This little guy is so new I don’t have a really good picture of him yet – this is a shot of him coming home from the hospital wearing a Cincinnati Bengals football jersey. His parents are both avid fans.
Isaiah Ryan was born at 10:08 PM on September 29 – missed by less than 2 hours of being born on my 82nd birthday.
In 1965, my oldest son, Frank, was 9 years old and his one desire was to play baseball. His father was a coach on a very successful and competitive knothole team sponsored by the Sweeney car dealership. He got on the team and got a uniform (probably because of his dad’s coaching job) but rarely got in a game and served mostly as a batboy. This is my journal entry for July 26, 1965.
“Frankie gets dressed right after breakfast and takes off. Sometimes he goes to Oakley Park by himself and has a one-man ballgame, without bat or ball. He spends most of his time running bases and sliding – his forte – and his clothes are so dusty he leaves a trail behind him. He goes around with a ball in his hand most of the time.
He loves baseball – his favorite is Frankie Robinson (Cincinnati Reds) – and he wears number 20 on all his uniforms and even draws it on his regular shirts if I don’t watch him. He’s never too tired to go to the knothole games and is perfectly happy retrieving bats and helmets if he doesn’t get in the game. The first game that the Sweeneys played, they lost and we were all pretty low about it, but Frankie said, ‘Well, what do you think! We wouldn’t have lost the game if I had been in it!’ He wears his green and white Sweeney uniform with complete pride and confidence and doesn’t seem at all perturbed that he doesn’t get in the game until they’re several runs ahead. 7/26/65”
In 1966, Frankie didn’t make the Sweeney team but in 1967, a Cub Scout league was formed where every boy was on a team and had a chance to play in every game, where winning was not as important as having the boys learn some skills and have some fun. Frankie’s team was managed by a Cincinnati Police Sergeant (last row center) and one of the coaches was his father (last row left). Frankie is #4 in the second row. Apparently, Frankie Robinson’s #20 uniform wasn’t available.
It was so much fun that summer with the mothers sitting on the sidelines in big straw hats, watching all of the boys do the best they could (one mother noticed that her son was chasing butterflies in center field instead of focusing on fly balls), and stopping for ice cream cones on the way home – win or lose.
Click pictures to enlarge.
Throughout the years while I was raising my four kids (beginning in 1954), I kept a journal where I periodically made notes about holidays, school, vacations, etc. As an occasion arises where I think one of my journal entries would be pertinent, I’m going to post it just as I wrote or typed it back in the day (except for an explanatory note or correction of a typo).
The children will be known here by the nicknames their grandfather used when they were toddlers: The oldest daughter will be Newsie (because she was as good as a newspaper for finding out the latest happenings), the oldest son is Bar (because he called Grandpa’s truck Bar and Grandpa called him Bar), the youngest son is Jackson, and the youngest daughter is Shanty (as in Shanty-Boat).
In January, 1964, we were a family of five: mother, father, 9-year-old daughter Newsie, 7-year-old son Bar, and 3-year-old son Jackson. We lived in a 1922 two-story home in the Oakley suburb of Cincinnati with a nice backyard for the kids to play in. Jackson was prone to the croup and didn’t get to go out and play in the big snow that greeted us on the first day of January, 1964.
Maple Drive greeted 1964 wearing a thick blanket of white as seven inches of snow covered Cincinnati early on New Year’s Day. The street is rutted deeply with tread marks and the cars are all wearing top-pieces of snow which occasionally tilt rakishly on the side as the sun grows warmer. Most of the walks are neatly shoveled and salted so the kids troop gleefully across lawns and up the middle of the roads. Our kids got an extra two days of vacation due to the snow and showed their appreciation by wallowing in it all day. As a surprise for Jackson and me, Newsie and Bar fashioned a plump snowman with all the trimmings—limb arms, rock eyes and buttons, plaid scarf and Bar’s green leather cap. Jackson can look through the dining room window and see friend snowman staring back at him from the yard, which is pocked with footmarks of various sizes.”
L – January 2, 1964
Jackson had six more years to be the baby before another daughter came along and I love to read in my notes where the two older children went out of their way to surprise and please their little brother. Happy memories of almost 50 years ago.
My 13-year-old grandson is taking part in a fund drive by his French class to raise money for children in Haiti. The following was copied from his guest post on his mother‘s blog:
“The purpose of this project is to raise money for children in Haiti so they’ll be able to go to school and buy the many things that we have but they do not. In other words, it’s all about helping those less fortunate. I feel that this project is important because it’s helping kids who really need it and it can have a positive impact because the children in Haiti will have a chance to go to school, get nutritious food, and have a future.
