A Blast From the Past

 some of my children's patterns

It doesn’t happen often, believe me, but I was recently in the mood to clean out old stuff that had been boxed up since our 2009 remodel. One part of the task involved a cardboard box full of ancient sewing patterns. There was a time when it was helpfully economical to sew clothing, and most of my sewing was done for my small children for the simple reason that I could make cute outfits out of marked-down remnants and inexpensive lace, elastic, buttons, and trim bought in bulk from a local outlet and a mail order company called Home-Sew. A little girl dress or boy shorts could be sewn for as little as 25 cents. Even if I broke the bank by creating a 50 cent outfit, it was still a great deal in the 70s and 80s.

Notice in the photo that besides girl's dresses are patterns for very cool boy's short shorts, foxy jeans, and stylish rib-necked t-shirts.

Not shown in these photos are patterns for prom dresses, wedding dresses, a Civil War ball gown I made for Teresa, pioneer dresses, and an American Girl doll pattern.

 Craig was the beneficiary of some of my sewing projects--shirts, robes, pjs, jackets, ties. Clothing is relatively cheap now and fabric more expensive, so I won't be using these patterns ever again!

  I sewed various curtains, draperies and window shades, some of which did not require a pattern.

I'm handing off the old patterns  to my friend ML, who sews costumes in her spare time. Except for one: the first pattern I ever used, which was bought for my 7th grade Home Ec class in 1966. All of us girls sewed an A-line skirt using this pattern. It brings back happy memories of learning to satisfy my creative self.

The Only Antique I Own

 Gram and my 2 goofy sisters at her apartment

My Grandma Ashe lived simply.  She took meticulous care of her apartment and her few household items.  She did not know the word clutter.  She never owned anything valuable except her tiny engagement ring.  She used and re-used simple items such as bits of string, or rubber bands from the daily newspaper.  She never returned items to the store—she once said, “First of all, if I didn’t want it I wouldn’t buy it.  And if I bought it and didn’t like it, I’d live with it.”  To my knowledge she never drove a car in her life.  In her late 70s she was hired to collect the rents for her apartment building, a task that fit perfectly with her innate accounting skills.

I am the proud owner of Gram’s 1931 Ball Blue Book (for canning).  It's not in bad condition for an 80-year old glorified pamphlet.  Considering that this book would have been spread out on her counter in reach of splashing water and sticky sugar syrup, it’s a miracle it survived, but Gram took careful care of everything, even a cheap paper canning guide.

 

 It’s both fun and frightening to look through the recipes in the book.  If you know anything about canning, you would know there are serious risks in canning vegetables—namely, deadly botulism—because of their low acid content.  They must be processed in a pressure canner (as opposed to a water bath which is adequate for fruits) at very specific pounds of pressure and lengths of time.  Yet even though they had pressure canners, on page 21 I find that in 1931 corn could be processed in a water bath for 3 hours!  Or beets for 2 hours.  There must be statistics on how many people died of home-grown botulism in the 30s.

On the fun side, did you know you could can frog legs?  Mmm-mmm!  The directions are right here on page 28.  Or fish roe, clams, and oysters?  How about rabbit?  Or pigeons?  Both  of those are processed same as chicken.  Brains, heart, and kidneys all take 3 hours in a water bath or 90 minutes in a pressure cooker.  And for the thriftiest among us, there are recipes for canning turkey bone soup, carrot ketchup, and "emergency pickles" (no cucumbers involved). 

 For us home canning is a practice we can adopt if we like, but for my grandparents, it was a necessity.  And Gram's canning book will always remind me of her thrift and "live simple" philosophy.

Love Those Pennsylvania Names

My First Grade Class, Northridge, CA, 1961

1950s and 60s Southern California's San Fernando Valley was pretty much a white bread culture.  Our neighborhoods and schools, unlike my children's now, were not filled with bright Vietnamese--Koreans-- Indians or with Somali refugees escaping unspeakable horrors.  There was a thimble-full of immigrant families in our area: 1 Finnish, 2 from India, and a girl from Japan in my 4th grade class. 

There were a few of us though, with complicated names inherited from immigrant grandparents.  No one had ever heard the surname Bubnash.  No one could pronounce it right on the first try.  Or the second.   Or the third.   Same for my friends surnamed Letizia, Muchowski, Shusett, Milkovich.  I envied all the Wilsons and Rowes and Meyers and Rogers and Sims with plainer English names.

Pennsylvania is an entirely different story.  The draw of industry and coal mining around the turn of the 20th century attracted hundreds of thousands of Eastern and Southern European families with tongue-twister names. 

George, John, Andrew, Michael Bubnas
Pennsylvania 1900

Because my Dad is from deeply ethnic PA I know a lot of people there, so I scan the newspaper and obituaries online to keep up with events.  And the most amazing surnames pop out, and I love every one of them.  No plain vanilla names allowed here.   These are Starbuck's Cinnamon Dolce Crème Frappuccino names, with creamy milk, sweet cinnamon flavored syrup with the homey flavors of butter and brown sugar  topped with sweetened whipped cream and cinnamon sprinkles!

