Prom One 1938

Ethel Mitchel @2012

My one and only prom took place in Baker, Oregon in my junior year at Baker High, the exact date I can't recall. The excitement started building as soon as I told my Mother and we knew we had to start looking for an evening gown with accessories to match.

The gown had to be blue and decorous! I wanted some sex appeal added but that was not allowed. I settled for accenting the positive. Money was also a contributing factor so had to utilize Montgomery Ward but my thrill was so great I would have taken a hand me down if there was one to be had! We found a blue dress that satisfied both me and my Mother. We added a small silver clutch purse for my lipstick and key with silver heels. The outfit sent out signals loud and clear first date. Who cares I was going to a prom.

Neil (a friend) was driving as we had thirty miles to go to meet our dates in Baker at the High school. The trio consisted of Neil, Neva and myself in Neil's Dad's car. Hey we were lucky the Dad stayed home.

Orville, my dates name met us at the door of the gym and pinned my corsage which was romantic in my thoughts then I got the giggles and told him be careful, I would have to chastise him if he stuck me with that pin, that broke the strain and the night proceeded!

I awoke the morning of the big day with a sore throat! I did not mention this to anyone but went about my day as if all was well. Staying away from Mother, fixing my hair as we did our own styling at this time period. Did I do my nails? I don't think so that was not in my agenda. I think I was ready to go an hour before we were to leave.

The dance in retrospect was anticlimactic! My date danced each dance with me and was attentive but the ambiance just wasn't there when I felt sick. Going home I had to sit in front between Neil nd Neva to keep them warm as by now my fever was raging. The good thing about my sore throat was it kept my mind from dwelling on the fiasco of my one and only prom dance!

James Madison High School and Prom

Edith Smart @2012

High school may not have been fun for everyone, but it was for me. Probably the best years of my life! Because I fell in love. Roy was a big shot in the little high school annex we attended. He was tall for his age. He had been elected president of that little place. I was biology librarian. But that was only the beginning.

The drama society put on a play at the end of our first term. In the second term there wasn’t a teacher available to take over, so I was given the rare opportunity to do it. Boy was I in heaven! Acting was my first love, but directing was my dream. WOW! At 14 and a half my dream was coming true.

Other things were happening also. Roy and I started dating. By now at 15 we were in the main building of our James Madison High School. There were dances in the gym at the end of each basketball game Friday after Friday. One really big date was going to see “Hell’s a Poppin” on Broadway. It was a birthday celebration for a friend of Roy’s from camp.

In spring we would take the trolley to Coney Island and ride the roller coaster and eat hot dogs and Cracker Jacks.My first kiss came one evening in the vestibule of my house. He said he loved me, and I said the same. The years were filled with classes in school, and we both got good grades but I needed help in math. Roy was good in everything.

Senior Prom was the main event in June 1940. We had both doubled up on our classes to graduate in 3 and ½ years. I shopped for a formal at Altman’s in the City. It was white floral printed taffeta, off the shoulders and full length. We shared a cab with another couple because the event was at the hotel Pierre on Park Avenue. All the girls wore evening gowns, and the boys wore tux’s. I am not sure if it was Benny Goodman or Tommy Dorsey who provided the music. Food was light there. And to top off the evening we went to the Cotton Club in Harlem for a late dinner. Cab Callaway was there. Nothing else in my young life, or maybe ever, can compare with that wonderful June evening in 1940.

Why Why Why

@ 2012  Ethel Mitchell

A sewing basket comes to mind for this question, " Why do we keep things". The basket is not one of my Mothers, not my Grandmothers, it is an antique of the early 1900's but no family ties to it. But, it did remind me of one Mother owned with her mending in it and sometimes she kept her embroidery thread there also.

I would take the skeins of colored thread out and make rainbows on the rug and I was careful to keep the thread in a bundle so it would not tangle cause if it did it would be a long time before I could play again with it. I would use the paper bands that were around each skein for rings and each finger was bedecked with a ring.

