Tag Archives: Family memories

Sleeping Over the Bomb Shelter

When I was little, my father built a nuclear fallout shelter in the basement room which had been his workshop.  My house was the only one I knew of with a Bomb Shelter, which marked us as somehow . . . um, special.

On Monday I posted about my research on birthday parties.  We held them in our yard, our living room, and our basement.  Once we had a Bomb Shelter downstairs, that was the end of our basement parties.  For one thing, my parents didn’t want everybody knowing there was a shelter down there.  How well would that work if the Bomb hit and we ran down there and were stampeded by the entire neighborhood seeking shelter?

After the bomb shelter entered my house, a dark creepy feeling settled downstairs, under our feet.  When I had to go down there for something, I tried to avoid even glancing at the ominous looking door.

United_States_Fallout_Shelter_Sign.svg

However, once I started researching these shelters, I discovered that it was a more common occurrence than I could have imagined.  Elaine Tyler May’s Homeward Bound details “Grandma’s Pantry,” the home bomb shelter.  Jean Wood Fuller, of the Federal Civil Defense Administration, enlisted “the help of the National Grocer’s Association, several pharmaceutical houses, and the American National Dietetic Association, [and] Fuller drew up guidelines for withstanding a nuclear holocaust.”  May makes the case that the marketing efforts were directed toward homemakers, who were considered to be exclusively women.

While May’s theory is an interesting intellectual exercise and probably has a lot of merit to it, I will say that in my house, it was my father whose idea it was to build the shelter.  Let’s face it:  construction was considered to be a manly task.

The photo on the cover of May’s book depicts a serious-looking family inside their own home bomb shelter.  I don’t remember ours looking so bright (well-lit) or so well-stocked.51L5tDApNNL._BO2,204,203,200_PIsitb-sticker-arrow-click,TopRight,35,-76_AA300_SH20_OU01_

Lucky for me, I have the actual list of supplies which my mother wrote and the specifications my father used for building it.  These details will be incorporated into my book.

Here is a photo of an ideal home bomb shelter.  Ours was a double walled cement block room without any “built-ins.”300px-Fallout_shelter_photo

My parents planned everything very carefully.  There is very little evidence that they were any more paranoid than anybody else during the Cold War.  But Dad was certainly proactive.

Today my father says he remembers building it to keep his family safe, but he can’t believe how naïve he was to think it would actually work to protect us or that we would have enough safe air and provisions to last for any length of time.

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Filed under Creative Nonfiction, Memoir, Research and prep for writing

Did You Have a Birthday Party When You Were a Kid?

From my February prep and research for my book project Scrap:

I’ve been working with a scene about my sixth birthday party, and it occurred to me that such a staple of my childhood is a segue to certain aspects of the culture of the time period.  The post feels simplistic to me, but I’ve actually fretted over each detail here more than is probably warranted ;).

When I was a really little kid, in the late 50s and early 60s, the years were divided by Christmas.   Since my birthday is in July, that event broke up the boring rest of the year known to me as not-Christmas. 

I was an only child until I was well past seven, so my parents didn’t miss an opportunity to give me a birthday party.

WHEN:

1957-1962

WHERE:

In Kalamazoo, Michigan, where I grew up, we didn’t have parties in public places or restaurants, but in our own homes.

My parents had our parties in the living room, the basement, and out in the backyard, depending on the weather and my mom’s mood.

1959: my birthday in our living room

1959: my birthday party in our living room

WHO:

Most of my birthday party guest lists were a combination of local relatives–my maternal grandparents, my mother’s younger sister, and her brother and his family—and the neighborhood kids.

I remember the beginning of one party where I let the other kids in the front door, one or two at a time.  They were rarely with adults.  After all, we were all neighborhood kids and we roamed at will.

The girls wore pastel chiffon layered party dresses with full skirts and petticoats. My own dress was pink with darker pink cherries on the chiffon overskirt.  I had fallen in love with the dress when I’d taken it out of the tissue paper Mom had it wrapped in, but now I was the only girl in a print dress.  That felt strange, but good, too.

A lot of my dress-up dresses were swishy or crackly fancy fabric, like chiffon, and were worn over a net petticoat.  Notice the bow sash on the back of the dress in the photo above; that sash was typical of my dresses.

Front view, fancy dress
1959

When the boys got a little older they wore ties if they were friends.  Relatives did not.  Most of the boys wore their hair in some version of a crew cut, but most had practically shaved heads with a little bang left so you could tell if they were blond or dark-haired.  I don’t remember any minority kids ever attending because my neighborhood was all white.

Birthday picnic in the yard for relatives
Note my cousins’ butch-style crewcuts
and my tennis dress rather than a fancy dress

All the rage

All the rage

Did I mention that over those crew cuts and the girls’ short to medium length hair, we wore silly party hats?  See first photo above :).

Sometimes the party hats looked like upside down ice cream cones

Sometimes the party hats looked like upside down ice cream cones

REFRESHMENTS:

Birthday party mintsfor table and party favor bags

Birthday party mints
for table and party favor bags

Flat sugar mints for bridal and baby showers

Mom served a birthday cake, which she had made herself.  Usually it was a layer cake, standard size.  Sometimes she made a sheet cake in a tin cake pan with a sliding lid for church potlucks.

