In the past, Linda's husband Philip has bemoaned the lack of interest in sports among the Green Valley kids. When I pointed out Bill Little’s athleticism, Philip maintained that Bill developed his interest in sports before moving to Green Valley. Through our blog, I have seen that the older kids among us were interested in sports. While I don’t want to be sexist, it was true that girls’ sports teams were just beginning during my high school days -- at least in Hampton Township. It seems to me that the older kids' "generation" might have been more dominated by guys, with Trish and Wendy in the minority. My "generation" might have been more dominated by the girls who had seniority on the street before an influx of boys. At any rate, many of my memories of things my age group did together are strongly verbal. Turns out, as proven by the list of What to Do This Summer, even my girl-dominated group engaged in casual street sports. And Linda and I watched the Pirates and went with her father to celebrate the Pirates World Series victory (1971?).
It would be interesting to figure out names for the age groupings we had on the street, as a sort of sociological tool – or at least a less bulky way of talking about similarities and differences among our childhoods. Still waiting to hear how the generation that came after us experienced similar and different aspects of living on Green Valley.
I've also found it interesting to hear the perspective of people who bridged the various age groupings. For example, David was very involved with the older kids, but became friends with the next "generation."
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Inside view
When I (finally) had the opportunity to add my two bits to the mid-April Family census entry, I kept wanting to follow memories of the physical spaces we called home and the things we did there. For example, we had a freezer in our basement (where my tongue got stuck when I licked the enticing ice crystals). Some man came down the street selling freezers along with a promise to fill them with meat for some unbelievably long period of time. It was a scam, although the lamb chops were good while they lasted and I just got rid of my parents’ freezer (still working) a few years ago. I've been trying to remember whether any of the rest of you had freezers like ours in your basements. Were we the only ones to fall for the scam or was it a five-kids-with-huge-appetites thing?
I ransacked my dusty mental files for images of our old homes. I hope the rest of you will correct and fill in my sketchy memories.
1. Hall/Thompson: I remember a kidney-shaped dressing table in my sisters’ bedroom, which I associate with playing Quaker school. By the way, someone mentioned our beagle (Frisky?). We also had a long-time terrier named George, which provided endless fodder for teasing by our teachers, "You have a brother named Flip and a dog named George? Our animals had their own Christmas stockings, made of red felt just like ours.
I also remember playing hotel -- posting numbers on all the bedroom doors, and opening our front door and coat closet door to 45° angles to form an "elevator."
I remember Linda and I cutting orange footprints from construction paper and taping them up and down my walls to decorate my chocolate brown and hot pink bedroom.
I remember us girls sitting in that bedroom (Ellen’s and mine at that time?) comparing schedules after the opening day of high school.
Probably my favorite part of our home was the cherry tree in the backyard. In the spring, I looked up through my orange café curtains to see white blossoms against the blue sky.
I also remember sleep-outs in our backyard. I accompanied my parents when they shopped for a caboose, hoping to put it in our camping spot in our backyard, as a guesthouse.
In the woods behind our house was the Fallen Tree. I remember Tom standing there, with surprising patience, coaxing Lynne, Diane (Joseph twins from Farm View), and me to jump from it.
2. Landig/Shug/Bradley: I can’t remember ever being in their house, although I did once see a yellow warbler in a tree in their yard.
5. Burton/Aruffo/Chesley: I remember watching family movies there. I also remember several of us working with the Chesley kids and their dad to dust the house once.
6. Ruby/Mattox: I remember being in the living room while Mr. Mattox was giving a youth group talk, and rudely giggling throughout his message.
9. Beale: I remember the delight of walking into the Beale’s home, from the door along the driveway. It was a refreshingly cool room after being outside in the summer heat. I remember it as being lined with books (but may have it confused with our lower-level room). I remember playing Risk in the living room and wonderful fragrances from Meagan’s baking. It seems there are foods I associate with the houses where I spent the most time. Here, it is peanut butter cookies with chocolate kisses in the center.
10. Seidel: I remember the Spritz cookies kept in tins in the garage, lazing in the hammock reading Archie comic books, and playing ping-pong in the basement (seems to me Ellen and David had a score of 18-12 and tried to remember the name of the war that occurred during that year – could be a trick of my memory because I'm sure they're much too smart for that). I also remember playing Match game, some Barbie board game, and a car game in which we led magnetic cars along roads by using rods with magnets on the end.
