11 May 1955 “A little News and A Big Answer to a Question.”

The Japanese ferry Shiun Maru sinks off of Takamatsu, Shikoku; 168 are killed.

The Siun Maru was a Japanese National Railway (JNR) ferry that sank in the Seto Inland Sea after colliding with another JNR ferry, the Uko Maru, in thick fog on 11 May 1955. A lack of radar onboard contributed to the accident. Many school children were among the 160 people killed. The sinking of the Siun Maru encouraged the Japanese government to go ahead with the Honshu-Shikoku bridge project, the longest suspension bridge in the world. [I wonder if hearing of such a tragedy began the healing between Japan and the states. I have a few articles about how the Japanese were perceived post war in the USA. If I can find it, I have a lovely article about a GI who married a Japanese woman and how she was well received in her neighborhood and how her neighbors would be included in a tea ceremony she would sometimes have. It was very sweet and showed that the 1950s' as many want us to believe, was not, in fact, only a time of severe racism. In fact, having had been in Europe and fighting beside many varieties of people, probably played a major role in American perceptions of one another.]

This movie was released today. Again, though the modern me was always fascinated by 1950s horror movies, the 1955 me, most likely would not go. I think it was more for children on Saturdays and Teens, but I might be wrong. Any of you old enough to know of these movies, correct me or give us your take and info. Who was the audience for these movies? I suppose many adults would be into it.

I think, the rise of this type of movie, much as horror films current increase in production, is an example in part of a society trying to forget the fear of the real world and to have the ‘bad guy’ be very clearly defined. Certainly, it is almost a release to see the ‘bad guy’ as a monster from outer space or under the sea than the subtle reality of the real ‘ monsters’ often in our own government and world. To have come out of WWII and recall WWI certainly, those who were once thought friends and allies became monsters to us. Even the ways of life and thinking had, in a way, become a subtle monster, but not one you could get your hands on. Probably the same reason Westerns became such a big genre in the 30’s thru the 50’s. The bad guy wears ‘the black hat’ and is killed by the good guy at the end. We felt a comfort in that. It was easy to understand and see good and bad and it helps to hide, for a little while, from the real world which is more often than not, all too grey.

I thought I would maybe make today’s blog my response to a great question I received from a commenter, Sarah:

Hi 50sgal!
I'm sorry to ask such a personal question but have you always been a stay at home wife? I am giving up my job in 3 weeks to stay at home - both of us are just fed up with rushing around all the time and have decided to 'do without' instead. (really it won't be doing without as we'll have the necessities just not the luxuries!)
I was wondering how you found the transition? At the moment I'm worried that I could easily end up spending everyday just channel hopping and then having a panic of activity just before my husband walks through the door! Do you have any tips for a newbie? How was your transition to being a housewife? Did you make the move before your 'time-machine' experience or did you do it so that you would be able to complete this wonderful project? What do your husband/ family / friends think about it? It was my husbands suggestion but some of my friends have been dismissive and my family downright hostile. I'm sorry for all the questions but I don't know anyone else who stays at home without children and the only blogs I have found on the internet are written by women who stay home for religious reasons (not that that's a bad thing - it's just not why I decided to).
I do love your blog - I have only been a regular reader for a few weeks but I have been reading back in your posts and the more I read the more I agree with you!!
Thank you for taking the time to read this (very long!) comment,

Well, first off No, I have not always been a stay at home wife. I have been really only a Homemaker since the inception of this project. What and how I lived ‘at home’ prior to 1955, I would not label a homemaker. Here is the rundown to my own path to becoming a Homemaker:

I have been not in the working field for some time, true. Before that, I did every thing from work for an artist, buy for an antique shop, work in cafe’s and finally ran and owned my own flower shop. After the last venture, I sold my shop and decided to take a break from the work world and decide why I was actually on the earth. The modern dilemma of ‘findings one self’. ( I have since found that rather than bother looking for yourself, it is better to get on with the business of living and you will appear soon enough. The modern problem of self and purpose soon fades when there is work to be done)

It felt odd, those first weeks. It is funny, as it has been over three years since then, but the first two weeks are really imprinted upon me. I had gone from literally being at my shop seven days a week, 10 hours a day to nothing. I had a booming wedding business, as the Cape is a desired location for weddings, and often found myself setting up at posh clubs or seaside locales, coordinating my designers with our cell phones, praying the heat would hold off, the flowers wouldn’t wilt and that the brides and their mother’s wouldn’t turn on us with knives. A very hectic life to suddenly, Nothing.

I remember that first day I woke up and and thought, “Huh, I don’t HAVE to be anywhere today.” My husband was still working, as he kept his job while I ran my business. We toyed with the idea of it becoming a joint venture, but decided our marriage was more important, owning a business is VERY stressful.

So, there I was, day one: no job; no responsibilities. No one was going to call me and say, “the flowers aren’t here or they sent the wrong ones or the cooler just died and all the flowers for three weddings are wilting” Nothing. Silence.

I remember, I got into my car and drove to our local little shop where they have coffee. I bought a cup, put on some music and just drove.

Cape Cod is very beautiful in the summer. This was late summer and the Cape was pregnant with possibilities. The beach. The shops. Nature walks. I was where many come for holiday and I had a full tank of gas, no worries and all the time in the world.
I drove towards the end of the cape, to Provincetown. I made it as far as Brewster, and stopped at a local park and walked. Then I went to some shops, playing tourist. I remember thinking, “Oh, this would be good for flowers, or I could use this for a wedding”. It was hard to NOT shop for the store. Where did my personality exist outside of my work. Was the definition of me only in the work I did or had done?

I ended up driving a lot that week. I would throw my bike in the back of the car and go. I walked a lot on the beach. We didn’t have our boat yet, or I would have had that.

Then opportunity came in the form of a place to stay on the ocean. My hubby’s grandfather has a house on the water. He had a boathouse, where sailboats were kept and it contained a small two floor apartment. We moved there, bought a boat (a 30’ Morgan sailboat) and hubby left the security of his 10 year job.
So, we became vagabonds. Hubby grew out his beard and we sailed. Our days were dictated by the tides and the weather. It was a free time and we had fun AND adventures, including some close calls on the sea. We made various jaunts back and forth to the Vineyard (Martha’s Vineyard, an island off the coast of Massachusetts for you non-US readers).

After awhile, the money lessened and hubby became bored not working. He rejoined the workforce and now had a commute to the city (Boston).

Luckily, my lovely husband did not insist upon my return to work. I wasn’t ready. I really felt the work force was not for me. I returned, for awhile, to one of my old love :horses. I began riding again and took some lessons at a local stable. I even began Polo lessons (something I promise myself to return to one day).

Then, there was what was to become the eventual drama of moving my family ( my mother had contracted Alzheimer's as mentioned in a previous post) out here. At first, I was happy. It was nice to rebuild relationships and to share family Christmas. That, in and of itself, is a novel’s worth of emotions, happenings and final outcomes. To make it short, during that time, we moved out of the boathouse and to Boston to the Back Bay.

I really consider the path to my current happiness in life to really start from Boston. We were lucky enough to live on Commonwealth Ave. which has a central park way that runs up and down the street. A great spot for the dogs and walks etc. This is where I really began to peek in the mirror. To take brief glances at my idle pointless life and wonder. “What?” “Who?” My hubby didn’t always seem to love work, but he seemed happy. He certainly wasn’t wondering ‘who he was’. I did not have that.

