The Continuing Story...

Isn't it amazing how time seems to move at a faster pace as we get older. I didn't realize how many years have passed since I added to this blog. 

As a favor to one of my daughter's, I will add to my story as much as possible as I remember it. And, since I have now added a great grandson and great granddaughter to my family, maybe I need to finish my history.

It is now Christmas day 2015 and looking back there are only few Christmas' that stand out. Some when I was a child, but mostly those when I was an adult and a mother.

Christmas, for many reasons, was never a holiday I looked forward to.  I loved the decorating of our tree with the real glass icicles and the mirror ornaments I always loved. And the tinsel which I had the patience, even as a child, to put on one strand at a time.  I guess that's why I have the patience to cross stitch.  

We always went to the Christmas Eve church services even before I sang in the choir with my sister and my parents. I always loved doing this (along with the sunrise service on Easter Sunday).  I still remember some of the hymns we sang, 'Jesu Joy of Man's Desiring' and of course, 'O Holy Night' with my sister & I as the soloists. My sister Joyce & I had very similar voices so it really sounded like one. And always when we got home, we opened gifts, all but out stockings which were still empty.

Christmas stockings were the best.........we could always count on an orange, apple, banana, nuts, usually a Lifesaver books of flavors, new toothbrush, sometimes, underwear and little items pertaining just to each of us.

The first year I remember Christmas was the year I received my boot ice skates, the one gift I really wanted. I also got a black stuffed skootchy dog I had been eyeing for months.

We always had a Montgomery Ward Christmas catalog that we would pour over for months before Christmas. Only once did I get something I wanted from that catalog. I was seven and got a doll with saran hair that you could wash & curl. I still have that doll, even though my daughter Tia calls it evil and creepy.

There was the first Christmas with my future husband Jim and the Christmas when he bought me my diamond watch, the many Christmas' with our daughters (they always loved their stockings best too!); the last Christmas in our house in La Mirada before we took to the road and the last Christmas I spent with Jim. 

Many memories, good, bad, happy, silly, sad and poignant.
Kinda' life in a nutshell.

The Early Years (continued)

     

My sister Joyce 1946 in front of the porch

     The house had a big enclosed front porch.  Screens in the summer and storm windows in the winter.  It was the width of the house and had a raised flower bed in the middle.  You know, I can still see my Dad and Grampa sitting in the metal lawn chairs on that porch after supper.  The chairs were called spring chairs.  They had curved steel that ran from the back to the front and then to the back again, like a giant U on it's side.  You could bounce on the back of the chair and the chair would flex, like a spring.  

     I loved that porch.  My Dad liked it most of the time, but twice a year he hated it.  He hated it because he had to take down the storm windows in the spring and put up the screens.  Then do it again in the fall in reverse.  

     It was a great place to play and roller skate when there was snow on the ground.  Which leads me to one of the first things I do remember. 

     When I was about four years old, I was roller skating on that porch with one skate.  The skate caught on the spring chair and I fell and hit my head on the corner of the flower bed.  I was kinda' a wuss and always cried no matter what.  This time I had a reason.  I ran into the house crying and holding my head.  My Mom thought it was just the occasional bump, but when I took my hand down the blood started running down my face.  

     NOTE:  In those days, we did not run to the nearest emergency room for help.  In fact, they didn't have emergency room facilities at the hospital, they just had an entire hospital for emergencies only.  It was expensive, for my parents, and unless you were near death, it was handled at home.

     So, with my head under the cold water faucet in the kitchen sink, my Mom tried to stop the bleeding.  This went on for about half an hour when they decided it was time to take me to the Emergency Hospital.  It was winter, and that meant putting on a snowsuit, which they proceeded to do with my head still in the sink.  Mission accomplished.  Then the bleeding stopped.  No stitches, just a hair drying and some mercurochrome (antiseptic no longer manufactured in this country).  

     That blow to my head had repercussions later in my life.  When I was eight I found out I needed glasses and the damage that they found to my right eye was directly related to that fall.

     Isn't it amazing how things go in cycles.  That sink in our kitchen was one big single sink.  We couldn't wait to get a new double sink.  Yet today, the trend is to that one big single sink, again.  Just like the claw foot tub.

     Canaries.  My grampa raised and sold all kinds and colors of canaries.  I can still hear them cheeping in the house.  The last one was named Dopey and was an olive green and yellow green color.  He died sitting on his swing.  We buried him in the backyard under the Bleeding Heart bushes.  They seemed to bloom better after that.  