I care about this project because I think that children in Haiti deserve a better lifestyle than they currently have. The life of these children right now is dreadful, they are forced to work like animals and are treated like slaves. Kids are pretty much servants to a family. They get up before everyone else, do the cooking, the cleaning, they’re often hungry because they don’t get good food, and it’s not unusual for them to be abused. They don’t have a fraction of the stuff we have and without an education they don’t have a chance to make their lives better. Please make a donation so that we can help provide these kids with clothing, blankets, school supplies, shoes, and, most important, an education. Thank you!”
The French teacher has created the From Loveland to Haiti: French Students Providing Hope blog. There you’ll find information on the community service project, as well as regular updates. If you’d like to help with a monetary donation, you can do so with a check made payable to Loveland City Schools with LMS French Class for Haiti in the memo line and mailed to:
Loveland Middle School
Attn: French Class for Haiti Fundraiser
801 South Lebanon Road
Loveland, Ohio 45140
OR
Simply place a dollar in an envelope and mail to the above address. Every little bit helps.
On Friday, I pause and remember a single, wordless moment from the past week – inspired by The Warden’s Log.
Daughter and Grandchildren Bake Christmas Cookies
Throughout the years while I was raising my four kids (beginning in 1954), I kept a journal where I periodically made notes about holidays, school, vacations, etc. As an occasion arises where I think one of my journal entries would be pertinent, I’m going to post it just as I wrote or typed it back in the day (except for an explanatory note or correction of a typo).
The children will be known here by the nicknames their grandfather used when they were toddlers: The oldest daughter will be Newsie (because she was as good as a newspaper for finding out the latest happenings), the oldest son is Bar (because he called Grandpa’s truck Bar and Grandpa called him Bar), the youngest son is Jackson, and the youngest daughter is Shanty (as in Shanty-Boat).
In 1954, I had an 8-month-old baby girl and was looking forward to her first Christmas.
Newsie, 8 months old, 1954
One day in December, I carried Newsie on one arm, a folding Taylor Tot on the other, and boarded the bus to go to downtown Cincinnati. My mother worked in the large Shillito’s department store and I liked to meet her at lunchtime to do a little shopping. That year, for my first Christmas with a baby in the house, I really wanted what we called a manger scene – or creche or crib – with the little figures to set up on a table. We found one with a cardboard stable complete with the Holy Family, angels, shepherds, wise men, sheep, a donkey and a cow.
I fell in love with it but didn’t have the $5 to purchase it. My mother bought it for me on the spot and it has held a place of honor for all these years.
I arranged the set on a low table so that little ones could get a good view of it. I don’t recall Newsie ever touching the figures, but the two brothers who soon came along were inclined to use the stable as a parking garage for their mini cars, with the figures scattered helter-skelter.
When little sister Shanty came along in 1970, she was just as fascinated with it:
“We are just about ready for Christmas, 1972. The tree has been up for a couple of weeks now and Shanty continuously takes down ornaments, rearranges ornaments, breaks ornaments….She fools with the tree constantly and is almost as bad with the manger scene. At any time we can find the whole set down on the floor where she has been ‘playing house’ with it.
December, 1972”
Shanty, 2 years of age, 1972
The stable has been replaced many times. Some of the figures were broken – the wisemen seemed to be particularly hard-hit – and I was lucky to find vintage replacements for them in an antique store about 20 years ago. Most of the figures are original with one headless sheep…
… and just a few chips here and there. Now, the manger scene sets as it always did, low enough for small children to get a good look at the figures and maybe even switch them around a little. I don’t mind the chips when I see little hands moving the angels forward a bit or repositioning the donkey. This year, the great-grandson arranged the figures as if they were on a stage with everyone facing the audience.
On Friday, I pause and remember a single, wordless moment from the past week – inspired by The Warden’s Log.
Great-Grandson likes The Nutcracker ballet
Throughout the years while I was raising my four kids (beginning in 1954), I kept a journal where I periodically made notes about holidays, school, vacations, etc. As an occasion arises where I think one of my journal entries would be pertinent, I’m going to post it just as I wrote or typed it back in the day (except for an explanatory note or correction of a typo).
The children will be known here by the nicknames their grandfather used when they were toddlers: The oldest daughter will be Newsie (because she was as good as a newspaper for finding out the latest happenings), the oldest son is Bar (because he called Grandpa’s truck Bar and Grandpa called him Bar), the youngest son is Jackson, and the youngest daughter is Shanty (as in Shanty-Boat).