I returned to my love affair with art ( I studied art history at university). I began some classes at the Museum School and really loved it. This lead to my acquiring a studio in Somerville. It was small, but it was my own little place to exist in paint pots and have sketches hanging. What I noticed I liked most about this studio, was setting it up. I built walls and installed antique windows. I drug up the two flight of stairs old sofas and recovered them in IKEA sheep skin rugs. I dumpster dove old Persian rugs and layered them on the floor. I found myself having as much time and even more effort in ‘making over’ the studio than actually painting. I did do a lot of painting, though, and my classes really pushed me to pursue that. But, I was really just making a faux little home somewhere. I loved our apartment and we were lucky to have the first floor, so we had 15 foot ceilings with old moldings and fireplace, wonderful wood floors. But, it wasn’t really my home.

Then, the world sort of suddenly stopped in a way. The current recession hit and after trips back and forth to the Cape all the time I figured, let’s conserve and move back there full time.

So, we packed up and said goodbye to our flat in the heart of the city and to my little studio and moved back to the Cape. I didn’t realize how much I actually missed having a yard and being in the ‘country’ until I got back. I went full tilt into planning gardens and getting bees, though still feeling very lost in a way. I sort of felt on autopilot. I had many things I wanted to ‘get back to’ my painting and reading etc. But, really that first summer was spent between my Father having a stroke, my mother’s increasing illness and keeping myself distracted with swimming and the ocean.

By the end of last year I had really just discovered blogs. After seeing other people try similar projects I thought, “well, let me see what it is like”. I have always loved history and study, so it could be the next ‘diversion’. It was one of the best decisions I think I have made in a long time.

You ask how my transition to homemaker was and really it was sort of gradual. I had thought it would be a good project in that I could use it as a focus to pinpoint my loves of design and fashion etc. What really was meant to be a sort of year long history perspective/ personal study has turned into a lifestyle. Really, it has either turned into me, or I into it, or somehow, amongst the old magazines, ironing and baking, I just sort of emerged. It really began to seep into every part of my life.

You ask how others have taken to it. I think, for the most part my husband, being used to my various schemes and whims, just took it in stride. Then, he began to see the luck of having wash done and beds made and meals prepared without having to consider it. I think, lately, he has almost begun to see that indeed, this is not a whim, but an honest to goodness change. I am not sure how he feels over all, if he thinks I am just sticking to something a little longer, or if I have truly found a new form of happiness. He is very supportive and I am very lucky, no we are very lucky, to have found one another.

I think the most surprising and one of the hardest parts of this experiment was how two of my ‘friends’ responded. One, really my best friend, sort of went 'gung-ho’ for the whole thing. She found herself dressing vintage all the time (she already loved 1950s clothes and sewing so it wasn’t a stretch) but she was so into it, so fast that she was soon talking to me telling me she wanted one day to have her ‘career’ be a homemaker. I was happy to have someone so in it with me for the long haul. However, maybe she dove in too deep too fast. There was a moment when she suddenly, and I still do not know why, just stopped. She stopped calling me. I heard through a mutual friend that she and another friend were talking about me and not necessarily in a positive way. Here I was, going along living my life and doing what felt right and good and then I found out two of my friends were beginning to do the things without me and purposely not inviting me. I was told they thought, “ I thought I was better than them and that I wouldn’t enjoy what they were doing because it was too modern and not 1955”. It really began to be almost an insult from their lips, “Oh, your ‘project’” they would say. It was as if I had set about to offend or set myself above them. How this happened, I do not know. For me, it was almost overnight, I went from having a close friend who shared my passion, to someone who was talking about me and planning days out without including me.

I will never really know why she felt or feels that way. I cannot walk her path nor she mine. And, really, maybe that was the problem. In searching for her own path, she saw me suddenly have such purpose, she thought she would follow me along on my road. Only, setting herself up for what she thought I thought was the norm for everyone, she turned on me and when I spun around to laugh with her, as we have done in the past, she was gone. Her little hat and white gloves were put away. The dresses and crinolines replaced with her jeans. And our bond severed. We are still friends, certainly, but it feels different. Maybe 1955 was just too far away for her and she didn’t like the commute.

So, my advice in that vein is, even though you may only be choosing to become a homemaker in modern terms, be prepared for odd responses. Women today, for some reason, will often react to this decision as if you have lost your mind or as if you are ill. They may treat you as if you have contracted a disease and they certainly don’t want to catch anything that means they have to iron and cook. But, and here is what is important, If you find that you love it, as I have found, it won’t really matter. We all have many friends through our lives and sometimes we grow apart. It is just part of life. But, the true friends and those who will hold you up and support you even when you make decisions they think are odd, ARE the true ones. It is a good sorting mechanism in a way. When those who do not understand, question you, tell them you have all of women’s history as an example. There have been centuries of we women who ‘stay home’. Even though we are not expected to today, there is much benefit to it.

I have come to really feel that there is inherent in many of we women, the desire to nest and build the strength of the home. It takes a great strength to go on and continue with the work of the home during wars, and it was not only WWI and WWII. Women have been those strong home warriors since the first time people stopped being nomads, set down their roots, planted crops, kept animals and waved their sons and husbands off to battle. The very study of the woman at home is very interesting and can and has filled countless texts. For example, the woman of the middle ages had much more power and rights than her Renaissance sister. The middle ages often saw women on landed estates running the show while their men were off to battle. They had not only to manage all the household (and though there were scores of servants sometimes, these women had to know how to run and aid them) and handle money and decide on crops and building etc. Unfortunately, one of the backlashes of the Renaissance for women, was it was the time that their place began to become 'decorative’. Though, in all honesty, it was not only men who put us in that place. We all know how a gown and a pretty bit of lace can make a girls heart race, but women lost many personal rights to freedom and land ownership then. It was the time that ‘thinking’ began to take importance over ‘doing’. Another example of throwing the baby out with the bathwater.

We need now, really, to take pride of doing and regain our thinking together. So, if you feel the pride of place and the importance of the home that has been our women’s history, that can often give you the courage to look the opposing women in the eye and say, “ I am doing the most important career there is. I am living history”.

I found very little resources and that is why my trip back to 1955 has been such a rich source. Of course I wasn’t really intending on becoming a homemaker permanently. I just wanted to see what a woman in 1955 at home would have experienced. In 1955 a woman choosing to be a ‘homemaker’ was not ridiculed. Though, there were women in university and doctors and lawyers etc back then, they did not mock or look down on their sisters who chose to ‘stay home’. I have often commented that my trip back to 1955 is really an education in the ‘University of the Home’. And, of course since then, I really believe my role of homemaker no longer merely a year long ‘project’ but my ‘calling’ if you will. A place I feel rather ‘at home’ if you will excuse the pun.