I remember the Laura Ingalls Wilder and Frances Hodgson Burnett books on shelves in the bedroom (books I was too much of a tomboy to read until I read them to my sons). It seems to me that the furniture with the shelves once ran through the middle of the room to divide Linda's and Susan's halves.
The foods I associate with this house are post-Thanksgiving cranberry ice, candy cane cookies, and the cut-out cookies we decorated (before baking, unlike my family’s cookies, which were iced and decorated after baking).
11. Fisher: I remember Shelley’s bookshelf (board and brick?) With interesting knickknacks: a painted wooden horse (that looks Swedish in my foggy memory) and angel chimes. I remember an entire dresser in the bathroom filled with brushes, combs, and hair accessories. I remember aspirin for children (St. Joseph's?) in some flavor I thought was delicious, kept in the medicine cabinet. I remember the hall closet with apricot brandy and a can full of money. I remember candles in the parents’ bedroom (and strings of beads?). I remember Anthony's first prize winning artwork on display near the aquarium. I remember the cello in the den. I remember taking turns standing on the picnic table to give impromptu speeches on topics shouted out by the audience. We were way ahead of our time. I remember sneaking in the pool one time when the parents were not home, putting our towels in the dryer so we wouldn't get caught, and getting caught anyhow.
I remember Alan squeezing tomatoes in the kitchen and teaching me how to de-vein shrimp. I also remember him out front, in his bathrobe, hosing a tree (which I remember as an apricot but I think someone has already corrected my misremembering -- in my fuzzy memory -- he was trying to protect it from frost). I remember the birch or birches. I remember Tally (otherwise known as Comment allez vous?)
I remember Jackie's birthday party (39th? 40th?) with little clay pots we made and filled with tiny straw flowers for guest favors. Guests drew pictures that we taped on the walls lining the stairways. We filled the pool with balloons which popped because the hot sun heated the air within them. I remember the long-needled Christmas tree covered with white lights, and the baby pines that lined the driveway (where we once found a baby rabbit).
The foods I associate with this home are NanNan cookies, mice (pie dough dotted with butter and sprinkled with cinnamon sugar, then rolled and baked), lemon squares, cinnamon-flavored hard candies kept in little candy dishes, and the gourmet Noodles and Hunt sauce. There is also a phase when Jackie made us all omelettes. Coke, of course.
Oh, yes, I remember the garage. And the very cool hamper at the bottom of the laundry chute, which looked like a cage or cell.
12. Richards: I was inside the Richards’ home on Halloween, but all I can remember is the Grandmother (having already written about her in the Family Census, I won’t repeat that here).
15. Putzie/Little: All I can remember about this house is the chairs on the front porch and flashing lights from my bedroom window to let Bill know when I had arrived safely home (then he would flash the lights from his room back to me).
16. Ambill/Przybylek/Killen: Even though I spent a lot of time babysitting the Przybylek kids and cleaning the Killen’s house, I remember almost nothing about this split level (except that the Killen’s had gorgeous, old, heavy furniture).
17. Moore: I remember playing with Rich (whom we called Richie then) on their swingset. He had this beautiful brown powder in a jar. He told me it was cocoa, so I ate some. It was dirt, which I spit out on the ground by the swingset, to the amusement of his watching siblings.
By the way, through my class reunion listing, I got the surface mail address for Rich Moore. I sent him a postcard asking him and his siblings to get on the blog.
I remember the day the Walters moved in. My mother thought they were so organized because she saw the painting on the mantle. Annie had just stuck it there, not knowing what else to do with it. Seems to me it was a country scene -- maybe a red barn or covered bridge. As I remember it, my first view of color television was in the Walter’s living room where we watched The Wizard Of Oz.
I remember my family having dinner at the Walters. When Doug and I went down to his room after dinner, Shelley and John were waiting for us. They had sneaked in through the garage.
I ransacked my dusty mental files for images of our old homes. I hope the rest of you will correct and fill in my sketchy memories.
1. Hall/Thompson: I remember a kidney-shaped dressing table in my sisters’ bedroom, which I associate with playing Quaker school. By the way, someone mentioned our beagle (Frisky?). We also had a long-time terrier named George, which provided endless fodder for teasing by our teachers, "You have a brother named Flip and a dog named George? Our animals had their own Christmas stockings, made of red felt just like ours.