The basket set on the sewing machine. not a Singer but a White. The machine had a knee press instead of a peddle which was a lot easier in my opinion. I learned to operate it in later years as we had that machine until Mother's demise.

Mother sewed night gowns for my daughters and I embroidered them. She had purchased a bolt of flannel she had found, as all this happened during the war years when many things were scarce and we used it freely. Even made dish towels, crib sheets. doll nighties. I was trying to remember if we had used all of the bolt but that answer evades my memory.

Grandma Emily's sewing basket was similar, round with beads on top but filled with letters and her darning gizmo (sorry I have forgotten the proper name for the article.) You put it inside when you are mending the sock and it gives you a solid surface to work against. I used a light bulb when I darned but gave up as it made blisters from rubbing. Her yarn was more like knitting yarn because socks were mostly wool back then. Her letters were from Sweden and in Swedish, I pretended I could read them. My imagination knew no boundaries when I was young!

I purchased a sewing basket during my antiquing era but alas it does not grace a sewing machine but sets on my dresser with sundry items resting inside but I still look at it and see it sitting in the front room on top of the sewing machine! Memories!

This answered one of my whys but not all. Later!

Doughnut Season @Zollinger

Leaves changing colors and air becoming cool and brisk welcome the sounds of autumn in southern Utah. Rustling leaves, scurrying footsteps, trying to find warm socks and shoes or perhaps boots. Soft rumbling thuds as coats, gloves and hats are rummaged through. Excitement in the air as preparations are made for the family to go deer hunting. Dad sounds the deer call and we gather in the living room. Family prayer is said then the noise resumes.

“I can’t find any gloves..”

“Get in the truck.”

“Kevin, load the guns in the back of the truck.”

“Has anyone seen my glasses?”

“Kirk, are you wearing my boots?”

“Dad, where are we going this year?”

“Find Jeff and get him in the truck. Let’s go.”

We hear Jeff singing in the bathroom. The toilet flushes. Running water. Out he comes. Kids run through the living room and out the front door. The door slams shut. Dad kisses Mom goodbye. Truck doors open. Kids scramble inside arguing over who sits where.

Dad gets in and turns the key. The engine sputters a moment then roars to life. “Everyone here?” As he backs out of the driveway, we wave to Mom who is standing on the porch by the front door. The chattering continues until we reach the mountain.

Dad stops the truck. “Now you kids be quiet and we might see some deer. We’re going to walk over to that rim there with that big rock. Stay together and be quiet.”

Some whispering happens but mostly we hear the leaves fluttering as the wind blows through the aspen trees. Pine needles crunch under our feet and once in a while a larger stick cracks or a rock tumbles down a hill. We reach the spot Dad pointed out. He gets out his gun and loads the ammunition. We take turns looking through binoculars for a big buck. Mostly we just sit quietly watching the birds, the trees and the squirrels, while looking for deer.

“There’s a buck on the other side of that meadow standing back in the trees.” Bart had been looking through the binoculars. We all squint to see between the trees. Dad raises his gun and looks through the scope. We all stay quiet.

“Boom!” The gunshot echoes through the mountain but the target is hit straight on. The deer didn’t fall though. Dad says it would probably wander 30-40 feet before it fell. “Monica, take the girls and two little boys back to the truck. You older boys come with me. We’re gonna have to carry that buck about a mile and a half back to the truck.”

About 4:00 in the afternoon we return home. As soon as we walk in the house we smell the doughnuts Mom has made while we were gone. “Mmmm. Yum!”

“Go get your boots off and hats and gloves put away first.” Mom’s guarding the doughnuts. “Then wash your hands!”

We’re soon back for the doughnuts, eating and telling Mom of the days adventure. Dad’s still out taking care of the deer. “I work all day cooking these doughnuts and they’re practically gone in ten minutes.” Mom looks tired but is not angry.

“That’s what you get for having so many kids.” Bart grabs another doughnut.