My advice for you concerning, and I quote; “I'm worried that I could easily end up spending everyday just channel hopping and then having a panic of activity just before my husband walks through the door!” First and foremost, get rid of the TV. I know this sounds drastic and you don’t have to literally get rid of it, but try perhaps not having cable or any means to have a variety of channels and then try covering it up or putting it in a closet for a few weeks. Then bring it back and use it as a means of casual entertainment. Watch movies on weekends, say, or an occasional show with your hubby. This is THE biggest distraction. The other, of course, is the computer. I have really tried to be strict with myself and use it only for my blog and of course my research. I even feel guilty as I do not read and comment as much on others blogs as I would like, but I have to be careful or you will find your day gone in such activity. Use it as a reward for that ‘break time’.
Secondly, treat is as a job, no a CAREER. You are both your boss and your staff. So, give yourself designated break times. Make a lunch and sit and read a magazine or look at some blogs with a sandwich and tea and maybe a sample of your latest baking experiment. But, know first and foremost,this is a REAL CAREER. You can either just live in your house, where you do the minimal to eat and sleep there and use it as a place to hang your clothes and watch your TV or you can MAKE A HOME. To do that means you have to treat it as a job. Make a schedule. You can be flexible with yourself, after all you are your own boss, but plan each day. Even if you just scribble down a few things you would like to achieve that day, the power of ‘crossing off the list’ is not to be underestimated. You will soon find you cannot believe how much you can do in a day and your desire to ‘channel surf and go online’ will slip away, as doing is more fun the being. I am sure there are people who would like to try this sort of life and think, “well, I can just control myself with the tv” but I am telling you, at least from my standpoint, that tv is probably the cause of and continuing enabler of modern angst and laziness. Really, just try it a month without it, you can always get it back and you know they will rerun anything you wanted to see.

What is great about the Homemaking Career, is it really can be designed to your needs. There are many constants and set rules that should be obeyed. Learn to cook and bake. Learn to sew (if you have no desire to make and design your own clothes at least learn to sew on buttons mend tears and rips) Washing and Ironing each take a separate day and the study of stain removal can save a lot of money, but there is a lot of leeway for personal growth. If you always wanted to paint watercolors, that can become part of your day, as you learn to do more and get through your lists, you will have time and energy to pursue those passions you have. You will be surprised at what you learn and how differently you look at life.

I am really also a newbie. I have become a homemaker since January of this year and yet, I don’t feel unqualified to give advice on homemaking, because in my trials and tribulations, I do feel I have amassed a set of skills and knowledge, but and here is the Third thing: KNOW YOU HAVE NEVER LEARNED IT ALL. I don’t think there will ever be a time when a good homemaker says, ‘Well, that’s all I need to know’. Really, that is true in anything we do, if we wish to do it well. I think is was Socrates who said, “the only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing”. In other words, there is always more to learn and really isn’t that exciting? I would think even a great chef would be a wiser one if he knew there were more and better ways to make and prepare food. So, in that, approach each new chore and task with the idea that you are learning. You will make mistakes, but not only will you learn you may discover another way and then you can share it back into the community of women, who will thank you for it. Nothing is ever done so good that it is not done again a new way.

Get as many books on homemaking as you can lay your hands on. Go to your local used book stores, thrift stores, tag sales. Failing that, there is always EBay. Here are two books I would really recommend. They are from the late 1940’s early 1950’s. Also, any old cookbooks often have tips on homemaking and there are countless tips and articles in old magazines.

I am finding that the concept of vintage knowledge sort of goes hand in hand with a happy approach to being a homemaker. There has not been much written of late that really addresses, I don’t believe, in the way they once did. Now, many books are very specific and narrow where these old books are rich with many skills. Really, a good homemaker is a well-rounded Renaissance woman, she can do it all, look good doing it, and is well read and pleasant to be around; she is dependable and often depended on. Now, who wouldn’t not want to aspire to that?

I think one of the most important aspects I have found with this project is my voice. I feel more adult in a way and yet still feel very youthful and free. It is odd that so often I felt “I wonder if and when I will feel like an adult?” I always expected there would be a day when it would just happen. And yet, I think subconsciously, there was a fear that ‘being adult’ meant no fun and no frivolity. I have since found that to be the opposite. I think what I feel now in my own ‘adulthood’ is that the fun and frivolity I feel to dress in a vintage outfit and just go out feels freer as an adult, because how I felt before, I would have been concerned about what ‘others thought’. That is really an immature thought. Of course, adults feel this, but I always admired how really old people just sort of did what they wanted and didn’t care. That is the level of maturity that is very freeing. Not that I want to go out and hurt people and not care, but the worry of “do I have the right things or am I wearing the right clothes etc”, having that gone is a great release.

So, I hope that answered your questions and didn’t scare you away. It is one of the most rewarding and sometimes frustrating jobs, but boy is it a boost for your self worth. The skills and knowledge you can gain from learning to make and run a home is endless. The happiness you gain from the happiness you bring others is another boon to homemaking.

I’ll leave you with this quote from Henry David Thoreau:

“Our truest life is when we are in our dreams awake.”

8 May 1955 “Harpo and Lucy, Music and Dance, a quiet Revolution”

This great classis episode of I LOVE LUCY will premiere tonight. Harpo recalled,

“When I walked on the set to go to work there was Lucy imitating me. Tousled and ringlet-red hair streamed from under a battered stovepipe hat. It was the most perfect imitation I’ve ever seen. I rushed over to Lucy, grabbed her hair and asked, “Where did you get such a perfect wig? You could have heard her scream way down in Palm Springs. It seems it was Lucy’s own hair. I had forgotten she didn’t need any help in duplicating my wig.”

This is a great bit and I wonder if it would be deemed to ‘slow’ for today’s TV viewers as this much silent entertainment might not bode well with the action required modern attention spans.

Joe Bolton in 1955  appeared as "Officer Joe" and hosted The Clubhouse Gang, and showed the Little Rascals  on WPIX (New York’s 5th television station that is still on the air) It lost the rights to Little Rascals and in September of 1958 would switch to hosting The Three Stooges Funhouse. Over 1 million watch the little rascals comedies over this station. [I have vague memories of Sunday mornings in pajamas and dressing gown holding my little puppy and watching the little rascals and that was the late 70’s early 80’s.]

Daddy long legs with Leslie Carone and Fred Astaire opened on the 5th of this month.

I love this movie. I have not watched it in years, so this weekend we are ‘going to the movies’ to see this one together.  I was also thinking how then there were song writers and singers. Some were great writers others singers, so if there were a ‘popular’ song, it might be sung by any of the great singers of the time. Now, for some reason, perhaps with all the silly ‘ownership’ laws the big record companies are concerned about, you have an ‘artist’ who writes and sings their own songs. It isn’t bad, but I wonder how many great singers out there would be good at that, just singing, and not worrying about creating lyrics. It is as if that basic level of entertaining is sort of lost and anyone in the popular music scene is meant to have written the songs or even if they are written by others we refer to is as ‘Brittany Spears song’, though she did not write it. Just an interesting observation.

 

While looking at “Your Hit Parade” clips, I found this.