Here's a list of amazingly rich women's names I've collected.  Try saying them out loud!

Mary M. "Marge" Sintich Plovock Bozek
Anna Smertka Sedory
Eva Stanchak Stuckslager
Josephine Suchta Bialousz
Sophia Mscarko Sesco Shwallon
Mary Swancigar Bokat Repko Cihon
Frances Marianne Sozonovich Zuchowski
Hermina A. "Minnie" Pokorny Yasenosky
Helen M. Veshinfsky Fasulkey
Bruna C. Baroni Boldyzar and her mom: Carolina Bugaloni Baroni
Mary Ann Vrabel Latsnic Christoff
Palma Paris Pro
Alta Mae 'Curly' Moats Pidpyryhora
Josephine J. Fiffick Smorada
Bronsilia Bertha Tomalski Vinesky
Anna Shernisky Skrypak
Mildred Honeygosky Presley
Anna Krivenra Yurkncincoz
Irene E. Skovran Guziak Kowalczyk
Helen Szvitih Zundel
Janet Ivadell Junk Sedlock
Elizabeth Gallik Palgutta
Anna Hantosh Bootz Horwat
Mildred Inez LeCorchick Tworzydlo
Elva Noskey Noschese Pacione Grubbs
Kzenia Stefansky Wanzilak

A Community of Sisters, or, Me and the FBI Rap Sheet

If you are one of those unlucky people with a common name you’ll relate to this post.  A person named Suzanne Walker is not as inconvenienced as my friends John Smith, Cathy Jones, Ryan White, and Bill Young, yet my name is ordinary enough to create occasional hassles. 

Suzanne Walker of Boston, whose email address includes a dot where mine does not, has been forced to accidentally read some very boring emails meant for me.  We’ll never meet.  I may never know the SW who once went to the same eye doc as me, or the one whose hospital records at St. Vincent’s were mixed up with mine, or the one who my cousin accidentally phoned, instead of me.  Might they all be the same Suzanne Walker??

From the “holds” section of Cedar Mill Library I nearly took home Faceless Killers by Henning Mankell, until I noticed that book was waiting for Suzanne Lynn Walker, not Suzanne Bubnash Walker.  Yikes I thought, who is this woman and why is she reading such distasteful books?  At home I looked up the review to better help me judge my “double,” and it turns out this is a Kurt Wallender mystery.  I’ve liked the Kurt Wallender episodes shown on PBS and am thinking now that Suzanne Lynn doesn’t have such evil taste in books after all.

The most serious issue I’ve experienced with my common name was finding myself on the FBI Rap Sheet for the State of Oregon back in 2000!  No, I was not out embezzling funds or selling crack on a Portland street corner.  But someone named Suzanne Walker was doing that, or something equally heinous.  I applied for a job with the 2000 Census, passed the test at 100%, then sat back and waited for the magic phone call.  After a few weeks of nothing, I called the local Census office to investigate.  The woman looked me up, then said, “We can’t hire you because your name is on the FBI Rap Sheet in the State of Oregon.”  What the ???

A frustrating conversation ensued in which I found out several disconcerting pieces of information.  First, the government uses three criteria to identify a person: name, birth-date, Social Security number.  If two out of the three match, you are assumed to be that person.  So either someone hijacked my name and one of those other two identifiers, or there was a Suzanne Walker out there who happened to have my birth-date, or a SW stole my SSN.  I was branded a criminal and barred from working for the Census.

Second, you can do nothing about this.  When I called the Washington DC Census office to discuss it, the worker was sorry, but because of the ID match, I was out of luck jobwise.  It was cast in concrete.  It was like being on the no-fly list.  Worse, when I requested details about this other SW so I could further investigate, he could not divulge anything because her privacy must be protected.  So the other SW could do anything she wanted to ruin my life, and the US government is happy to let that happen.

The happy ending is that in 2009 the Census did hire me, and I have no idea how my record was cleared.

Is There a Cure For Taphophilia?

My name is Suzanne Walker and I'm a taphophiliac. If there isn't an AA-style support group for people like me, there should be. I've learned not to be too forthcoming about  my obsession, because nothing will stop a conversation dead-er (haha) than to admit you like spending time in cemeteries, or that you collect photographs of gravestones. Or that your favorite website is www.findagrave.com.
  
Taphos in Greek means: a love of funerals, graves, cemeteries. I can't say I love funerals, but cemeteries and graves are right up there on my list with reading obituaries. Why?  It's all about people. Obituaries chronicle a life and tell me about the deceased's activities, successes, relationships, and sometimes even struggles and failures. Headstones represent a life, and even in their brevity one can glean a feeling for the that person buried beneath. And cemeteries are a community of people, people who just happen to live elsewhere now.

The marker at the top of the post comes from the Greek Catholic cemetery in Nemet Poruba, in Eastern Slovakia. Lots of my relatives are buried there, but pre-WW2 grave markers are non-existent, as the village was mowed down by the retreating German Army in late 1944. It's very common for stones in Russian and Eastern European cemeteries to feature an etching of the deceased. Our local Russian cemetery here in Portland has some beautiful markers in this style.