VISITS TO SANTA CLAUS
Soon after Thanksgiving, we got on a bus to downtown Cincinnati and the big Shillito’s department store to visit Santa Claus. This one was taken of Newsy in 1956. Newsy took one look at it and told everyone, “It is the most amazing picture I ever saw.”
Newsy, 2 years of age – 1956
Bar was shy around strangers and refused to have his picture taken with Santa. Instead we have a snapshot of him where he was happiest – straddling his mama’s hip.
Bar, 2 years of age, 1958
By the time Jackson was visiting Santa, we found him in a mall and the pictures were in color.
Jackson, 2 years of age, 1962
“Newsy and I took Shanty to town on 12/20 to see the decorations and to visit Santa Claus. She ate the two little candy canes almost immediately and pestered me to carry her the entire way through town. 12/20/72”
And now the great-grandchildren are having pictures taken with Santa.
Throughout the years while I was raising my four kids (beginning in 1954), I kept a journal where I periodically made notes about holidays, school, vacations, etc. As an occasion arises where I think one of my journal entries would be pertinent, I’m going to post it just as I wrote or typed it back in the day (except for an explanatory note or correction of a typo).
The children will be known here by the nicknames their grandfather used when they were toddlers: The oldest daughter will be Newsie (because she was as good as a newspaper for finding out the latest happenings), the oldest son is Bar (because he called Grandpa’s truck Bar and Grandpa called him Bar), the youngest son is Jackson, and the youngest daughter is Shanty (as in Shanty-Boat).
This journal entry was made 6 years before Shanty was born. We were living in a 1922 house on Maple Drive in Oakley, a suburb of Cincinnati. My mother and father lived at the other end of Maple Drive.
THANKSGIVING DAY, 1964
Bar, 8 years of age, and Newsie, age 10
Jackson, 4 years old
The afternoon sun is bright as it shines on the white birch in the backyard. A gaudy red cardinal perches on the fence while his earth-brown mate pecks at the grass. A great pile of leaves is heaped at the entrance to the hollow, waiting patiently for a push into the woods below. The houses across the hollow are in clear view now that the leaves are gone and our forest of the summer has become an autumn canyon.
Dinner is over and the dishes washed and put away. The turkey was golden brown and only lost its two wings in its transport from roasting pan to platter. The potatoes were perfect, according to Newsie, and the rolls, light. We all ate too much, as usual, while Penny (our dog) whined in the basement, eager to get her share of the feast.
When I look back on Thanksgiving, 1964, I’ll probably remember Newsie busily toasting bread and cutting it into cubes for the dressing; Jackson putting great slabs of turkey on a roll with radishes and making a sandwich; Bar, in his football helmet, either playing football in the street in front of the house or watching the game on television; Frank (husband) lounging on the floor in front of the television after consuming an enormous helping of everything on the dinner table; Grandpa coming through the back door into the kitchen carrying a bowl of half-beaten whipped cream for me to finish up after their mixer had broken; the parades in the morning on TV, the aroma of roast turkey filling the house, the frenzy of getting everything on the table at once, the feeling of gratitude for everything I have.
Lillian – Thanksgiving Day, 1964
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.
My youngest son and his family (including their dog) come to visit every summer around the end of July. He graduated from college, married his fiancee, moved to St. Louis and began his engineering career all within a month’s time in 1982. This is my favorite picture of them taken quite a few years ago. The girls have both graduated from college by now….
…and the dog, Brandy, passed away and has been replaced by Maggie.
Each year, there’s the decision of what to cook, particularly for the big family meal when everyone gets together. It’s always blistering hot, of course, and I don’t want to spend all of my time in the kitchen. This year, I decided to serve corn-on-the-cob from my local farm market and a Salad Buffet. All but one of the salads have been posted previously on my blog and are old favorites:
Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Add pasta and cook until al dente according to package directions. Drain pasta and rinse with cold water. Transfer pasta to a large bowl.
In a small bowl, combine canola oil, Teriyaki sauce, vinegar, sesame oil, sugar, peanut butter, ginger and pepper. Mix well until smooth. Pour dressing over pasta and toss to coat evenly. Gently mix in chicken, cilantro and toasted sunflower seeds.
This makes a big bowl of salad – 6 to 8 servings.
For dessert we had a sundae bar and then went out on the patio to work off the calories. My daughter-in-law brought water balloons and small fireworks and the visit ended with a flourish.
Already, I’m wondering – what can I cook next year?
LILLIAN'S CUPBOARD 