At first glance, with my slowly changing views and esthetics since 1955, I thought, “what a great tune and how sweet”  Then, as my modern mind set slipped in, I thought, “How silly, look how poorly they dance.  Wouldn’t they get made fun of today, those male dancers?” It sort of made me sad. Have we become so jaded that people just having fun and doing not a perfect job but their best is something to be ridiculed? I could be wrong, of course, as there is some show on where celebrities dance or something, but it is a competition and they have to be celebrities. This has a simple entertainment value that feels very, “every man” to me.   When did just having a good try at your best go out of style? It is an odd double standard, where we expect reality tv to be about normal people trying to do outrageous things or horrid people being skanky to get the notice of other wretched people. Yet, the general public is not really given an outlet to just go out and have fun and be silly dancing and listening to music where you can talk. Perhaps, it is just my own experiences, but it always seemed when we went out to places with music you couldn’t hear to talk and there really was no ‘supper club or barn dance’ venue of old. Perhaps, people and youths would not hate small town living if fun and entertainment were somehow shared by all age groups and not every age being separately defined. I think really the concept of ‘teenager fun’ is just beginning in the 1950’s, certainly there were the ‘bobby soxers’ of the 1940’s but it seemed the youth would be entertained with the adults and strive to be more like them. Now, it seems, fun has to be equated with ‘teen fun’ or else you are an old fuddy duddy. And, of course, even younger children are expected to be cool which means not having innocent fun or being with adults, but in fact ‘teen fun’ which now seems to be sex, drugs and rock and roll. I am not an old fuddy duddy but honestly, there could be so many things that young people could genuinely enjoy, but are not really shown. The more I live in 1955 the more I am beginning to resent the late 1960’s and the hippy culture. They seemed to be the pampered children of the 50’s who got the wonderful mothers in nice clothes, homemade food, milk and cookies and then could ‘rebel’ for themselves for fun at that moment leaving the world for their children and grandchildren to fix.

I think since actual 'dancing’ has gone out of style, and long before my time, it has sort of left out an activity for my age group in smaller towns to enjoy.  Couples once could go out dancing and sort of know and expect what to do, now dancing is all about being young and sexy with no specific steps. I cannot be the only person in her 30’s who wished there were clubs that were supper clubs with a live band you could actually dance swing or waltz etc instead of noisy bass thumping meat factories! Maybe I am just getting old, although even in my 20’s I loathed such places! Although, I know there are places in some cities that offer this, it is rare and not just a normal part of any town, the local club with dancing and supper. I need to find out if there are any swing bands around.

I received some ‘new’ 1943-1950 House Beautiful magazines the other day. They are very good reading. I like giving myself some more pre-1955 reading, to really place myself into 1955. Some of these are obviously from the time of WWII and they have great ads and articles. This ad talks about how we will all profit form war time production and that the acceleration in technology due to the war will result in our life being easy and better AFTER the war. These magazines are filled with ‘after the war’ talk and it obviously must have been really the norm of conversation. I was really surprised to see that this ad, which is from a 1943 edition, already showing the dishwasher. It lets me know I most certainly would have one now in 1955 and yet makes me wonder how I hear form our overseas readers that some countries didn’t see dishwashers as the norm until as late as the 1980s! We Americans had so much, after the war. The USA really was poised to grow after WWII. We lost much in people, but our own country was not physically destroyed like Europe and when we came back home we could sort of leave all the ‘bad things’ behind. They could be literally ‘visually forgot’.

It must have been such a strange time to have come from 1930’s Depression where you had very little to the rationing of the 1940’s to suddenly the endless product and ease of the 1950’s. When I see it this way, I can see when we, as Americans, really began to veer away from what I believe we once were. Though today we are taught to believe that America is all about allowing big business to grow unchecked, really that only allows good for a few key people in control of the companies.  And we all pay for it not only with our wallets but with our loss of self in that we are so defined by what we own and buy now, we really have sort of lost our identity. We need to be defined by what games we play or car we drive or what label our clothes or handbags reveal. Where is the American who went out west with disease and will power and built up towns from the dirt? The American’s who left oppression to come and forge a new land out of the wilderness. Did they really do all that so their descendents could sit wasting away in front of TVs overeating, overspending, and becoming rude thoughtless zombies? I know that sounds harsh, but really, I sort of see that happening to us. I want us, we, to have our pride of self preservation. I don’t want a world so lazy and dependent upon manufacturing that we have to buy pre-made PBJ sandwiches or we can’t clean our kitchen with a sponge hot water and our hands, or grow our own food or support our local farmer. Why CAN’T we buy a good pair of shoes and then pay the local cobbler to resole them to make them last? I know, I know, I always seem to come back to this and I honestly don’t know how. It just seems I start to see the things I am learning and hoping to learn and compare them to the 2008 me and think, ‘My God, what a lazy useless slob and corporate shill I was!’

I was thinking how much this time does in a way mirror that time in the mid to late fifties in that suddenly we are really inundated with things. I think being my age now in 1955 and if I were lucky enough to have seen my husband through WWII, after all the sheen of consumerism had worn off I think I would begin to think, “well, my how much less we did with only 10 years ago!” I think being my age then, I would have accepted the influx of things like dishwashers and washers and dryers and then really thought, “wow, how things have changed”. And, maybe I would have sort of took stock, as it were, and decided not to go overboard, just out of the lessons my own life had brought me to up to 1955. Were I 21 in 1955 and starting out a new marriage, I can see how I may start to become the group that will grow and raise the kids that will rebel in the 1960s.

I think, in a way, the movement of the late 60s was trying to get away from that consumerism, but really they threw away a lot of the natural mechanisms that help you cope with a world that is not about consumerism. To them, it had become this plastic world, but to their parents it had been to make the Eden that would never see World Wars again. But, by rebelling against that they also did away with the concepts of family and community in a way that can work for all, not just for young people.  When they thumbed their nose at the house in the suburbs and the family working together and not always expressing how they felt at that moment, they said goodbye to some of the basic good inherent in humans, I think. That ability to pretend to be okay so that your child may be happy at that moment is a good thing, it isn’t always about ME ME ME, but maybe because those 1950s parents DID make it about their kids, they of course didn’t want to ‘grow up’.Why would they?They got to have the smiling stay at home mothers in pretty clothes homemade food, cookies and milk and then when it was their turn to do for their children they said, “No, that’s not how it should be” and off they went. The 1950s are now often seen as the ‘bad time’ that the 60’s some how liberated us from. It isn’t odd, then that their children and grandchildren made the me me 1980s. They had no homemade food and smiling mothers they had the ME ME parents so they wanted structure and wanted that missing element, the home and family. But, now it was distorted and got all mixed up with the ME and the wanting a nice home and then you have the over consumption, get more money greed that has lead us to now. Certainly, I am not saying it would not have all happened if people just accepted their place as adults and grew up, but on some level, it is partly the problem. Where are all the adults? Where has all the responsibility gone?

I have, of late, really started to see that there are many women out there who feel as I do. That really a new ‘revolution’ is upon us. The quiet women’s revolution of ‘returning home’. The 60’s threw out consumerism and everything else, the baby with the bathwater. I say we set aside the new consumerism, pick up our aprons and make a better world with what we have using the skills of our own hands as our ancestors once did. Now, we have the advance of technology, lets be happy for it but let’s use it as a tool and not be USED by it.  Who needs the ease of McDonalds food and the throw away prices and quality of Wal-Mart, when we have our brains and talent? Why settle for what we can buy when we can make and grow and sew what we really desire and have more control over the style, quality and quantity. I don’t think it is good, anymore, to have a product be cheaper if that means there has to be millions of them, some not sold, and then being so cheap, merely tossed away into our landfills. When something is more dear, cost more, we learn to either take care of it or do without.