Dad comes in. “Well, we finally got one today. A four-pointer. It’s hanging up in the backyard. We’ll have to get up early tomorrow morning to get it all taken care of.” He washes his hands and gives Mom another kiss. Then, he too, eats a doughnut and asks, “What’s for dinner?”

Written by Monica Zollinger, 1/16/12

A River

© 2012

Pamela Wilkie

In my next life I’m going to be a river; free to wander across the countryside and witness vistas most humans never see. An unhurried river, softly flowing toward its ultimate home, the open arms of the sea, and making room for the new waters yet to come from the ice and snow high above.

I begin as a tiny trickle high on a snow covered mountain and as the spring sun slowly warms the ground, melting the snow, I gather speed and strength as I run quickly down to the valley below. Obstacles in front of me pose no threat as I can gently rise up and slide over them with ease, waving a white-capped goodbye on my way past. My greater power is barely hidden below my shining, sparkling face and it whispers a warning of great danger if threatened from without or within. I am strong and in control of my destiny. I carve out new places to live where I choose; I cross impossible lands just to see what they offer as the sky mirrors itself along my back. I am alive with life of all kinds and provide life’s very nectar to all who seek it. I feel wonderful, free of constraints, invincible.

Once in the valley, I live peacefully, gently traveling on my journey, making friends as I go. Animals and trees, rocks and mud become my clothing, but I’m never bored because they change quickly and often, as do the scenes in front of me. And what astonishing things I see! Prairies so green and vast that it almost hurts to look at them, their colors vibrant, varied, and bright; mighty mountains ascending gradually into the sky, giving birth to my cousins on the way up; acres and acres of undisturbed flowers, and dark forests of all manner of trees. Thousands, maybe millions of kinds of animals show me their tricks; their colors; their offspring. Some even come to live with me, handily building their homes with the resources nearby, chattering at each other and slapping their tails to make a point. Fish, highly prized by humans, are my finest friends. They too are calm and quiet, silently cruising through the water – some so brave and strong they swim upstream against my current for hundreds of miles, propelled by an instinct to live and yet will die when they reach their goal, some catching a free ride downstream, snapping up a bug or two for a snack, and some, in one of the greatest displays of unwavering trust, bring forth their young to live in my waters.

There are other things too, made by the hands of humans. Cities, buildings, houses, vehicles, trash, pollution. I try to be friends with them, but they hurt me. They say they love me, but they hurl their unwanted into my waters, clogging me and slowing me down. I must beware of humans, but I won’t shy away from them. Many times I find they just want to play so I become playful. I allow this until they become stupid or disrespectful and ignore my warnings and sometimes they get hurt and I am sad.

My name is River. I am the arteries of Mother Nature. I carry the life blood of our world to all those who need it to survive. I sustain life, for without me, all life would die and the world would be barren and dry. I am courageous and I am determined to complete my journey. Will you come along with me? I’ll show you treasures you won’t believe. It’ll be fun, I promise.

I Am a Bed Named Jenney @Beth Yount

Some folks call me a “spool bed”

I may look like a series of sewing spools

From a gigantic textile mill

But I am much more

I want to be called a “Jenny Lind” bed

I am named after a beautiful Swedish Singer

Who came to America

The “It Girl” of the 1850’s

It is said she slept in a bed

Just like me

In my long life I have been many places

I believe that

My very first home was probably

Ottumwa, Iowa

Circumstances changed

I moved north in 1926 with my family

to Menomonie, Wisconsin

For the past fifty years

I have happily stayed

In the same special place

On Atlantic Avenue in Highland, California

I have stories to share

About where I have been

And who has loved me

I began to be, sometime in the 1920’s

Plain sticks of cherry wood were chosen

By a man named George, a teacher and coach

He found new joy and skill in woodworking

In the vacant high school shop

He transformed the rough sawn pieces

of fine cherry wood

Into perfect concentric spools

Evening after evening, month after month

He carefully turned pieces of wood on a lathe

Glued the pieces together

Carefully sanded and varnished

I became a handsome Jenny Lind bed

For his little daughter,

Named Mary Katherine

For over 20 years I resided in the rear bedroom

In our family home in Oakwood Heights

But I would be moving again, this time, west

I am not a twin bed I am not a double bed

I am a bit shorter and a bit narrower

Than beds are today

I am not “standard size”