     My grampa retired from the Waukegan School District, as a janitor at Glen Flora Grade School,  and began sharpening saws (big saw blades) in his shop in the garage to make extra money (along with the canaries).  My mom would make doughnuts every morning and would send me out to the shop with doughnuts for my grampa.  This is a story she told me. "When you would go out to the shop, your grampa would pour his coffee, sit in his rocker with you on his lap and share his doughnuts with you.  Then he would rock you and sing 'Go Tell Aunt Roadie' until you both fell asleep.  This happened every day until he got too sick to work."

     One day, my grampa sent me to the corner store to get us an ice cream cone.  The closest one was closed that day so I had to walk to the one 6 blocks away.  By the time I got home, the ice cream was almost melted and as usual I was crying because I didn't walk fast enough (I was only 4) and grampa's ice cream cone was mushy.  He just hugged me and ate it the way it was.  I seem to remember he passed away shortly after that.  At least he lived to see World War II come to an end and his grandson, Nicholas (Nick) Goldschmidt, home from the war.  

Powell Park 2012

     They had a big bonfire and celebration at Powell Park on VE Day.  It was great with the bands playing and so many happy, friendly faces there.  My grampa gave me a roll of pennies that night, I guess that's why I remember it so well.

     World War II Stories

     Rationing was how things were done during that time.  Gas, meat, just about everything.  They had rationing books with stamps in them that were used to buy certain things.  When I was about three I thought it was something to play with and pulled them all out of the book and tried to stick them on to paper to make a picture.  OMGosh!  I was in trouble.  Then there was the time I put my dad's glasses in bed with him and he rolled over and broke them.  Ration stamps to replace them.  

     We also saved all our grease from cooking and put it into a coffee can.  When it was full it was taken to the store to be recycled into grease for tanks, jeeps etc.  We crushed tin cans and recycled those too.  Had gardens to grow our own vegetables because the vegetables grown by the farmers was needed for the fighting men.  I remember my mom using an eyebrow pencil to draw a line up the back of her legs to look like seams in her silk stockings (no nylons in those days).  The silk stockings were recycled into silk for parachutes.

     Meat (like steak, roasts, pork) was rationed and other meats were not.  Beef tongue could be bought without ration stamps.  My dad hated beef tongue.  To make ends meet, my mom would cook it all day long, with seasoning, and then chill it in its broth.  The next day, she would slice it very thin like lunch meat and make my dad's sandwiches.  He thought it was bologna.  Her story. 

     We spent hours listening to the radio, coloring and cutting out paper dolls.  We had shoe boxes full.  
We sang, we played games inside and outside, we put on plays.  We created our own entertainment. 

     On Saturdays it was bath and hair washing day. My mom would wash our hair and set it in pincurls to dry (that was early afternoon).  After dinner, into the claw foot tub for baths, then ear cleaning, toenail cutting and book reading.  My mom never missed a night reading to my sister and I from Raggedy Ann and Andy, The Bobsey Twins, Five Little Peppers or fairy tale books that had belonged to her.  

Five Little Peppers

     On Thanksgiving night the first episode of the Cinnamon Bear would be on the radio, sponsored by Wieboldt's Department Store in Chicago.  One fifteen minute episode a night until Christmas Eve.  Believe it or not, I found this series on CD, had to buy it.  It had commercials and all.

     All this was going on and the country was at war.  I thought all this stuff was just life, as usual.  

     


     

Update

William Rosell and Susanah Wallis

         Have been doing a lot of family tree stuff for the past week and haven't taken the time to add to the 'Me Book".  Scanned a lot of old pictures and downloaded them to the laptop.  Of course I had to clean them up and make them look pretty, or as pretty as I could considering some of the subjects and the age of the photos.  Just going through old pictures starts to bring up old memories, or keeps you going through old pictures until 4 or 5 hours goes by and it's too late to do anything else.  
     This picture is of my Great Grandfather and Great Grandmother Wallis.  If you look close, I look like Susanah.  Now that is scary considering I just realized that.  Oh well, someone had to look like her and I guess my grandfather Wallis and me drew that straw.  However, I do have William's eyes.  Something else about this picture, he isn't wearing a shirt, just a vest and jacket.  What's that all about?
     Well, now that I caught you up-to-date, I'll leave you with a little wisdom: "Life is a journey, not a destination.  Enjoy the trip!"

The Early Years

Waukegan Skyline

     I was born and raised in Waukegan, Illinois, a small city of about 65,000 people (now about 92,000).  Waukegan is in the northeast corner of the state right on Lake Michigan.