What is good about this sort of revolution, is it is a quiet one. We can all quietly pick up our aprons and turn our back on the evil ease offered by our present world. “No, thank you,” we can say, with nice manners and pressed dresses “I would rather not buy that five dollar t-shirt at old navy ” and make our own sturdy cotton dress that we can cherish and iron and care for instead of wear once and throw away. “No, thank you” to another plastic handbag sewn by the little hands of a Chinese girl,” this will do fine” as we buy a well made one from the 1950s at our local store, saving it from garbage, and giving money to a local citizen of our community.

Everyone always worries”Well, if we don’t keep buying the economy will fail” well, you know what, we haven’t stopped buying yet and it already failed. It had nothing to do with our buying things so much as mismanagement with the money made from our buying. We built an economy on a wish. Our current economy is all speculation, one has only to look at the real estate market to see that. If we take our money from the big chain store and give it to our neighbor who runs a thrift shop that is helping our local economy, that is good. Global thinking is good, but leave that to our government. They send the delegates to other countries, let us small citizens focus on our own towns and cities. But, I don’t want to get off point. Back to the revolution:
I really see that there are many of us who would like to go ‘back home’ as it were. Let us try. Let us look at our finances and what we buy. Let’s really evaluate the words ‘NEED’ and ‘WANT’. We think we have to be a two income household, but why? Really ask yourselves, why? There isn’t enough money, you might say. Well, what do you spend your money on. I know it sounds simple, but really we just don’t combine thinking with spending. The modern world has made money a magic thing we don’t even have to touch, we just use our credit and debit cards, no cash. But, it is real. There are consequences for what we do.

In my own family, my hubby and I have recently made a decision that brings us almost half of what he used to bring in. He has just found a job locally (only 20 minutes away) that has health care and some possible advancement, but with much less pay right now. However, we really don’t NEED two cars now and I am going to sell one. I can drive him to work to have the car on the days I need marketing and errands done, when I don’t then I can either walk or stay home and get my job and things done here. It seems an alien idea at first, but once you start thinking about it and then adding it all up. The cost of gas for two cars, insurance, repairs, inspections etc. It all adds up. I can now take my skills and really put them to the test, as our budget shall be much tighter and I don’t think the answer is for me to go and get some job to bring in more money and pay more gas and more car fees and buy work clothes. Then, I cannot cook all the time, so I will start getting ‘prepared meals’ etc. It is a slippery slope. SO, let us, we vintage women, try and see if we cannot start our quiet little “Apron Revolution” and see where we end up. We may not change the world, but we might find new power and self worth in ourselves and that WILL change our own little piece of the world.

Now, I will close with some little tidbits from my 1945 House Beautiful magazines.

Here is a great article on houseplants. I remember jitterbug had wondered what would be appropriate plants for the 1940s.

Here is a photo showing an organized ‘cleaning closet’.

Next time I will show some of my latest clothes and talk about sewing. One of my readers sent me a homemade dress form pattern and told me of a funny tale that happened to her in trying to make her own. Now, the sunny garden beckons to me. And, I have dinner to plan.

Happy Homemaking.

5 May 1955 “Damn Yankees, Cinco de Mayo, West Germany, Dining Room and Kitchen”

Today, May 5, 1955, the musical “Damn Yankees” will open in New York City.

This story is a modern retelling of the Faust legend set during the 1950s in Washington, D.C. The New York Yankees are dominating Major League Baseball at this time. The musical is based on Wallop's novel The Year the Yankees Lost the Pennant. I love how the right ‘underpinnings’ really make that 1950’s silhouette as it does her on Gwen Verdon.

  I couldn’t find anything about celebrating cinco de mayo in 1955, so I figured this album of Carmen Miranda was all I could give. Does anyone know if the U.S. celebrated cinso de mayo?

Today, West Germany becomes a Sovereign State. 

Germany surrendered at the beginning of May 1945. The bombing had ceased, but the population still lacked virtually everything needed for basic survival.

The Federal Republic of Germany (West Germany) becomes a sovereign state when the United States, France, and Great Britain end their military occupation, which had begun in 1945. With this action, West Germany was given the right to rearm and become a full-fledged member of the western alliance against the Soviet Union.

Many of the regulations and restrictions clearly indicated that the Americans, the British, the French and the Russians had divided the country up into four zones of occupation and had effectively taken over the control of the state. They then began to dismantle the German industrial plants.
However, the American strategy, known as the Marshall Plan, gave a breath of fresh air to Germany’s decrepit economy. Its financial and practical aid proved to be invaluable and paved the way for the German economic miracle in the 1960s.
It quickly transpired that people living in the Soviet zone of occupation had drawn the short straw in political and economic terms, but even more importantly, concerning their rights to democratic freedom. The Nazi dictatorship was replaced by a Soviet one and then Communist dictatorship in the region which became known as the GDR.

The country is to face stark reforms in terms of its constitutional law, now that western Germany is officially given back its sovereignty ( May 5, 1955).
Chancellor Konrad Adenauer proudly announced: "Today, almost ten years after the military and political collapse of National Socialism, the era of occupation has come to an end for the Federal Republic of Germany."

I thought I would start with more dining room pictures. This project, which I allotted the month of April, has really taken up much of my time. However, as I have said before, thank goodness for 1955 organization and scheduling, as although the house was a bit of a shambles, there were still clean clothes, warm meals and ‘dressing for dinner’.

Here is a shot of it as it now stands. There are still little things that need to be done, but I am calling it done enough to use. We did, indeed, have our first dinner here Friday night which was May 1st. It was bitter sweet, after having put down our sweet Gilbert the day before, but Gussie and I were able to get violets and pansies to plant on his little grave, so it felt a sort of May Day.

I had intended to change out the fabric on the seats of the chairs, but they had been recovered only two years earlier for my parents. The colors are those in the rug (also once my parents) and really I felt they did bring in that touch of ‘red’ that I will have in every room. Again, the shades of blue, brown, yellow and red throughout the house in various forms.To tie that in, here, on the mantle shelf, I have my ‘good china’ which is shades of blue and touched with real gold, so I played on that a bit with the gilt statue center and placed it on two old books which share the red/burgundy shade of the seat fabric and the rug. I think it adds enough dark color to balance the lightness of the room. Of course, as I paint the mural along the upper wall I will use touches of that red throughout to tie it in. For instance, there will be a section of a hunt (fox hunting) and of course the gentleman will be in their ‘pink’ coats).

I think my corner cabinet looks rather nice all trimmed and painted into place. Quite a change from this. Here it is with it’s doors open displaying the bulk of my ‘good china’.And I used a shade in the trim of these dishes for the inside of this and the overmantle cabinet as I felt it was a better backdrop for them than the sky blue color of the walls.

Now, you may have notices the beam in the ceiling with the chandelier. Here is that story: We have a house that we now rent out that was built in 1718 and is very ‘old New World’ as it was built before we were even the United States. It is a post and beam and the old beams and wide plank floors are the ceiling of the first floor. We have always loved that house and it feels very cosy and solid to live under a series of beams. I wanted this house, which is not a post and beam, to have that same feeling.