I know I am just one of a kind

Not substandard, just unique

Beth makes custom sheets to fit me

I still have old, squeaky, coiled springs

An ancient, made to order striped ticking mattress

I know I sadly sag in my middle

That happens with age

I have frequently heard it said

Even though I am almost one hundred

“ Perhaps we should have a new mattress made”

I have heard many times

For eighteen, happy years Lisa Beth loved me

She didn’t mind if I made noise

Whenever she turned over

Rolled into the comfortable

Chasm in my middle

I think she felt content, protected

Held warmly. securely cuddled

Even before I became Lisa’s bed

There were several years

When I was the only bed

That John and Beth owned

I certainly was not designed for two

They were young. poor and in love

Didn’t ever seem to mind

Cuddling tightly like spoons in a drawer

In my short narrow, space

Even today

I am happy when one of my family

Returns home for a brief visit

When asked “which bedroom?”

They say without any thought

“I’ll sleep in the soft, old

Jenny Lind bed”

I know I am old, but I am still needed

I am attractive, if you like antiques

I am useful If you don’t mind my squeaks and lumps

I believe I have aged well

1924 SCHOOL CHRISTMAS TREE

©2011 Lynn Ferrin

Every year I try to make a point of visiting the Mission Inn in Riverside to view the fantastic display of lights and decorations. They are truly beautiful and, I might add, very costly.

As I write, my thoughts go back and back through the years to the most beautiful tree I ever saw. It was in 1924, and I was in the first grade in a one-room schoolhouse, literally in the woods on the coast of Oregon, so getting a tree was no problem.

We had been having a wonderful time making decorations for the school tree. We strung popcorn and cranberries and chains of green and red paper. There were little stars made of some silver and gold papers.

Finally, the time for the Christmas program came, and our whole family came to hear the songs and readings we had so painfully rehearsed.

There in the front of the room, stood the Christmas tree, bedecked with all of our decorations, but something else had been added. On many of the branches there were candles clamped on in little holders. At the appropriate time, some of the men lit the candles and there was a complete transformation.

The brilliant light, I am sure, was very much like the lights of heaven, and I was completely awed and inspired.

The candles were quickly extinguished because of fire danger, but, in my mind, they still burn in all their beauty and glory. 

MY METAL BABY CRIB

Barbara Maineri ©2011

I always admired the image of the sweet baby face impressed on the head of my metal baby crib. The crib was a dark brown but the face made it just right for a child. My three younger brothers each slept in that bed as well. It was sturdy, probably not up to the standards of today as I'm sure the slats were wide enough for a baby's head or legs to get caught in them, but we all survived. When we visited my folks in Houston in 1958, my son, Paul, slept in that bed.

Not the original crib

Ron and I had purchased a wooden crib when Paul was born, and we also used it for Susan. However, that bed was not as sturdy as my old bed, and we no longer had it when our third child was about to come along. Rather than purchase a new bed, perhaps my old brown baby bed would be nice. I thought about painting it a lighter color to make it more appealing, so I asked my mother, “Mimi, I remember that my old metal baby bed was still in good shape about six years ago when Paul was a baby. Could I use it for our new baby?”

“Oh, honey,” Mimi replied, “I don't have the bed any more. Carla took it.”

“What, Carla took it? You mean she just took it? Why did you let her take it? Who is Carla anyway? Why don't you get it back? All of your children slept in that bed and now I could use it for my new baby, and she just – took it?” I said angrily.