I also remember playing hotel -- posting numbers on all the bedroom doors, and opening our front door and coat closet door to 45° angles to form an "elevator."
I remember Linda and I cutting orange footprints from construction paper and taping them up and down my walls to decorate my chocolate brown and hot pink bedroom.
I remember us girls sitting in that bedroom (Ellen’s and mine at that time?) comparing schedules after the opening day of high school.
Probably my favorite part of our home was the cherry tree in the backyard. In the spring, I looked up through my orange café curtains to see white blossoms against the blue sky.
I also remember sleep-outs in our backyard. I accompanied my parents when they shopped for a caboose, hoping to put it in our camping spot in our backyard, as a guesthouse.
In the woods behind our house was the Fallen Tree. I remember Tom standing there, with surprising patience, coaxing Lynne, Diane (Joseph twins from Farm View), and me to jump from it.
2. Landig/Shug/Bradley: I can’t remember ever being in their house, although I did once see a yellow warbler in a tree in their yard.
5. Burton/Aruffo/Chesley: I remember watching family movies there. I also remember several of us working with the Chesley kids and their dad to dust the house once.
6. Ruby/Mattox: I remember being in the living room while Mr. Mattox was giving a youth group talk, and rudely giggling throughout his message.
9. Beale: I remember the delight of walking into the Beale’s home, from the door along the driveway. It was a refreshingly cool room after being outside in the summer heat. I remember it as being lined with books (but may have it confused with our lower-level room). I remember playing Risk in the living room and wonderful fragrances from Meagan’s baking. It seems there are foods I associate with the houses where I spent the most time. Here, it is peanut butter cookies with chocolate kisses in the center.
10. Seidel: I remember the Spritz cookies kept in tins in the garage, lazing in the hammock reading Archie comic books, and playing ping-pong in the basement (seems to me Ellen and David had a score of 18-12 and tried to remember the name of the war that occurred during that year – could be a trick of my memory because I'm sure they're much too smart for that). I also remember playing Match game, some Barbie board game, and a car game in which we led magnetic cars along roads by using rods with magnets on the end.
I remember the Laura Ingalls Wilder and Frances Hodgson Burnett books on shelves in the bedroom (books I was too much of a tomboy to read until I read them to my sons). It seems to me that the furniture with the shelves once ran through the middle of the room to divide Linda's and Susan's halves.
The foods I associate with this house are post-Thanksgiving cranberry ice, candy cane cookies, and the cut-out cookies we decorated (before baking, unlike my family’s cookies, which were iced and decorated after baking).
11. Fisher: I remember Shelley’s bookshelf (board and brick?) With interesting knickknacks: a painted wooden horse (that looks Swedish in my foggy memory) and angel chimes. I remember an entire dresser in the bathroom filled with brushes, combs, and hair accessories. I remember aspirin for children (St. Joseph's?) in some flavor I thought was delicious, kept in the medicine cabinet. I remember the hall closet with apricot brandy and a can full of money. I remember candles in the parents’ bedroom (and strings of beads?). I remember Anthony's first prize winning artwork on display near the aquarium. I remember the cello in the den. I remember taking turns standing on the picnic table to give impromptu speeches on topics shouted out by the audience. We were way ahead of our time. I remember sneaking in the pool one time when the parents were not home, putting our towels in the dryer so we wouldn't get caught, and getting caught anyhow.
I remember Alan squeezing tomatoes in the kitchen and teaching me how to de-vein shrimp. I also remember him out front, in his bathrobe, hosing a tree (which I remember as an apricot but I think someone has already corrected my misremembering -- in my fuzzy memory -- he was trying to protect it from frost). I remember the birch or birches. I remember Tally (otherwise known as Comment allez vous?)
I remember Jackie's birthday party (39th? 40th?) with little clay pots we made and filled with tiny straw flowers for guest favors. Guests drew pictures that we taped on the walls lining the stairways. We filled the pool with balloons which popped because the hot sun heated the air within them. I remember the long-needled Christmas tree covered with white lights, and the baby pines that lined the driveway (where we once found a baby rabbit).
The foods I associate with this home are NanNan cookies, mice (pie dough dotted with butter and sprinkled with cinnamon sugar, then rolled and baked), lemon squares, cinnamon-flavored hard candies kept in little candy dishes, and the gourmet Noodles and Hunt sauce. There is also a phase when Jackie made us all omelettes. Coke, of course.