I built this beam with two 2 x 4’a and one wide rough cut piece of lumber. I had originally intended to have other beams radiating off from it, but decided it looked good with the single beam. I will create this look more fully in my living room/library when that goes under my knife late summer. Oh, and the chandalier was very like an old wrought one I had coveted in a book, though they are rather expensive to have made or to buy, I found mine at a local tag sale for $2.00 dollars, it was ugly brass but with a few good coats of heavy flat spray paint for outdoor grills, it looks the part and fits the bill. I wired it myself, thanks to directions from the gentleman who works at our local lumber yard/hardware store. I am sure he had a story to tell that evening about the funny lady in the full skirt, ‘grandma’s hat and gloves’ sitting on the floor of the electrical aisle learning to wire a fixture. But, I digress:

So, as I wanted it to be less rough and more finished as it might be in a ‘nicer room’ of a house of this period, Here is an example out of my 1954 book “Treasury of Early American Homes”I decided to trim it out.

Here is a close up of the wood before it was primed and painted. I rather like the finished affect. I am also glad I chose to paint the ceiling the same color as the walls. It will help pull in the ‘sky’ of the mural as it happens. I will post pics as I draw out and paint this mural. I feel, if it were to take the remainder of the year, it might be a nice homage to this project.

Now, back to my book from 1954 of Early American Homes. Obviously, these homes are not decorated in Atomic Age Modern, so I wanted to show that not everyone in 1955 would be decorating ‘modern’. In fact, a wife of my age in New England would most likely hold fast to her antiques, slipping in the occasional modern piece here and there. When I do the kitchen, it will have the more rustic beam as seen here.but will also address the darling colors, fabrics, wallpapers, and appliances of the day. So, my new kitchen’s style lies somewhere between this and this mixed with post and beam antiquity.

I am in my kitchen everyday and it is the center of my industry. I most likely will do this room last, as I can have time to really plan and think and live with color samples and ideas etc.

When thumbing through my copy of Dorothy Draper’s “Decorating is Fun” the other day, I was happy to see that we both share the idea that a comfortable chair is important in the kitchen:

“My own inclination is always toward a comfortable, country sort of kitchen. If you have room for it, by all means have an upholstered chair or rocker by the window…Keep a magazine rack for books and periodicals or a small radio in the kitchen, too. Your kitchen can be the most convenient workshop in the world and still be the sort of place that suggests a jolly fudge-making party or an old-fashioned taffy pull”

Though my kitchen has not received its makeover I do use it the best way I can until that happens. This is the corner of my kitchen where I often wait for that cake or watch that ‘boiling pot’. I have my clock, my ‘old radio’ my magazines, a window and a place to set my cup of tea. I also have a comfortable chair in the dining room corner for lounging with extra guests. This chair will eventually be recovered in a tapestry fabric to tie it into the rug and dining room chairs. Though it looks rather stiff, it is quite comfortable. My dogs like to sit at it so they can view what is ‘going on’ during diner. They are a bit spoiled, I am afraid.

 

Gussie and I went antiquing the other day and, of course, were dress vintage. I cannot tell you how many people complimented us! One woman, one of the owners, on three separate occasions came up to us and thanked us for our appearance and even said, “I really love your style, I mean, I really do.” Then she looked at us a little longer and continued, “I honestly do”. How much joy a pair of gloves a hat and pretty dress can not only give to yourself, but others. It does make a gal feel good.

I really need to start documenting my outfits. It is so normal for me now, that I don’t think about it, but I am promised by hubby that he shall show me how to use the timer for my camera. If I cannot take the shots myself, most of my outfits will go unrecorded.

Well, the weather this past week has been so odd. We have had nothing but rain and gray skies. Certainly it is good to aid me to continue to work on indoor projects and I have not had to water my garden since Thursday!, but it does hamper one’s mood. It was odd that our last sunny day was the last day of our sweet little Gilbert and since then, rain. Though one does not get over it, I am certainly feeling a ‘healing’ going on this week. Perhaps it is also the rain.

As I said, much went upon the shoulders of our little Gilbert, and he had become to represent the sadness and sudden removal of my family. Though I had thought I had really already ‘dealt’ with the feelings of the loss of my mother as she once was and my family in general, really I had merely done what is expected of me, and simply pushed it down deep inside and put on a smile. I have come to realize that on some level wallowing and constant rehashing of sadness, as we are often taught to do in modern psychology, can actually be detrimental to ‘getting on with one’s life’, I have felt that having to face it all in tears at the death of my little dog really did help. Now, however, I am honestly feeling rather healed. There is an almost elation in the act of facing a sadness then getting on with it. Another form of ACTION, really. Gussie and I had to face Gilberts death and even to bury him, but by the act of going out and buying flowers, planting them and saying good bye really to that part of our lives, it has helped me to move forward. Time travel really does teach a gal a lot, I suppose.

Today, with the rain coming down, I am going to mess about in my little sitting room. I have the whole room torn apart and am trying to reorganize to better help me in my study and research for the remainder of this year. It is a form of ACTION that is really cementing to me the importance of seeing out this year and to look with hope and excitement at what other lessons and knowledge lies ahead.

In the kitchen, I am now faced with study of my new diet book and anything else on nutrition for my family, as it seems, while I seem to be losing weight, my hubby, who has never had a weight problem, has had to have me buy him pants one size up! So, I fear cakes and pastries may take a back seat for a little while to be replaced with fruit salads. I think, perhaps, I may toy with the various fruit and gelatin ‘salads’ always being shown in my magazines, who knows they may be rather good. I have found out that Jell-O has very few calories. I also know that I can use my Knox unflavored gelatin to make my own fruit salads, infusing it with fresh squeezed juices and the like to make a more delightful dessert rather than just buying pre-flavored Jell-O's and throwing in some canned fruit. I shall approach this endeavor with the zeal of my cake making and see what comes out. Don’t worry, I will share the recipes, pictures and of course, opinions on it all.

Until tomorrow, then, Happy Homemaking and on to ACTION!

4 May 1955 "Short one today, back tomorrow"

Here is some food for thought:
The idea of throw away dishes, easy cheap food, not leaving your car. Good concepts at first, but look where we have come. Good or Bad? You tell me, let's hear your opinions.
I feel bad as I am very busy today and promise to be back tomorrow with a nice normal full post. But, I had to touch base with everyone. So, discuss amongst yourselves. Food and ease, good, bad, indifferent?
Until tomorrow, then.

1 May 1955 “Thank you, Photos, and May Day”

First off, I am thankful to all of you who took the time to leave comments. It was definitely a hard time, these past few days, with the passing of my little dog.

As it happened, as it often does with pets, our little Gilbert carried a heavy weight on his shoulders. We very often, with our loved pets, place upon them the cares and woes we sometimes just can’t face. They are the unquestioning friend who let’s you cry on their shoulder, never asks why and never judges you. So much weight on the shoulders of that little dog. The leaving of my parents. My mother’s horrid disease. The final days of my youth. All of that and more tied into 12 pounds of furry smiles and tail wags.

I am, truly, glad to be in the midst of this project when it happened. And in many ways the projects lessons of maturity and ACTION have helped me to come to terms with these things. The passing of my little dog allowed me to final open up and cry. I saw the importance of a grave. A marker to what once was. A place I could toss the dirt, shed my tear and say goodbye to my youth, my mother, my little friend and a life that had gone.