“Oh, no, you don't understand. We were staying in Port O'Connor for the summer, and I had taken the bed down there for your brother. We got the notice to evacuate quickly and didn't have time to pack the crib. Carla was the hurricane that was coming. She did a lot of damage and destroyed the house where we staying. We returned to look around later, but we never did find the bed. Carla took it! She took just about every house there.” Mimi explained. “Carla even took Uncle Bill Madden who wouldn't evacuate. She was fierce.”

Growing up on the Gulf Coast, I knew about hurricanes and respected their wrath. In 1961, Carla, a Category 5 hurricane, struck Port O'Connor head on. The storm surge was 22 feet which completely covered that area and 10 miles inland. We were living in England at the time and I didn't realize how bad it was until we returned. I knew my little baby bed with the sweet cherub face had survived four rambunctious babies could not stand up to Carla.

JUNQUE OR JUNK

JUNK or JUNQUE SAVED BY DESIGN or JUST BECAUSE

 © Bill Dickinson January 31, 2012

When my wife Barbara and I first discussed this assignment I was under the impression that there wasn’t much of anything saved to inspire a memoir. Then she started in on a long list of articles that are in drawers and hanging on the wall in my work area. Barb said that I should be able to pick any object and have memories attached to it from when it was used or saved after the last project.

Well I went back there and began to look around –it took a while because everything I saw had a reason to be there for use in household maintenance, including the empty boxes from recently installed appliances and other items that hold warranty information required for possible return or claim.

Then I started going thru some file drawers under the bottom shelf of the storage for my hardware and plumbing stuff. These drawers hold records and historical items that I haven’t looked at for decades.

The first items found were graduation folders presented to Barb and I when we completed Straling Leadership and Pastoral Ministry courses. The SLI certificate reminded me of our trip to Israel which we departed on just days after graduation. That trip was 13 days of total immersion into the time of Christ and the Roman/ Jewish era of that time in history. In addition our guide during the tour gave us a fair amount of political and historical thinking of the people of Israel during the period from 1964 thru 1988 while we were there.

The next drawer I looked in was full of military records. I even have my medical records which I received upon my retirement discharge in 1974! What in the world can I ever do with those at this time in my life? The next drawer I opened was the most fun.

I found my high school senior year book with my athletic letter and other school items from later education efforts. Buried under the documents was a slide rule that I used for math and engineering classes in the 50s. Last but not least is an MB-2A hand held circular slide rule that I had to use to plot courses and flight plans before the world of computers and current GPS technology. It kind of made me think back on how Columbus felt when he had to navigate with handmade charts and stars and instruments. Thanks to technology advances the ability to get from point A to point B is now just a push of a few buttons. Now all we have to do is pray to God that we use the brain for something other than has been displayed by recent disasters on the sea and air lanes

The last drawer I looked into had Barb’s “American Judo” magazine archives. I’ll let her share about that time in her life. But, I looked at the collection with pride for her and the fact that she contributed to the advancement of the sport of Women’s Judo and Judo in general with her efforts as Editor of that magazine.

So why do we save these objects of our personal history? I don’t really know but it seems to be something learned or maybe even partially innate. It is especially mind boggling to me because I never considered myself a saver or much of anything. Lately (last few years) I have been giving my coin collections and misc jewelry like cuff links away to other family members and asking them if there was anything else they wanted.

However, now that I have re-acquainted myself with the historical artifacts of my youth I feel maybe I should add another room on to the house so that Barb and I can call it our museum. We all know that won’t happen but it’s fun thinking about—and now we know the title answer – it was saved “Just Because” and not “By Design” and I am happy about the fact that it is memory productive JUNQUE.

Something About Eggs

©June, 2008 Barbara Mueck

Eggs can be coddled, poached or fried.

Over easy, stuffed, hard-boiled and dyed.

There's bird nest's, painted eggs, candy eggs to eat.

But

What to do with the “eggheads” you should happen

to meet.

Coca Cola Five Cents

by

Robert S. Ynacay©2011

Five cents for a green, special-shaped, five-ounce bottle of dark, sweet liquid that could soothe one's thirst on a summer's day!