Here's one of my favorites, which happens to commemorate my Dad who is buried in St. Nicholas Greek Catholic Cemetery in Perryopolis Pennsylvania. At the top it says Vicnaja Pamjat (eternal memory in Rusyn). Under the dates it says:

Y2C   USS Missouri    WW II.

And that's the 'Mighty Mo' in its glory days.

 

This one in Boise Idaho's Morris Hill Cemetery tells a poignant story of a life cut short. It says:
For Democracy / John Loren / Titmus / 3rd Recruit Co. G.S.I./ Dec. 26, 1892 / Oct. 19, 1918 / gone but not forgotten

He left his home in perfect health / He looked so young and brave / We little thought how soon he'd be / Laid in a soldier's grave

I choke up standing in front of this stone.

 

The fond and tender memories of a family for their deceased child is evident in this gentle loving angel in St. Nicholas Cemetery (Perryopolis PA):  

Juli- Voytovich / 2 Jun 1924 / 24 Dec / 1924.

This child's father was the Greek Catholic priest in Perryopolis at the time.

 

This above-ground crypt is the resting place of Bryan Gale, 17 years old, in St. Michael's Cemetery, Brattleboro VT. On one end is written, "I cannot say and I will not say that he is dead -- he is just away."  My Mom related that as children she and friends used to play in the cemetery. They shed tears at this crypt. The story is that Bryan cut himself shaving before attending the county fair, and that drifting confetti landed on the cut causing blood poisoning, which took his life. His grieving mother could not bear putting him in the ground. He was her only child.

 Another St. Michael's grave, a young single man, and another only child.

Stone of my great-great grandparents, Cornelius O'Sullivan and Catherine Cavanaugh, Brattleboro Vermont. This is one of four engraved sides. Baby Michael's death (midway down below) is not registered in the town books, so this marker is the only mention that he died at age 8 days. In fact, it's the only mention that he ever lived. Doubly sad is that his brother Johnny, 1 year 4 months, died on the same day. Cause of death for both is unknown. September 1860 newspapers carry no mention of an accident, fire, or epidemic of disease. They were Irish Catholic immigrants, whose births and deaths were commonly ignored.

Another tribute to a fallen soldier (Rigby Cemetery, Rigby ID).

In loving memory of a boy who went to war in cause of peace and died fighting without hate, that love might live.

Last one, this also in Rigby. These children died on the same day, and on a matching stone is their mother, also with the same date. I googled the names and found they were in a terrible car accident.  The young father has written tributes to his family and faith on the back of each marker. You never know what challenges and hardships a new day will bring, and faith in God is what will carry us through.

Do You Recognize This Man?

I forget where this came from.  Real or not, it will make you smile. 

3not5: (Partial) Victory! (Part 3)

My desire to keep my face off the evening news fell by the wayside as reporters picked up on our community effort to preserve our neighborhood.   Donations rolled in, a local company donated signs that were placed up and down Bethany, informational meetings were held by the 3not5 steering committee, and we also traveled to other communities to give presentations.  Several times myself and others spoke in front of the Board of Commissioners.  In September 2010 3not5 presented 1700+ petitions to the BOC, and I am proud to say that about 98% of my neighborhood signed one (one declined and another spoke zero English).

 1700+ petitions!

The county began to listen and in an unprecedented move called for additional meetings to give deeper consideration to the future of transportation in our area.  We relentlessly prodded them to consider widening the freeway overpass as it sure didn't make sense to have a wider Bethany narrowing into that black-hole bottleneck (and ODOT told us it would be 20 years minimum before widening).

I'll skip over a lot of details to February 2011 when the final decision was made.  The Board of Commissioners voted to throw out the 5-lane design (yay!) and go for a narrowed 4-lane plan with 5-lane intersections at the north and south ends of the road, and one 5-lane intersection halfway through.  The decision against a 3-lane was a sour disappointment to every resident, yes, but we won some valuable concessions.  I am confident we'll be happy with the new road, coming next year.

3not5 Victories:

zero houses to be removed
road will have nice landscaping
neighborhoods will have attractive sound walls
hills will be shaved down, improving visibility
sidewalks will be separated from the road by landscaping
speed will be 35 mph
lanes will be narrowed to keep speed down and minimize lost property
road will have a mid-way stoplight
freeway overpass to be expanded! (at same time new Bethany is built)
neighbors worked together

It was worth every bit of the blood, sweat, and tears to work with community leadership and local neighbors to make an important difference.   I'm pleased to have made many wonderful friends.  Many thanks to the thousands of people who rallied behind 3not5!

Here's a few 3not5 photos:

This shows a small segment of the current road.  Using Google Earth, I measured the width of each segment of road.  We glued them all together in a linear fashion on cardboard so that people could see where the road would encroach on their property (below)

Our display at one of the county open houses, held at a local church