Yet, here I am with flowers for the grave. Apple trees to grow and make food for my family. Work to be done. Projects to undertake. Letters to write. Posts to do. A life has formed up around me when I really felt I was hiding from an old one. I am thankful and relish the maturity and ACTION of my new days. Again, thank you. I shall not dwell. As, the world awaits and there is so much to do. So many things to create and enjoy and bake! Onward, we march, we homemakers. We are a tough lot.

I thought something light and visual would be good to follow yesterday’s blog. I just had to post this photo as it is so sweet and funny. How lucky these young men are, considering had they been born 10 years earlier they may have already contracted the dreadful disease.

Credit: Image donated by Corbis-Bettmann
Leo Casey watches aghast as Charles Buzine, 6, receives a shot of polio vaccine. Leo's up next. Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, April 29, 1955.

 

I found this image on a blog who posts found photos. Isn’t it fun?

For some reason I feel he should be called Charles or Filbert or something along those lines. I love that on ‘school photo day’ he is expected to wear a suit and tie and how about that darling hankie? You know his mother ironed that one!

Here is the TV Guide for this week: Aren’t her matching gloves and scarf adorable. I really think the fashions of those time took guts! It takes some pride of place and real confidence to wear polka dot gloves and scarf. It takes the same confidence and charm to wear a pink flowered hat to the grocery store. I never want to look back and think, “Oh, at least I blended in and nobody noticed me.” Especially when I see the smiles I sometimes get from older people. It is funny how an outfit, remembered, can bring a smile to someone’s face. They were proud of their clothes and have fond memories. I have to say if I saw someone sporting an 1980s outfit of acid washed jeans, baggy shirt with shoulder pads, neon jelly bracelets, jelly shoes and ratted burnt blonde hair, I would not think, “oh, how lovely to see someone wearing the 'old style,” Maybe it is just me, though, maybe there are a lot of you out there who do remember the 1980s and 90s fashion fondly, myself I think I cannot.

I found some nice photos on a genealogical site for Arkansas, so I hope they don’t mind that I am displaying them, but I found it rather interesting to see average people in the mid 1950’s and what they would have worn.

This is the Wheatley family. I was surprised that the young boy is wearing dungarees while in town and even the youngest daughter is sporting sneakers. These ladies have nice casual skirt top combinations. Although I adore the dress on the woman on the right. It looks almost dressy and yet what comfortable open toed shoes. I thought this family almost looked modern (except for the mother’s shoes, which I love and have a pair similar in red and white) This one is from 1955 and I really like the younger mother’s (on the right) dress. I think I will try to make something similar. I have not touched my machine since March, but come May that will change. Sewing day will be inserted into my routine, perhaps it will share ironing day. Most of the men seem rather casual, but all the ladies are sporting dresses and skirts and they all look fresh. I think dresses in the summer are so much more comfortable than anything else and they do look so nice. The young mother’s shoes are quite nice. A strap always helps give a nice turn to an ankle, don’t you think?

This young mother looks quite comfortable. Her shoes are sensible and if I had to venture a guess, I don’t believe she is wearing a girdle, or perhaps it is a more ‘relaxed’ girdle. The little girls dresses are darling. I am sure not many will agree with me, but I hate to see little girls nowadays wearing mini versions of jeans and sweats or those horrible velour ‘track suits’. If I had a little girl (which luckily for her I do not) she would be in all kinds of darling dresses. If mummy can clean and garden in a dress, she certainly could play in one. And I LOVE the playsuits of this time period for children. Practical and yet adorable and look at the little matching beach jacket. So much nicer than seeing saggy wet disposable diapers (nappies) at the beach!

This one feels so ‘me’ while doing my shopping (though sometimes I wear heels) I love that hair length and style! So breezy and cool.

Well, Happy May Day. I am not sure how any of you or if any of you celebrate this holiday anymore, but in the 1950s there were parades and queens and maypoles etc. Here are some pics

This would have been how my fictional grandmother would have celebrated it, most likely

I vaguely recall a story my mother once told me that when she was a little girl, they would gather posy’s of forget-me-nots and pansies and violets and hang them secretly on the doors of the older people in her town. It sounded lovely. I don’t know if anyone celebrates it anymore, does your town?

30 April 1955 “Goodbye Old Friend”

These past two days have been hard. Our dog has had to be put down. He is old, 17 years to be exact, and we came about him in an odd way. It actually is rather fitting that I should be with him, now, at the end of his life. We have only taken him in for the past three months, but he came into my family by my own hand.

The story of Gilbert. Where to begin.

I was young and just back from Europe and not yet done with school. Being young and impetuous, I thought I needed a dog. I had moved out of dorms, so had my own place. An impetuous afternoon lead to a young college student with a full schedule and a strapping young Jack Russell.

He was everything a young dog should be. Rambunctious. Playful, of course always wetting the floor when he shouldn’t. I often carried him around in a shoulder bag. He’d poke his little head out, sniff the air and breathe in life. He was white with red spots. One spot covered his eye and ear, making me recall old Little Rascals episodes on Saturday mornings as a child. I even have a newspaper clipping of me and my little guy when I visited a local antique show. The person asked if they could get a shot of us for the local paper. I didn’t know until it came out, why they wanted it. “Antique enthusiast follows ‘no dogs allowed’ rule at this year’s antiques fair” we laughed about it, hung it on the fridge and went on into the summer.

That fall, returning to university, Gilbert stayed behind. I hadn’t time for him, really. He had become accustomed to my parents and our family dog. He enjoyed the yard to romp in and the constant attention my mother could lavish on him. I kissed his head, waved good bye and somehow the rigors of life speed by.

I graduated. Moved to Boston then the Cape and life just sort of lumbered along. I would hear of the dogs occasionally, but new dogs, a husband and a life had replaced the part in my heart he once filled.

Flash forward to two years ago. My parents, being quite old ( I was born when my mother was in her 40’s) plan to move out to the Cape. I am excited, but it is short lived. I had heard less and less form my mother over the years and really thought little of it. We were always close but we had such full lives, separately, that many times a few years would go by with only occasional calls. Now, I knew why. My mother had Alzheimers and my Father had kept it from me. I was floored to say the least. That, however, is another story.

They moved out here, with Gilbert, the family dog having passed just before. 15 years had gone by, but Gilbert was holding on. We have a house we own that we used to rent out and so my parents moved in. It is a wonderful old Cape built in 1718. Finally, I thought, it will be filled with family and laughter and of course, the patter of dogs feet.

Gilbert. Here he was. So old he was unrecognizable. His playful red spots had faded to all white. His rambuncious prance, replaced by careful steps. His bottom row of teeth, what was left of them, now protruded and he looked oddly comical when he would peer up at you, teeth jutting out, ears alert. He played, as best he could, with my younger dogs when we would visit and have our family get togethers. Finally we were all close to one another.

Alzheimer's is a horrid disease. I have since often thought it is the closest thing to living with a real ghost. You see the image of your loved one walking about, only you cannot communicate with them and they often look right through you; perhaps she smiles at you, or holds your hand, only she cannot tell you what she wants. Words elude her. She wants to communicate with you, like a ghost, but having left earthly things behind, she cannot be made to understand who she is or who you are. You smile best you can and hold her hand. It is a sad place for all.