The bottle was in the shape of curves, modeled in the form of a female with a girdle on, at the turn of the century, and this became their trademark and product identification. This was more or less how the Coke Company described their unique bottle and, they claim, even a blind person can identify their product.

During my younger years, they had only two sized of coke; small (five cent bottle) and the family-size quart bottle (twenty cents). Coke became famous world-wide because of the Second World War and the craving thirst of the American fighting men and women.

A few other nickel items that were popular amongst Americans were the chocolate Hershey Bar, a five-stick pack of Wrigley chewing gum, and others.

I believe the price of these items remained the same for a long time and did not change until the 1950's.

Everyone could afford these treats by turning in empty coke bottles for two cents deposit refund. The quart size brought about three cents; a stubby beer bottle with for a penny; and a real large bottle was a prize for a nickel.

A real beer bottle was dark brown in color, and clear beer bottles went for only a penny. Milk bottles, hardly ever found away from someone's yard or back porch, were rare.

Penny's grocery store would redeem your collection (no beer bottles) with a grilling where you got your collection by Mr. Penny, the proprietor, who paid cash money. Immediately you would run over to the penny candy display, which was huge in size, like the modern day meat counter display at the supermarket.

If he had no customers in the store, you could choose, change your mind, or even drool over all those beautiful pieces, behind the glass, for a length of time, before you had to choose.

The beer bottles were turned in at the Red Pig tavern on 82^nd and Halsey Streets, and if you were lucky, the customer would cajole the innkeeper into throwing in an extra nickle or dime so he would have enough to buy an ice cream cone on the way to the public swimming pool.

Those were the days! In my later years, I started redeeming soda cans. A young Marine claims he purchased a new car just by picking up and selling soda cans at the rate of four cents per pound. Now I see people with big garbage sacks, loaded with redeemable items, going through garbage cans on garbage day throughout the neighborhood.

This is real American ingenuity – to start a future business and find a way to keep off the welfare rolls.  

A Cup of Coffee and Moment of Silence

©September 2011 Robert S. Ynacay

It is time to take a coffee break and with a cup of that black thick brew, with a dash of milk, and sweetener, I settle down in my lawn chair at the small table with the big umbrella, shielding me from the direct rays of the sun. I take a big swig of the hot liquid and close my eyes, enjoying the drink as it goes through my body.

The rays of the sun feel good on my aching back and legs and the slight cool breeze blowing in my direction, down from the mountains, makes a pleasant morning. Joyce's white cat is creeping on my walled fence, looking for an active gopher hole or a small bird. A flock of birds are flushed out of the big tree on the corner when she got near them. There they go, circling the neighborhood in wide flight pattern and taking refuge on the power lines. My dogs have spotted the cat and now with their barking the area is becoming alive. The puppies next door are yapping up a storm, awaken from the sounds of my dogs.

Soft, low sounds of classical music can be heard coming from my CD player, through the open widows of my house and it seems to relax me. The kids are out playing in their yards and now and then, you can hear, “stop hitting me” or mom yelling at them and their puppies are still yapping away. I hear the sounds of a big jet airplane, circling overhead and he must be preparing to land at the nearby airport. In the distant, a siren is shrilling away, going to an emergency or chasing the bad guys.

I knock my book off the table and as I reach down to pick it up, a lot things are happening on the ground. A string of ants are crawling on one of the dog's missing treats, a green three inch lizard crawling up the wall, several moths landing on the tomato plant and there is movement under those big squash leaves, probably snails since it is cool and damp there.

The aroma of someone's cooking is filtering into my breathing space and I am feeling a small hunger pang, and those birds are now back in their tree, chirping away. My wristwatch alarm is notifying me that the coffee break is over and it is now time for me to go in the house to take my daily nap.

I Am From

©2012 Joan Brown

I am from the South, Georgia by state.

I am from two societies and realities

I am from a big, old white house on a hill, proudly and sedately watching anything and everything.

