Seven hours to drive back into Barberton, Ohio. The tour was 45 minutes in length then seven hours back to southern Indiana.
What was the attraction?
The graduating class of Portage Junior High School from 1955 was returning 'home' to say goodbye. The building was being torn down. Built in 1930 it was the same school my mother-in-law had attended before my husband and had been used as a school continuously.
We met in the gym/auditorium for name tags and souvenir booklets. The original school boasted eleven classrooms including a domestic science room. The office boasted a public address system. One addition had been built on during the 1950s after a fire in the main building. My husband quickly, way too quickly if you get my gist, pointed out, "I didn't do it," the same thing I'm sure he told his parents at the time.
We meandered through the hallways and rooms, some having difficulty with the same stairs they raced up as students taking double steps. In any given room the group would disagree about what the class originally was, science, geography, perhaps math. It was too long ago to remember.
They all remembered being required to climb ropes in the gym all the way up to the ceiling and one former cheerleader remembered having to hang unto the rope and jump from the balcony to the floor of the basketball court surely something which would today bring on lawsuits and emergency room visits.
Good memories apparently since this is the only group I know who gets together to celebrate the demise of a building they were all too happy to leave at the time.
Sadly, I was not treated to a rendition of the fight song with which I close this blog. It, too, would be up for scrutiny in today's PC world.
On the warpath Portage Indians, all ye stalwart braves,
choose your warpaint don your feathers
Rally round the fires, Hi-yi-yi.
Gather round us all ye warriors, as the flames rise high
We'll give a mighty cheer for Portage Junior High.
And that's what I think about it.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Monday, June 13, 2011
Book sale at a local library; two hardbacks for a dollar, four paperbacks.
Once a year the library culls its collection and offers the results to the public. This is my third year to attend.
In preparation for this day, my personal bookshelves have also been culled, the beneficiary being Good Will.
Treasures abound at a book sale for those who are patient. I showed up at 8:45 AM for the 9 AM sale. I got in line behind the boundary tape with 300 other early shoppers. Paper bags with handles were handed out by personnel as every shopper waited patiently for the sale to begin. There was no pushing or shoving; some had brought wheeled carts into which to store their selections, others carried sturdy shopping bags as did I.
My first trip resulted in the purchase of ten books, a meager bounty to be sure.
After returning home, my husband asked if I wanted to go back and we did. Most of the early shoppers had left, unfortunately with much of the stock, but it was no problem to get up close to the rows and rows of remaining books.
All in all two hours were spent picking out cheap books. My selections included multiple selections by: Susan Howatch, McKinley Cantor, Chaim Potok, Elia Kazan and some single books by Grisham and Peretsky, Bonhoeffer, Chesterton, St. Teresa and W. Somerset Maugham. You can probably tell that some of these are authors I should have read in high school, and may have, but I'm revisiting their offerings hopefully with a more mature attitude, and without the CliffNotes.
And that's what I think about it.
Once a year the library culls its collection and offers the results to the public. This is my third year to attend.
In preparation for this day, my personal bookshelves have also been culled, the beneficiary being Good Will.
Treasures abound at a book sale for those who are patient. I showed up at 8:45 AM for the 9 AM sale. I got in line behind the boundary tape with 300 other early shoppers. Paper bags with handles were handed out by personnel as every shopper waited patiently for the sale to begin. There was no pushing or shoving; some had brought wheeled carts into which to store their selections, others carried sturdy shopping bags as did I.
My first trip resulted in the purchase of ten books, a meager bounty to be sure.
After returning home, my husband asked if I wanted to go back and we did. Most of the early shoppers had left, unfortunately with much of the stock, but it was no problem to get up close to the rows and rows of remaining books.
All in all two hours were spent picking out cheap books. My selections included multiple selections by: Susan Howatch, McKinley Cantor, Chaim Potok, Elia Kazan and some single books by Grisham and Peretsky, Bonhoeffer, Chesterton, St. Teresa and W. Somerset Maugham. You can probably tell that some of these are authors I should have read in high school, and may have, but I'm revisiting their offerings hopefully with a more mature attitude, and without the CliffNotes.
And that's what I think about it.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Kat Karson Saves the Day
Perfectly sunny day. Not a cloud in the sky. Not a ripple of wind. No weather fronts within several states.