Being the youngest and born to such old parents has often left me to face things many people do not encounter until they have older children of their own. I have no children but I do have old parents. It is as if I have lived with those sights and knowledge of old age since I was a child. They have been my companion in my youth and were gone for a bit, but with my parents return to me and Gilbert they returned. Perhaps my love of vintage things was due to my being brought up on it. I often lived in the photographs of my parents when they were young, with my other siblings. It was a life that had been real, they spoke of it, I could see the participants, but I was never there. Maybe, in some way, my trip back to 1955 now is, in some part, my trying to go there. A chance to visit that shinning Camelot I viewed as a child, alone on the sofa in books of black and white photographs. Alice trying to get through the looking glass.

Now, a few months ago, for reasons too long to explain my mother, now in a nursing home, and my father have had to move back home, many states away from me. My father, burdened with so much, could not take Gilbert. He was too old, wouldn’t survive the trip. “Perhaps he should be put down”, he said. “No, I will take him. After all, really, he is my dog”.

Though Gilbert was technically my dog, he had become my father’s dog years back. My mother would often be followed by our family dog, but Gilbert was dad’s reluctantly. My father would often play the ‘I don’t care about that old dog’ trick, but we’d see the food slipped quietly under the table for him, or the fresh chicken he would cook for him daily. When Gilbert was still young and my father more mobile, you would often see the pair of them tottering about the yard and if my father went somewhere in the car, Gilbert was the first in the front seat, his place of honor.

Now, those days are gone. My parents, too, are gone. My mother installed in her new nursing home being visited by my siblings. My father, installed with family, free of the ‘burden’ of Gilbert.

Since we have had Gilbert he has loved us, best he could. He, for some reason, took a shine to Gussie. He would follow her around and wait for her to appear from her bedroom. Though I was with Gilbert all day, and he would kiss me and eat the food I gave him, he would sometimes give me a look: as if, some where some how, he recalled me. Days in bags and eating muffins hidden in class rooms. Maybe, just maybe, he never really forgave me for walking away from him years earlier. Now, with circumstances beyond either of our control, we found ourselves back together. Fate, perhaps? Whatever it was, here we were. Dog and Girl, having shared various years and holidays, back together.

Now, Gilbert is an old dog, but we have dubbed him the ‘energizer bunny’ as he just never quits. But, unfortunately that is not the case now.

This past Sunday Gilbert seemed stiffer than usual. His hind leg wouldn’t cooperate. He shuffled along, but still made it out the door and into the yard, to stare disdainfully at the antics of my younger dogs or to wag his tail at the site of Gussie. By Monday he could barely move, so off to the vet we go.

“Lyme disease,” says the vet. “We don’t have to put him down?” we respond? “No, give him these twice a day” responds the vet and off we go.

Here we are today and Gilbert is on his last legs. He cannot move to go to the bathroom. We found him this morning, slumped under the kitchen table near the door, knowing he should not go in his bed, but his body not following his command. We called the vet and today he must go.

I have been racked with emotion today. Is it best and right to let him be put down. Certainly, it must be, as he cannot stand. He is not crying out in pain, but certainly there is no hope of healing. I spent the morning holding him in his favorite blanket, an old one of Gussies, and every so often he would look up at me. I know, through his poor eyesight, he hoped I was my mother or father. I too, in a way, wished he were my mother, one last hug and all. So, I figured, here we are, we odd pair both hoping we were someone else, but only having each other. I hugged him a little tighter and he fell asleep for awhile.

It is sunny and warm. The birds are singing. The rooster just let out that he is around. I figure, Gilbert is entitled to enjoy some of his last day outside in the warm air. I found a soft patch of grass, laid him down with Gussie’s blanket and sat with him for awhile, stroking his head. Once he drifted off to sleep, for I could see the blanket rising and falling, telling of his breath, that he only slept, I grabbed the shovel and headed for my new little orchard.

Perhaps it was destiny that I took a break from the finishing touches on my dining room yesterday to plant up my little orchard. I was so proud all the little apple, plum and pear trees, erect and freshly mulched. Hubby and I had cleared the area the previous Sunday on that unseasonably hot day. I daydreamed the future little path and the fence I’ll put in. Over there, I thought, will go the stone wall and maybe some day a little fountain and some chairs to enjoy it all. Now, here I was, digging a hole under one of my favorite apple trees, knowing it was not destined for another tree. This, I thought, will be will Gilbert will lie.

It seemed odd, almost macabre to be digging his grave as he lay quietly snoozing in the fresh grass. It made me reflect on my own life and my own mortality, which death always does. We always feel the pain of a loss the fact that for us, we shall never see them again in our lifetime. But, there is a selfishness to grief, I think. Perhaps we don’t want to know it, but it is there. You see, how can we not see ourselves a little in death. It is there for all of us, certainly. We grieve for those who are going and reflect on their life. But, what about our life? Are we living it?

Perhaps, this project could not have come at a better time for me. It has taught me to grow up in many ways, and to have responsibility. It has also taught me the joy and importance of living happily in the moment. I used to think I lived in the moment, but really I just wasted my time. Diversion, entertainment, what ever I thought was making me ‘happy’ because we don’t ‘live forever’. But, now my living in the moment has a sort of timelessness about it. I can feel a joy in planting up trees that I hope to see grow and age and provide food for our table. The happiness at the moment I place the roots in the ground, the watering of them in the morning and dreaming of the tomorrows they will bring, all the while knowing how happy I am and can be at that moment. Maybe, just maybe, these past few years of illness and facing death will help me to make a life I will be sad to let go, but will enjoy along the way. Even the silly things I talk about like wasting time on tv and not really trying to take ACTION, they, today, seem to have even more importance to me. They seem a road I am glad to struck out upon.

Today I am sad. I have held my dog, the puppy I once ran with and left behind. He has come back and here we are the pair of us, alone in our grief. But, we have had times, oh we have had times!

Now, as I dig the hole, I think of his little body in there, covered in the earth. The roots will grow over his remains some day. He will enrich the soil. The tree will grow and bear fruit and will become pies and jelly and fill our bellies. He will be gone and will one day be forgot, but now, here in my new little orchard, he will be remembered. I too, one day, will be gone and forgot. But, for awhile, perhaps, I will be someone's happy memory. Maybe there will be someone to walk in my orchard, now overgrown or perhaps well cared for with large gnarled old trees and they will stand where my puppy was once buried and not know he was there. But he was. And I was.

I only hope, for any of you who read this, that you can walk away today and think “I am alive!”. Maybe you will suddenly feel the need to take that trip you have been putting off or maybe you will walk into your home and sit with your cup of tea and think, “I am happy right now. There is the picture I have hung, the clothes I have folded. There is the pie I have baked. Who will care in 100 years, but right now, I care and am happy and alive.”

All of this because today a little dog has died. I suppose it doesn’t really matter if I am in 1955 of 2009, I am glad I have struck off on the road I am now on. There are rewards amongst the loss, and really that is what life really is: Finding the happiness and love amongst the sadness and misfortune. I am glad that this year of taking away things, such as some modern conveniences and ideals, has lead to a new kind of happiness, self-worth, and knowledge. And, how much that is like life. We have to give up things and people we love, but sometimes, from it, comes a new happiness and a new way of living. I am going to live the best way I can, and realize sometimes that best is simply sitting in my orchard with my family and friends resting my foot upon the grave of dear old Gilbert.

R.I.P. Gilbert (1992-1955)