     It was a great place to grow up in, back in my time, the 40's and 50's.  We could leave our doors unlocked and we could walk any place without the fear of being kidnapped, mugged or shot.  And we did.  We walked to school, to the park, to our friends houses and to the show (movie theater) downtown.  We rode bikes, roller skated, ice skated and played games like, hopscotch, tag, kick the can, hide and seek and red rover.

Linda Diane Wallis  6 months old 1941

     I was born in April of 1941 and, as my mother told me, had teeth by 3 months and could walk at 9 months.  (I was already in a hurry to get somewhere).  I was potty trained by the time I had my first birthday.  Mom's motto "If you can walk, then you can do without the diaper."

     I remember very little of those early years.  I started remembering some things after we moved into my grandpa Wallis's house at 621 Chestnut Street.  That was sometime in 1942.  Before that we shared a house with my grandma Christiansen at 33 S. Butrick Street.  Then, sometime during the war, my grandma came to live with us on Chestnut Street.  In those days, it wasn't unusual for families to live together, even if it was my Dad's dad and my Mom's mom.  The Chestnut Street house only had 2 bedrooms and 1 bathroom. It must have been crowded. 

Linda Wallis, 33 S. Butrick St. 1941

     This is the house we lived in in 1941, with my Grandma Christiansen and my Great Aunt Vivian.  In 1942 we moved to 621 Chestnut Street to take care of my Grandpa Wallis.

Vincent Wallis, 621 Chestnut St. Waukegan, Il

     This is what the house looked like in 1942 when we came to stay with my grandpa.  

Starting at the Beginning

     Starting at the beginning would be the normal way to begin, but because I'm not so normal, I'll start with who I am today and the rest will take care of itself.
    I started writing this when I was sixty-six years old, now I am seventy-one.  I still have the white hair, wrinkles and creases that were all well earned.  However, I can now see without glasses, and that's a plus.  I also had just retired from my job as a Judicial Assistant which was a hard decision to make but I have never regretted that decision.  
     I have had to make many hard decisions over the past seven years, since my husband and best friend Jim has passed on down the river to a new landing.  I still miss him every day, which is not surprising since we spent more than 45 years together.  It's amazing how you don't really think of those things at the time they are happening, you just look up one day and realize all the time that has passed and wonder if you couldn't have done it better, made different decisions, different choices to do everything you wanted to do and get where you wanted to go.
     I never knew where I wanted to go, except for one time,  when I left my hometown and flew to California four days after I graduated from high school.  I never went back except to visit.  Usually my goals were those Jim and I set together.  Even after seven years on my own, it's hard for me to make a decision that affects my life without asking for another opinion.
     Explaining my feelings about losing my best friend is not possible, not even if you have been in the same place. It is different for each person.  The emptiness, yes, this you can understand, but can you understand waking up in the night and reaching out and not feeling that other person next to you? Or, listening to them breathe or snore or grind their teeth?  Or, missing them fluffing their pillow every night before they get into bed? Or, the smell of their cologne?  I still get lonely for these things even now.  There are so many other things I miss but will carry in my memory.  He was instrumental in making me the person I have become.  I loved him so much and will never get over missing him.
     Our life together was a series of ups and downs as all relationships are.  Most of our friends remember us in our later life together (I called it our third life), as being happy and loving each other unconditionally.  However, we still got on each other's nerves from time to time, just not as often as we did in the earlier years.  We had each other during the bad times, the great times and the sad times as well.  That's what life is.
     I guess to understand our life together you must first understand my life; how I was raised and where and, how I came to be the person I am today.

Starting Again

      Well, this is me, starting again.  Had a problem with the original blog (don't know why) so am creating a new one.
     I started this blog to tell the story of Me (encouraged by my four daughters, or should I say demanded) to share with them, my grandchildren (8 of them) and now a great grandchild.
     My Life - Random Rememberies by Linda Diane Wallis Grammer was started a few years ago with additions periodically until I just stopped.  So again my one daughter, Tia, began browbeating me to continue. Some of what has already been written is good, some isn't because it doesn't sound like me.  Therefore, I'm starting again.

Dedication

     I am dedicating this to my fantastic daughters, Angela, Julia, Tia and Cynthia with all my love.  Thank you for all your support and faith in me to get this done.  Each of you in your own way has made my life a joyful journey.  

Foreword

     I am writing this...what is it?...journal, book, whatever, at the request of my daughter, Tia, who seems to think this is something that my children and grandchildren would like to read.

     This is not like anything you're used to reading.  This will be just random thoughts, memories, and maybe a little truth thrown in for good measure.