quiltersmuse.com Blog

When I was a girl … I wore pretty dresses, white ankle socks with lace, and black, patent leather shoes.

When I was a girl … I had to listen to the songs, “It’s My Party and I’ll Cry If I Want To,” “Don’t Leave Your Chewing Gum on the Bedpost Overnight,” and Elvis’, “Blue Suede Shoes.”

When I was a girl … I played with dolls, built an igloo with my big brother, and I collected toads (yes, real ones).

When I was a girl … a Hershey chocolate bar cost a nickel, the idea of “a really good show” was the Ed Sullivan Show, and I used to skip school to watch, “I Love Lucy.”

When I was a girl … the boy sitting next to me in school drew unspeakable images of Superman flying through the air. Oops! The nun did not appreciate being reminded that there were such anatomically-correct parts as were noticeable in those drawings, and the poor lad’s creativity was stifled by the use of a ruler over the knuckles. Then, he’d do it again. Being noticed is far better than being ignored.

When I was a girl … my mother would braid my hair, so I could be just as pretty as Elizabeth, the doctor’s daughter. Mother would also give me smelly hair permanents, and cut my hair with a razor. It was something akin to torture. She always wanted to be a hairdresser and I was practice material.

When I was a girl … “gay” meant happy and I was “happy” to read the book, When Our Hearts Were Young and Gay. If I remember correctly, I received an “A” on my book report.

When I was a girl … I once ate TWO hamburgers, much to the amazement of my parents, as I weighed all of 110 pounds, at the time. Between hot fudge sundaes and more hamburgers, I cannot claim that is anywhere near the present situation.

When I was a girl … people were more friendly. I’ve been trying to figure that out. I’ve come to the conclusion that the media keeps reminding us all of how evil everyone else is, and that “sexual predators” and child molesters might be living right in the neighborhood. It’s true, but that has always has been true. Crime is not a new invention. We’d all be happier to not be reminded. (Sorry, I just did!)

When I was a girl … I had every confidence that my dreams would come true. Except for the neighborhood boy throwing stones at me to knock me off my bicycle because my family was not of the same religious affiliation as his, I had a pretty peaceful existence. I’d lay in the clover and look up at the sky and imagine that all the shapes of clouds were various animals.

I’d borrow blankets from my mother and have her throw them over a metal clothesline in the backyard so I could play “house” inside, with my girl friend. When I was alone, I’d go to the stream down back, flanked by Skunk Cabbage, and watch the ripples in the water, and the little insects, and try to catch minnows with my hands.

Then, making my way up the hill, through the bushes, I’d run into the house and borrow a tin pie plate that the bakery truck had delivered, once full, with blueberry pie. I’d go back outside to collect choke cherries (poisonous before they are cooked, by the way), and I’d mix them with mud and call the concoction, “Mulligatawney Stew.”

In looking back at my childhood, I can see that it set the stage for my later life. I still love music, I still enjoy comedy, I still like my own company, and while I sometimes seek the company of others, I mostly like to think and that requires being alone and being quiet.

The 50s were great, odd, and crazy, and as goofy as the times in which we now live. Truth be known, what I really miss is the chocolate candy bar delight … for just a plug nickel.

Patricia Cummings

Part of the human experience is wondering why we are here. Some people like to fancy the notion that they are a reincarnated spirit who perhaps will reappear, in another age, as a cat or some other kind of living species. If that were true, I’d come back as a giraffe, as I am used to being tall.

Beautiful Covered Bridge in NH speaks of “simpler times.”
photo by James Cummings

What Will You Be When You Grow Up?

Our values are instilled in us from an early age. What did I ask my grandson when he was six months old? I said, “What will you be when you grow up? a doctor, a lawyer, a bridge-builder? His eyes got wide and he giggled at the last option. Notice that grandma did not say – When you grow up will you be a ditch digger, a sewerage plant operator, or a hamburger flipper at a fast food restaurant. Inherently, there is nothing wrong with those jobs. Like anything, it takes hard work to do them well. It’s just that many of us, especially if we are educated ourselves, expect that our children will be professionals.

Professionalism

Now, why would anyone want to be a “professional” anything? Well, first of all, let’s consider the word “profession.” A profession is a chosen career path, and it is sometimes a life style. A professional is paid for his or her work (versus the definition of hobbyist). Some professionals are paid a lot for their work. To achieve that goal, a considerable amount of dedication to master a skill or a subject area is necessary, but the person also must be intent on making money and getting “ahead.”

Roles Better Defined Previously

In times past, people knew their place in society. Housewives stayed at home. The farmer was the farmer. The shopkeeper was the shopkeeper. The minister was the minister. The town’s poor lived at “the poor farm.” Often, people didn’t move from the town in which they were born. Their main point of socialization was local church activities, or an impromptu gathering at the country store. Everyone in town knew them, and they knew everyone.

These days, that is all changing. Now, Big Money moves in from out of state and builds mini-mansions, in the woods. The people who live in the fancy houses never enjoy them. In fact, they are hardly ever home. Instead, they are working, often south of New Hampshire, in Massachusetts, hustling for the buck to try to buy a few moments of tranquility.

Small Town Friendliness Still A Part of the Landscape

Today, we drove through a small town and I was taken back in time for a moment. I recalled when my family first moved to a small NH town, when I was eleven years old. The custom there was to stop whatever you were doing and wave to whomever was passing by in a car. Sometimes, it was a total stranger, but nonetheless, the person would wave back. Genuine country friendliness. Well, this afternoon, the two people we saw, as we drove along waved. One person was an old man; the other a teenager, giving me faith that this tradition continues in the smaller towns of New Hampshire.

Why Are We Here?

We are here to be pleasant. We are here to be helpful. We are here to forgive others. We are here to be human: to love, to hate, to laugh, to cry, to mourn, to resent, to regret, to be happy, to be kind, to give before we ask to “get.” We are here to live our lives as best we can, in the only manner we know how. We are here to set an example. We are here to share. We are here to be ALL that we are called to be. Why are we here? For the reasons just listed, and more.

Be well. Be happy. Be strong.

Goodness shall prevail.

Patricia Cummings