thank a teacher--Miss Heidtke

Do you remember how tall your teachers were when you were back in elementary school?ummm.....they really weren't as tall as you may think they were.  Here I am standing next to my first (and fourth) grade teacher, Miss Heidtke.  I believe she is barely five feet tall.  But, what a presence she had in the classroom.  She taught me how to read!  I loved our reading groups with names like bluebirds, robins and cardinals.  Here is an incident I remember very clearly from the first grade.  I was walking home from school on a warm (by Minnesota standards) Spring afternoon and I stopped to look at all of the melted snow water gushing into a storm drain.  I bent over to get a closer look and my textbook slipped from my hands and fell through the grate into the storm drain.  I couldn't rescue my book and I was so upset that I ran home crying all the way.  I was sobbing as I told my parents what had happened.  The next day my Dad went over to the school and talked to the teacher and made arrangements to pay for the book.  Later in the day my teacher called me to her desk and she, along with my Dad, presented to me another book.  I was still sad and started to cry as I swore I would take very good care of the replacement book.  Miss Heidtke comforted me by saying that perhaps the book floated all the way through the earth and some child in China would find the book  and read it.  That made me feel better.  I mentioned this to Pearl (as she prefers to be called now) a couple of years ago when I visited with her after sixty plus years.  She was delighted to hear the story of the lost textbook and was doubly delighted to be remembered as a caring teacher.  She was a great teacher and always will be remembered that way.  p.s.  In an earlier post I wrote about the time I was caught running around the schoolroom while the teacher was out and being given the punishment of sitting on a little chair out in the hallway for all who passed by to see.  Same teacher, same classroom right across the hall from the principals office, same silly me.  Thank you again and again, Miss (Pearl) Heidtke.  You are one of the best!

the '59 chevy station wagon

I remember this car well.  It's a 1959 Chevy station wagon and it had cat's eyes!  I love the styling of the tail lights.  I believe this is my favorite vintage car.  Here we are dressed up for some Airstream trailer function as we are all wearing our official Wally Byum Caravan Club hats.  I can see Susan, Steven, Keith, Duane, our mom, myself and another couple posing for this picture.  Rock on...and go Chevy!!

Aldersgate

This beautiful church is the church that I grew up in.  I attended services here all through my childhood and I was married here many years later.  I remember being a member of the children's choir--the Caroleers-- and the youth choir, as well.  I fondly remember family night dinners and programs and what fun we had in MYF.  The Sunday School was overflowing to the point that an additional educational wing was added at a later date.  The Sunday services were packed and each Christmas Eve the church held three services just to accommodate all of the growing families in attendance.  I especially liked the five o'clock service for families with little children.  It was crowded, it was hot, it was wonderful.  My dad was the minister here during all of those years.  He grew the church from a small congregation to one of the largest Methodist church congregations in the state of Minnesota.  It was hard work but he was a dedicated man and he put himself out there into the community to gather new members.  My dad always said he was lucky because he came to St. Louis Park at the right time.  The war was over and the GI's were coming home and raising families.  We were part of the baby boom generation and we kept the church nursery full for years.  My dad may say that he was lucky to be in the right place at the right time but I say Aldersgate was lucky to have him.  Good job, Dad!!

bears and cars-140003

Another summer road trip.  I believe this picture was taken in 1951 when we took a trip to the Black Hills of South Dakota.  Look at those classic cars.  What are the people doing out in the road?  There's a bear there.  A Wild Bear.  Back in the early 1950's we were camping with a tent.  I remember trying to go to sleep in a flannel lined sleeping bag on a canvas air mattress in a stuffy tent.    We visited people along the way from Minnesota through the Dakotas, as people did back in the day. Take a trip, visit the folks.  I remember staying in a motel for a night or two.  The travel motels at that time were mostly the cozy cabin variety.  I remember one morning fussing with my older brothers about who was poking whom and at some point we must have crossed the line.  My Dad picked me up (I was three years old at the time and a semi chunky lightweight) and he tossed me over on the bed where my mom was laying.  Bang!!  My hard head hit her right in the eye socket and she was in a lot of pain.  I had just given her a major black eye that stayed with her for days.  What a way to spend a vacation--explaining away a black eye.  I was the culprit that gave it to her just because I was a whining little girl who got caught up in a lousy poke fest.  Although my mom never reminded me of the time my head and her head met in an unfortunate way, I have thought about it many times over the years as I dodged head butts from my own kids.  The cycle continues.  My grandkids are now the masters of "head aches", literally.  Well, enjoy the memory...and the bears.

the big pink house

4312 Alabama Avenue.  I lived in this house during the 1960's.  It's a big rancher style house and at that time it was painted pink.  Yes, I lived in the big pink house at the end of the street.  What a great place to live!  Our house was right across the street from Minnehaha Creek.  The creek was surrounded by a marshland and we had many opportunities to observe wildlife just by looking out of the big picture window in the dining room, which overlooked the marsh.  We felt like we were living out in the country even though the house sat just a few blocks off of busy Excelsior Boulevard.  It really was a great place to live.  See how nice the house looks in early Spring.

Disneyland, again

Here we are at Disneyland, again.  It is the mid 1950's and we are on our family road trip throughout the western United States.  My sister and I are wearing our new straw hats adorned with dainty plastic artificial flowers.  We loved the hats and wore them often.  (great sun protection!) Susan and I are also wearing skorts.  What's a skort?  It is a sporty one piece garment composed of a short short covered by a short skirt and joined at the waist.  We were so stylish.  And what an easy garment to wear.  Just throw on a cute co-ordinated top and you're all set to go out and have some fun.  And, that's just what we did.

the egg

Today is Easter Sunday.  One Easter many years ago I learned a very valuable lesson about eggs.  Boiled eggs go BAD just as easily as raw eggs.  This is what happened.  I had dyed some boiled eggs and they turned out to be very lovely colors.  One egg in particular became my favorite and I decided to save it.  I put it in my dresser drawer (hidden under some clothing) and looked at it every day.  It was such a pretty egg.  One day my mother came into the room and noticed a funny smell.  She said it smelled like rotten eggs.  I mentioned that I had a boiled egg saved in my dresser drawer.  She took one look at the egg and told me it had to go...it was rotten.  I couldn't believe the egg went bad because it was boiled.  Shouldn't that protect it?  Apparently not.  Mom and I cracked open the egg and both of us stepped back in amazement at how badly the egg smelled.  The inside yoke and egg white had shriveled.  It was disgusting.  I learned never to hide a boiled egg (just for safe keeping, of course) again.  The beauty of the egg was replaced with repulsion.  And that's the way it goes.  The outside beauty was just superficial.  It's what was inside that counts.