Oh, yes, I remember the garage. And the very cool hamper at the bottom of the laundry chute, which looked like a cage or cell.
12. Richards: I was inside the Richards’ home on Halloween, but all I can remember is the Grandmother (having already written about her in the Family Census, I won’t repeat that here).
15. Putzie/Little: All I can remember about this house is the chairs on the front porch and flashing lights from my bedroom window to let Bill know when I had arrived safely home (then he would flash the lights from his room back to me).
16. Ambill/Przybylek/Killen: Even though I spent a lot of time babysitting the Przybylek kids and cleaning the Killen’s house, I remember almost nothing about this split level (except that the Killen’s had gorgeous, old, heavy furniture).
17. Moore: I remember playing with Rich (whom we called Richie then) on their swingset. He had this beautiful brown powder in a jar. He told me it was cocoa, so I ate some. It was dirt, which I spit out on the ground by the swingset, to the amusement of his watching siblings.
By the way, through my class reunion listing, I got the surface mail address for Rich Moore. I sent him a postcard asking him and his siblings to get on the blog.
I remember the day the Walters moved in. My mother thought they were so organized because she saw the painting on the mantle. Annie had just stuck it there, not knowing what else to do with it. Seems to me it was a country scene -- maybe a red barn or covered bridge. As I remember it, my first view of color television was in the Walter’s living room where we watched The Wizard Of Oz.
I remember my family having dinner at the Walters. When Doug and I went down to his room after dinner, Shelley and John were waiting for us. They had sneaked in through the garage.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Monday, May 18, 2009
Snyder family at Hartwood
Jesse (27), Noah (29), AJ (21), Joel (24)
Snyder sons at the wedding of Flip and Kelly's oldest son Dan.
Finally, a daughter: Jesse's wife Sani
The day after Dan and Alicia's wedding, our family walked at Hartwood:
At the mansion, I told our kids how Shelley and I knocked on
this door to ask for a cup of water and glimpsed the inside:
Here, I told our kids how we sneaked down this hall... 
(If you are wondering where Sani is, she is the family's ace photographer.)
AJ found a friend.
Here, I told our kids how we sneaked down this hall...
...and opened this door to see a man sitting in a chair reading the paper.
Above our sons, is the sliding door we escaped through
when Brownie caught us snooping in the stables.
(If you are wondering where Sani is, she is the family's ace photographer.)
AJ found a friend.
This street is your street
In the scrapbook Linda made me for my high school graduation, I found a song she wrote. At the risk of losing our friendship, I share it now. Somehow, it never played on KDKA, but I urge you to belt it out, to the tune of "This Land Is Your Land."
"This street is your street,
This street is my street.
From McCracken's sewer,
To Lewis’ sewer;
From Chesley’s pine tree,
To Fisher’s pool –
This street was made
For you and me.
From Fisher’s dogs,
To Thompson's cats.
From Seidel’s gerbils,
To Prezybylek’s brats …
This street was made
For you and me."
[Dan Przybylek, who was Dean at Allegheny Community College, wrote a reference for me (which I just unearthed), thus I can verify the spelling of his name. Disclaimer: I did not call the children of the neighbor -- who wrote such a kind reference for me -- brats.]
"This street is your street,
This street is my street.
From McCracken's sewer,
To Lewis’ sewer;
From Chesley’s pine tree,
To Fisher’s pool –
This street was made
For you and me.
From Fisher’s dogs,
To Thompson's cats.
From Seidel’s gerbils,
To Prezybylek’s brats …
This street was made
For you and me."
[Dan Przybylek, who was Dean at Allegheny Community College, wrote a reference for me (which I just unearthed), thus I can verify the spelling of his name. Disclaimer: I did not call the children of the neighbor -- who wrote such a kind reference for me -- brats.]
What "do do" this summer
Remember the lists we made trying to come up with something interesting to do together? This was one of Linda's, which she put in my scrapbook.
Green Valley Weddings
In honor of our 30th wedding anniversary, Chuck and I have been following the paper trail of our relationship. We finally read up to our wedding book. From engagement to honeymoon, Green Valley looms large. Here is a photo of Linda, Chuck and me outside the Seidel’s house (with the no-longer-Ruby’s home in the background), taken the day Chuck and I got engaged:
- I had forgotten that, at the end of our honeymoon, we visited Shelley and John at "Tree House," and Linda and Meagan somewhere in Boston.