If we served a meal, it was simple fare like hot dogs or Sloppy Joes and jello molds.

Mom bought little candles from the grocery store for the top, along with pre-made candy decorations and matching candle holders.  She served punch, mints, and peanuts.  The mints she served us were the small, less expensive mints.

For fancier goings-on, like baby showers, she served the flat sugar mints, which I liked to melt on my tongue.

WHAT TO BRING:

Although my relatives did bring me modest gifts, I don’t remember gift opening being an important activity.  If the other kids brought anything, it would have been a simple toy like jacks or marbles or a jump rope.  I had no sense of expectation for gifts or a notion that there was anything in particular that I just had to have.

Jacks

Jacks

EVENTS:

We liked to play games at parties.  They were typical, well-structured party games.  We didn’t have video games or watch movies or go bowling.  We played Pin-the-Tail-on-the-Donkey, balloons relays, memory games, and went on scavenger hunts when we were a little older.

Dad nailed a big poster of the donkey, sans tail, onto a piece of cork attached to the cement block wall in our basement.  Then we took turns being blindfolded with Dad’s bandanna and stumbled a few feet with our paper donkey tail, a thumb tack stuck through it.  The person who nailed the donkey’s rear end most accurately won the prize.

Poster and tails included

Poster and tails included

For balloon relays Dad and I had to blow up a zillion balloons before the kids got to the house.  Since I didn’t have very big lungs at that point, that meant that Dad had to generate a lot of air.  He’d get giddy and start acting silly from all the puffing into balloons.  Then he and I would roll around laughing.  The object was that teams tried to beat each other at popping the most balloons.

Once us kids were old enough to write, we would play memory games. Mom would line up some small household objects on a tray and we would have to memorize them and then write them down on a piece of paper from memory.

Sometimes Mom bought little party books.  Then we would play paper and pen games.  Does anyone remember those books?  Was it one book with several pages for each game–where you tore out the pages and passed them around?  Or did each guest get a book?

What was important is that every game would net a winner, and the winner would get a prize.  The prize was never expensive, but it was something  to take home.  Each guest was given a paper party favor bag with about ten mints, ten peanuts, a sucker, and one noisemaker.  If you won a prize, you got to add that item to your party bag.

The prizes were toys like these:

Party prizes or costumes for a themed party

Party prizes or costumes for a themed party

Party prizes

Party prizes

And what was almost as much fun was getting an invitation to somebody else’s party:

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WRITING PROMPT: Write about a party held in your honor or that you threw for someone else.  Start with the planning and preparation. What was most memorable?  Then move on to the party itself.  During or afterward, did you still think the same elements were important?  If there was a change in your thinking did it affect your decision to have a party in the future or what kind of party you want or even the emphasis you placed in the party planning?

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What’s Happening in February: Prep and Research for My Book Project

Thanks to Faith Adiele, I’ve been reading Robin Hemley‘s A Field Guide for Immersion Writing: Memoir, Journalism, and Travel.  In this book, Hemley suggests writing a blog as a way to research a writing project.

It sounds like great advice, but as you know I already have a blog (well, more than one).  He also warns in a June 2012 interview:

It’s quite easy for writers to spread themselves too thin: writing a blog, tweeting, Facebook updates, all that. Most writers need good long stretches to simply be alone with their work and their thoughts.

So I decided that rather than spread myself more thinly, I would use this blog for the month of February as my laboratory.  I’ll work on some of my prep and research for my book Scrap.  For this project, I am studying my history and experiences, particularly as they involve my father and our relationship (which looks like both drama masks) and arranging these memories into a new and enriching vision.

I hope you won’t mind coming along and visiting during this nostalgic trips to the fifties, sixties, and seventies.

from Wikipedia

from Wikipedia

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Filed under Blogging, Creative Nonfiction, Memoir, Memoir writing theory, Research and prep for writing

What Were My People Like?

I put a page on here  (see tab at the top of this page) which links to my genealogy blog.  A year ago I barely knew what a blog was, and now I have three blogs (with ideas for more–slap me, please).   The third blog was actually the first one–it’s about adoption and I write it with my daughter.  I had so much fun, I decided to keep going.

Back to the genealogy blog.  Long before I had kids (both of them were adopted), I was interested in family history and genealogy.  For a while I worked on a master’s degree in history, specializing in just that subject.  That’s before I gained/lost my senses and switched over to creative writing and English.  So while genealogy is a strange subject for someone with kids and a brother who were adopted, it’s something I’ve long been interested in.  Because of my interest, family members have told me stories and given me memorabilia.  I feel a great responsibility for this trust.

If you’re also into this subject, or if you just want to see what kind of weird family created me ;), check out my mother’s Dutch ancestors at The Family Kalamazoo.

I keep the focus on the DeKorn and Zuidweg families of southwestern Michigan. On this site, I share old photographs (100 years old), many taken by family photographer Joseph DeKorn.

Flooding at the Water Works Bridge in Kalamazoo, March 26, 1904. That spring, the water got 6″ higher than the photo shows.