My cat, out of this clear blue sky, begins meowing. His legs become short and his stomach scraps the carpet as he ever so cautiously steps, one paw and then another and another, slowly around the edge of the room and down the hallway, meowing and growling the whole time.
Sucked right in, I checked the weather channel, always a good thing to do when the cat is acting this goofy. Nothing there.
I followed the cat into the hallway where he was crouched against the wall, hunkered down as close to the floor as he could get, meowing plaintively. He knew something that I did not.
Earthquake!
What else could it be. I had heard of animals having a sixth sense toward disasters. Herds of cattle heading for higher ground in front of a tsunami, dogs barking when their owners are close to having a grand mal seizure and similar stories.
Since I was feeling all right and the weather showed nothing, I headed for a door jamb (this is the safest place to be during an earthquake).
I don't know how long I stood there, waiting for the inevitable, watching the cat at my feet and listening to his incessant guttural soundings. Then as suddenly as he had begun, the cat stood tall, stretched, yawned, and headed for the litter box. I, cautiously, stepped out of the door frame.
Dumb cat.
And that's what I think about it.
My cat, out of this clear blue sky, begins meowing. His legs become short and his stomach scraps the carpet as he ever so cautiously steps, one paw and then another and another, slowly around the edge of the room and down the hallway, meowing and growling the whole time.
Sucked right in, I checked the weather channel, always a good thing to do when the cat is acting this goofy. Nothing there.
I followed the cat into the hallway where he was crouched against the wall, hunkered down as close to the floor as he could get, meowing plaintively. He knew something that I did not.
Earthquake!
What else could it be. I had heard of animals having a sixth sense toward disasters. Herds of cattle heading for higher ground in front of a tsunami, dogs barking when their owners are close to having a grand mal seizure and similar stories.
Since I was feeling all right and the weather showed nothing, I headed for a door jamb (this is the safest place to be during an earthquake).
I don't know how long I stood there, waiting for the inevitable, watching the cat at my feet and listening to his incessant guttural soundings. Then as suddenly as he had begun, the cat stood tall, stretched, yawned, and headed for the litter box. I, cautiously, stepped out of the door frame.
Dumb cat.
And that's what I think about it.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Sadly with the onset of 90-plus degree weather I have become a couch potato. A few of the fascinating TV shows which have captured my attention are:
House Hunters International, Project Runway, Say Yes to the Dress, Cash Cab, Judge Judy, and NCIS (including reruns, over and over again)
Still reading a lot, I continue to find myself multi-tasking; watching Jeopardy with one eye while reading Pushkin with the other. (Now that is a crock...I do have Pushkin by the couch but I'm reading The Long Journey Home by Margaret Robison and apparently added Pushkin's name here only to impress, which I quite frankly find offensive when others attempt it).
Time is short and on August 1, all TV and pleasure reading stops as pre-work for my next seminary class begins. "Is there enough time," I frantically ask, "to read and watch everything there is to see and read before I have no more free choice?"
My goodness, I sound like a whiner. Like I didn't choose to return to school. Like my current activities, in their absence, will somehow make my level of conversational repartee elementary.
Right now I am watching Judge Judy and Cash Cab, frustrated when both channels take commercial breaks simultaneously. Even though both shows are reruns.
It appears I need to be saved from myself. Thank goodness for forced structure and goals.
And that's what I think about it.
House Hunters International, Project Runway, Say Yes to the Dress, Cash Cab, Judge Judy, and NCIS (including reruns, over and over again)
Still reading a lot, I continue to find myself multi-tasking; watching Jeopardy with one eye while reading Pushkin with the other. (Now that is a crock...I do have Pushkin by the couch but I'm reading The Long Journey Home by Margaret Robison and apparently added Pushkin's name here only to impress, which I quite frankly find offensive when others attempt it).
Time is short and on August 1, all TV and pleasure reading stops as pre-work for my next seminary class begins. "Is there enough time," I frantically ask, "to read and watch everything there is to see and read before I have no more free choice?"
My goodness, I sound like a whiner. Like I didn't choose to return to school. Like my current activities, in their absence, will somehow make my level of conversational repartee elementary.
Right now I am watching Judge Judy and Cash Cab, frustrated when both channels take commercial breaks simultaneously. Even though both shows are reruns.
It appears I need to be saved from myself. Thank goodness for forced structure and goals.
And that's what I think about it.
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