I am from wild azaleas, rhododendrons, honeysuckles, mountain laurel, dogwoods.

I am from chiggers, wood ticks, mosquitoes, often called the state bird.

I am from smells of a barn, many cedars, pines, hemlock, and red clay dirt.

I am from rain, sometimes endless, always fresh-smelling and often freezing.

I am from well water, ice cold, so sweet it's inebriating.

I am from a family of readers, savers, repairers, non-wasters.

I am from Scottish fold, Cherokee Indian, Irish, English-mish-mash like almost everybody.

I am from Sam and Bonnie Leslie-he from Georgia, she from Tennessee, protestant, singer of

Psalms, trained to heed the Bible. I still believe in a higher power, not so much one church.

I am from Atlanta, and I'm grits, cornbread, and home cured, fried pork tenderloin.

I am a lucky person, glad I've been given the privilege of experiencing life. 

Autumn Leaves

©2012 Bobbie Zamudio

       I’d love to see New England in the fall and witness the splendor of their leaves

To see them from afar and walk among those trees

To smell and touch and take in their magnificent display

Yellows, orange, rust and reds in such a brilliant array

Those leaves began as buds sprouting forth perfect and new

Like the promise of a new beginning for everyone to view

They took their place on the limb and held on with all their might

Their fresh green exuberance always a welcomed delight

They embraced every beautiful sun kissed day

Swayed with the wind and faced every storm that came their way

Much like the adversities we face within our own life

Remaining strong and steady or falling victim to the strife

Spring and summer have passed too quickly as fall has comes upon them

Almost time to let go of the tree to make room for next years buds on the limb

And it’s at the end of their time when they give their most beautiful story

Oh, but to be as they and take our last bow in such a blaze of glory

A CARPET OF LEAVES

©2012 Pam Wilkie

There is a tree in my backyard that has the most unusual leaf growing cycle I’ve ever seen. It’s actually two trees planted side by side. The saplings were so small when I bought them, I didn’t see how one would ever grow big enough to provide the screen between my house and the neighbor’s that I needed it to be. So, I bought two of them. And my twins have thrived and grown up together into tall, strong, full, adolescents, their twin trunks joined only at the ground, each one going off in its own direction. They’ve been good kids, and have given me exactly what I wanted.

This tree is a Shamel Ash, a deciduous tree, and every fall I watch as a steady shower of leaves falls to the ground over several weeks until the branches are bare. Their colors are as vibrant and bright as fall colors should be. They lay on the ground, a carpet of maroon and rust, yellow and brown.

I look at them surrounding the twin trunks in a wide circle and I like it. I don’t hurry to rake them up or sweep them away; there is a beauty in them being there.

My hammock is stretched beneath this tree and many happy hours have been spent looking up into its startling seasonal beauty. I’ve discovered that as soon as my beloved has shed its old clothing, it begins almost immediately to replace it. Each limb has branches jutting out and each branch has smaller, more delicate ones extending out. It is on these slender branches that the leaves begin to grow. 
   At first they appear as strange clumps of green, mossy looking substance at the end of each branch, but upon closer inspection it is clearly not moss, but a fuzzy new-born leaf material. The bees love this stage and flock to the tree every day, all day, sucking out the nectar in the new buds. The tree literally hums with life during this period. I love it. Then, they’re gone. A new stage is beginning. 
   The green mossy looking blob starts to split up into individual five-fingered leaves. And, voila, there they are…perfectly symmetrical, mathematically correct, tiny versions of their predecessors. Each branch starts out with three leaves, then two more grow and finally another two appear. The process has begun anew; the circle goes around; the planet spins and life continues on.

Credo

©2011 Bobbi Zamudio

   I believe everyone deserves to be treated with respect. A little kindness can sometimes make a big difference in someone’s life. You never know what difficulties another person may be going through.

I believe that everyone has a place and a purpose in this life.