I also have many other old photos and artifacts from the family.

Years ago, my grandfather Adrian Zuidweg shared a portion of the collection with Western Michigan University‘s Archives and Regional History Collections. A larger portion is not at the archives, and my goal is to share the rest of the collection on this blog.

At the lake

At the lake

The lives of my family members revolved around their families, small businesses (such as retail and construction), and the many lakes of the Kalamazoo area.

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Today’s reblog is about an influence on my life–and a prevailing metaphor.

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Filed under Creative Nonfiction, Memoir, Poetry

Today’s reblog remembers my cousin Leah who I will always miss.

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Today’s reblog is the 3rd piece I posted. Please make it a beautiful day!

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Filed under Creative Nonfiction, Memoir, Memoir writing theory

I’m sort of on a kind of partial hiatus this week, so I am re-blogging my very first Writer Site blog post. Have a mindful day and be sure to notice people’s faces :).

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New Year’s Eve with My Dad

Although I rarely go to New Year’s Eve parties any more (cue: one big whine and then a hefty sigh of relief), when I was growing up NYE always meant parties.  My parents went to one or hosted one every year.

In the sixties, my parents held their parties in the basement of our house.  Mom draped a paper tablecloth over the ping-pong table and Dad stocked the bar he’d built in the corner.  He set up table games and placed ashtrays on every available surface.  When he dragged out the box with the hats and noisemakers and boas I scrambled to help.  My favorite was the noisemaker blow out.  When I blew on the pipe end, the little roll of paper unfurled with a sputtery raspberry.  The tin drums which spun on wind-up stems sounded a raucous blare, so Dad would grab one of those and twirl it.

In the kitchen, my mother made canapés and Chex Mix.  She refrigerated 7-Up and washed the “frosted” highball glasses. Gold leaves, which I was sure were 24k gold leaf, decorated the crystal.

These plastic clips identified which drink to refill: rum and Coke, Seven and Seven, etc.

These plastic clips identified which drink to refill: Rum-and-Coke, Seven-and-seven, Gin-and-tonic, Scotch-and-soda.

I’m not saying I was a snoop, but I could hear everything.  I could even see a flash of the neighbor’s shiny bald head or Dad’s hand dealing cards through the register in the floor right near my bed.  I sat on the floor for hours with my legs cramped up underneath me.

While I didn’t hear anything of particular interest, the social interactions between the adults—their jokes, the vibrations in their voices, the sudden bursts of laughter– kept me straining my hearing.  Dad’s loud, excited voice rose above the others.  Everyone else faded into a background buzz in comparison with him.  Dad was the life of the party.

For his 80th birthday I made him a video of his life, and when Dad saw himself on video, he said, “I didn’t know I was so obnoxious!”  I had to laugh to myself at that because it isn’t as if nobody has told him that over the years.  Mostly, though, his enthusiasm for having a good time has been infectious.  At eighty-four he still likes to stir things up.  I suspect he’ll be wearing a hat and sounding his noisemaker at midnight tonight in Michigan.

Dad is ready for the party!

Dad is ready for the party!

I live in the Southwest, but I almost wish I could be there, listening through the register.

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A Christmas Photo: 1959

021

In this photo, which was taken in my grandparents’ living room,  I am four (almost 4 1/2).  It is marked with the year 1958, but I believe it must be 1959 because a photo professionally printed with 1958 has my hair shorter.  Also, my darker-haired cousin in this photo is a sitting-up baby, and he was born in December 1958.  This goes to show that it’s important to be careful about assuming that notations on photos are correct, even if the handwriting looks old.

My pretty mother has her eyes closed from the big flash, and I am standing with an opened gift in my hands.  I look a bit overwhelmed from the excitement and the unwinding of anticipation.  My aunt is smiling at me and Grandpa looks at the photographer.  The little boys are my uncle’s two oldest children–the youngest had not yet been born and neither had my brother.  My aunt was still young and unmarried, a college student.

The photo details trigger memories.  Since Grandma watched me while my parents worked (Grandma and the Purple People Eaters), this living room was very familiar to me.  Note the television with family portraits on top.  That’s the TV I watched Grandma’s soap opera with her on week days.  A chair had been moved out to make room for the Christmas tree.  My aunt and I had helped trim it.  Tinsel strands had escaped from the tree and ground into Grandma’s hooked area rug.  I liked to pick them up individually and run my fingers together down the smooth surface.

I could smell dinner in the kitchen.  Ham and Grandma’s special roast beef.  If only I hadn’t eaten so many sugar cookie snowmen decorated with little silver ball bearings and sprinkles.  Grandma and I had made those two days before. She rolled the dough and I cut out the shapes.  When they came out of the oven, I ate all the misshapen pieces.

Without the photo I wouldn’t remember specifics.  I treasure the memories accessible through all my old photos and am grateful that I have them to look at whenever I wish.  I have deep sympathy for those who have lost their mementos in disasters like Hurricane Sandy.  My deepest sympathy and my prayers are with those who have lost their loved ones and only have the photos and memories left.

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If you wish to help the survivors of Sandy Hook, Newtown, this article lists some good ideas.

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