't remember having a masked costume though.

Since my mother was a working mom, she didn't have time to hand make our costume so we would visit ShopKo or Kmart to pick something up. As I said before, I went as a punk rocker a few times. I was really into having pink hair and I loved that spray paint that washes out each day. I remember asking my mom to buy extras cans for when I played dress up. She would say something sassy like "money doesn't grow on trees" and we'd leave the store.

At the beginning of October, my mom would put up our paper Halloween decor on the front door and the windows. People don't do this anymore. I'm seeing more Christmas-like orange lights, hay bundles and Halloween blow-up characters these day. When my mom would put those up, you knew the Halloween countdown was on.

Halloween day would arrive and after school, I'd get all dressed up just waiting for it to be dark outside. My brothers and I have one goal in mind, get all the candy we could or walk until we couldn't walk anymore. My mom would stay home and pass out candy and most of the time my older brother took us since he was much older than us. Up and down the hilly streets of our neighborhood, each with a full pillowcase. You don't see many pillowcases anymore.

When we got home, around 8 p.m., my mom would drive us to my Grandma Marie's house so we could show our grandparents our costumes. There we would trick or treat some more around their  neighborhood with our cousins. As we drove home, we'd be exhausted from all the walking. Good thing we only had a half day of school the next day (Nov 1 is a holy day -- All Saints Day).

Mom would tuck us into bed and then would check the candy for us. I remember one year, I watched her dump three pillowcases full of candy onto our TV room floor to start sorting. She wanted to make sure everything was safe and sound to eat for her little ones.

Our candy was then rationed. We would only be allowed a piece or two a day as my mom tucked it away in a secret hiding place in which we found each year.

I only remember my mom dressing up once to go to a party. She bought a costume and went as a witch one year with the green make-up and wort. I wish I could find that photo today.

Yesterday, Lil B didn't go too many places. He got a fruit roll up and a few candy bars but that was about it. He was more into taking off his costume and not wearing his tiger hat. My friends tell me that Halloween gets better with age and next year promises to be more exciting for Lil B.  I look forward to the many Halloween's he'll be celebrating.

Mickey Mouse Pancakes

This month I am participating in NaBloPoMo. All my posts will be related to my mom, Mary, who died of pancreatic cancer in 1996. I'm enlisting the help of family and friends to make this project a reality. Enjoy.

My earliest memory involves Sunday Mass and Mickey Mouse pancakes. My mother was born and raised Catholic. My dad wasn't so he would stay home with my brother Chris and I while my mom and older brother Casey would go to church. You see, at four years old, I wouldn't behave in the pew and my little brother was just a toddler. Sometimes my mom would take us in the cry room but it was more work than anything for her since my dad didn't go with us. To bribe us, she would say "be good in church" or "be good for daddy"  followed by "and "you'll get Mickey Mouse pancakes."

I don't remember the name of the little diner but it was located on South 21st and  Q streets. I'd sit patiently through church in the cry room awaiting the glorious joys of those pancakes. We'd pull up to the diner and my dad would be waiting inside drinking his coffee, smoking a cigarette with my brother Chris. Without hesitation, I'd order my Mickey Mouse pancakes for breakfast. Those pancakes were worth being good for.

My parents divorced when I was five years old. I don't remember the unpleasantness of their marriage which is a good thing. I remember walking 20th street with my mom and brother Chris so she could get a haircut at a salon on S Street. (I can't remember if this was because we only had one car or because we needed exercise. I think we had two cars? My mom drove a silver '76 Ponitac and my dad always drove a truck  but for some reason we walked a lot of places in South Omaha). That day after the haircuts, my dad picked us up and we went home. Each day on my way to Catholic School for many years later, I pointed out that day to my mom when we saw the old abandoned building on 20th & S streets.

You see, South Omaha and my mom go hand and hand. Some see South Omaha as the poor part of town. The way I see it, it's a lifestyle choice rich with the history of the Polish and Czech. My mother was both. Her parents raise her at what was then the edge of South Omaha -- 42nd street. She attended Catholic school at St. Stans and high school at Ryan High. She bought two houses in South Omaha and chose to raise her family there. It was her choice to be from South Omaha. It wasn't because we were poor (though at times we probably were) but we were close to all of the history of her life.

When my parents were married, my mom worked part time at Phillips store in the lingerie department. I remember walking and driving with her to get groceries during the day when she wasn't working with my brother Chris. "Be good and maybe you'll get some candy" was often the bribe (you know see where I developed my sweet tooth).  It was never in and out at Phillips for groceries because they also had clothes and electronics and of course, it was my part of my mom's social life because she worked there and she spent most of the day with a 2, 4 and 9 year old -- she needed to talk to adults. We were usually good and after went by the grade school to pick my older brother up.

I don't remember our first house in South Omaha on Q street. Most of what I have are photos of the inside. I do remember my mom taking me to Hitchcock Park by our first house to swing and burn some energy off. I also have a reoccurring memory of  driving through the alley to get to that house but nothing more. My vivid childhood memories always involved our big house on 16th street where we lived in from the time I was four until I was 21 years old.  I remember taking photos on the first stoop with my brothers and the silly photos my dad posed in with us. When we moved in, the floors were hardwood and what ended up being our TV room used to be two rooms -- one that was painted red with mirrors on the wall. There was also a walk in pantry which was knocked out years later when they made the TV room into two rooms. The good thing about the 16th street house was we each had our own room. In our old house, I remember my mom telling me she had us all sleeping in the master bed room while she and dad slept in the smaller room.  Our 16th street house was where all the South Omaha memories come to play. South Omaha was my mom. It was her choice.

When I went to college in 1993 at the University of Nebraska, kids would ask me "what high school did you go to?" I would say "South" and they would assume "Millard South." For some reason kids from "South" didn't go to college though that is a common misconception, the majority of my classmates did go to attend and graduate from college.

South Omaha is still the same and is even being revitalized. It still holds the cultural heritage of the Polish and Czech but now with a little bit of Mexico mixed in. The old diners are now replaced with Mexican restaurants and grocery stores. The Old Packers Bank was demoed and is now a Walgreens. The Stockyards Building is not renovated into condos, office and green space.  Omaha South High went through a major renovation in the 1990s while I attended high school there. This year, "The Hole" just blocks from my old 16th Street house, was transformed into a state of the art stadium for the high school. When I was visiting last month, just seeing it gave me South Omaha pride and wanted to attend a football game and proud that I was in the Packer Band (something I don't like telling people because I played the flute and everyone always refers to the movie American Pie when I mention it).

I leave you with the dedication of Collins Stadium in South Omaha. It made me tear up and wish I wouldn't have sold my flute on eBay. I will try to dig up photos and scan them in. I just have not had time!