I believe everyone is unique in their own way and everyone’s life is unique. Everyone has their own hopes, dreams, worries and fears. They view things differently and experience things differently. That’s what makes people so interesting. Sometimes, they don’t act the way I think they ought to but when I think about it, I can’t even make myself be the way I think I ought to be.

I believe it’s important to always grow as a person because there is always room for improvement and always new things to learn.

    I believe that your thoughts greatly affect the way you feel. If you go around thinking negative thoughts all the time, it can make you miserable and if you think more positive thoughts, it can help you get through even the toughest of times. Everyone feels down sometimes because trouble is inevitable but misery is optional. I like the saying, “When you are going through hell, don’t stop there, just keep going and you’ll get through it”.

I believe that life isn’t always fair. Bad things do happen that you didn’t deserve but good things happen too that you didn’t bring about which enriches our lives and brings much happiness. Going through bad things in life can build character, strength, and sympathy for others.

   I believe that no matter how bad things may seem I know there are others that have bigger problems than I. I used to be a Case Manager for California Children Services which involves children with severe medical problems and diseases. Some of the children had a period of treatments or a surgery and then they were fine. But some of those children had to face their whole life going through medical treatments, in pain, and deteriorate to eventual death. I don’t think I will ever forget some of those cases. This gives me a different perspective when I’m feeling down because nothing I could ever go through could be as heart wrenching as what some of those families had to go through.

I believe in being thankful for the many blessings in my life. I believe somewhat in fate but I also believe that we have a free will and much of life is what you create by the choices you make and the attitude you carry.

   I believe everyone has the potential to do great things in life but many of us fail to take action and what might have been a great achievement becomes a lost opportunity.

I believe in the possibility that there could be whole other universes and other forms of life, maybe even intelligent life forms similar to us that we have not discovered yet. Claims of alien abductions and UFO’s may be from a lot of quacks but maybe not all of them. There are new stars and new planets being discovered and there is so much more in outer space yet to be explored.

   I believe that United States is still the greatest country on Earth. I believe in being loyal to our Country and being proud of those who serve in the military and those who put their lives on the line for our freedom. I get choked up when I hear the Star Spangled Banner or God Bless America and I get teary eyed when I see families lose a loved one in the war, I feel their pain.

I believe that politics can be complicated, complex and often has muddled issues and it’s hard to know who to believe at times. Sometimes I see both sides of an issue and it’s hard to commit to one side but if you don’t vote and don’t pay taxes, please don’t complain about what’s wrong with America to me.

   I believe it’s important to have balance in your life; a good sense of humor, drive, health, happiness and faith in God. Life is short so you should try to make the best of each and every day.

I believe in life after this life. I have read several books on this subject and those that have had near death experiences are not afraid to die. Science teaches that matter does not die, it just becomes something else. I like to believe that our spirit will live on in heaven because any other alternative seems too disheartening.

  I believe in God and Jesus Christ as our savior. What an awesome creator our God is. Sometimes I like to close my eyes and think of all the amazing complexities in life, within our bodies and in our minds. There are thousands of different kinds of animals, plants and minerals, some unique to only certain areas. I think of the precision of all the planets and their movement around the sun as predictable as our days and nights and into our seasons. They say no two snowflakes are exactly alike and no two grains of sand are exactly alike, even our fingerprints there are no two exactly alike. When I see a beautiful sunset, I think God made a painting in the sky for all of us to see and admire and when I look up at the moon and stars in the sky I am amazed at how far they are and how vast the sky is. It makes me feel small. I am only a piece of the puzzle in this life but every piece is important to the whole picture. There are a lot of things I don’t understand in life maybe some day those questions will be answered. How could everything be made up of atoms and yet everything look so different? How can someone see amazing things in life and not believe in God? How can someone hold a newborn baby in their arms and not believe in miracles? Sometimes people get caught up in religious ideology but I think it is important to have faith in God whatever you perceive him to be.

I believe that the world is an amazing place with infinite possibilities and everyone has their place.