I remember the earlier double Green Valley weddings (Bill and Ellen; Shelley and John) as having star-studded Green Valley casts, but was surprised by the Green Valley representation at our wedding. In addition to my family, the guestbook includes these Green Valley signatures:
- Susan Seidel.
- David Seidel.
- Patty Seidel.
- Don Seidel.
- Tom Seidel.
- John Chesley.
- Alan E. Fisher.
- Jackie Fisher.
- Shelley Chesley.
- Kevin Walter.
- Douglas D. Walter (and one of my bridesmaids, who later married on to the street).
- Jim Brady.
- Dee Brady.
- Linda Jane Seidel.
Photos indicate the presence of Roy, Annie, and Kevin Walter (I find it impossible to believe the photographer could have bypassed getting pictures of cute Carrie Kay).
The invitation list says that Babuccis were invited, but I don't remember them attending.
The rest of you were sorely missed.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
1966 Talbot
Dave's posting caused me to pull out my copy of the 1966 Talbot. I was the Business Editor and the only Green Valley Drive/Farmview Drive senior. However the other years are amply represented. I have even kept the typos.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Central Elementary School 1962 - 1963
Central Elementary was one of three elementary schools in the Hampton Township School District. Poff and Wyland were the other two. In those early years, there were many young children on the street and Green Valley Drive was well represented at Central. Additionally, some of the families on Green Valley and Farmview sent their children to St. Mary's School.
In its second edition, Tusky In Orbit was the Central Elementary school yearbook for 1962-1963. Wendy Beale was one of the student editors. Student names were listed by their picture. If they held a class office, it was indicated with one or two asterisks (for the semester) and the first letters to indicate President, Vice President, Secretary, Treasurer or Student Council. The following grades (teacher name) and children from Green Valley Drive and nearby are listed as spelled:
6th Grade (Ruth Mucha) - Ann Ammons *P, Wendy Beale, Sue Harbur, Ricky Richards **T.
6th Grade (William Garber) - Linda Hartzell **S.
5th Grade (Carol Gill) - Marilyn Matter, Danny Ruby *VP **P, David Seidel, Patty Winter.
5th Grade (Margaret Forsythe) - Dorris Ammons, Kenneth Hartzell *T.
4th Grade (Catherine Young) - Ellen Thompson **P.
4th Grade (Francis Mander) - Judy Hodil, Bruce Weston.
3rd Grade (Margaret Craig) - Wayne Brady, Joan Ruby.
3rd Grade (Gertrude McSwaney) - Megan Beale, Patty Harbur, Beverly Hartzell **SC, Ricky Winter.
2nd Grade (Rita Carboni) - Shelley Fisher, Leslie Joseph, David Matter.
2nd Grade (Helen Thomas) - Kathy Harbur, Bobby Hodil, Linda Seidel.
1st Grade (Mary Ellen Gotkiewicz) - Diane Joseph, Nancy Thompson *SC, **SC.
1st Grade (Nell Mason) - John Aruffo, Jayne Goerman, Lynne Joseph.
Kindergarten (Pauline Cassell) - Paul Aruffo, Linda Cummings, Anita Harbur, David McNearney.
Kindergarten (Judith Nicely) - Mark Ambill.
In its second edition, Tusky In Orbit was the Central Elementary school yearbook for 1962-1963. Wendy Beale was one of the student editors. Student names were listed by their picture. If they held a class office, it was indicated with one or two asterisks (for the semester) and the first letters to indicate President, Vice President, Secretary, Treasurer or Student Council. The following grades (teacher name) and children from Green Valley Drive and nearby are listed as spelled:
6th Grade (Ruth Mucha) - Ann Ammons *P, Wendy Beale, Sue Harbur, Ricky Richards **T.
6th Grade (William Garber) - Linda Hartzell **S.
5th Grade (Carol Gill) - Marilyn Matter, Danny Ruby *VP **P, David Seidel, Patty Winter.
5th Grade (Margaret Forsythe) - Dorris Ammons, Kenneth Hartzell *T.
4th Grade (Catherine Young) - Ellen Thompson **P.
4th Grade (Francis Mander) - Judy Hodil, Bruce Weston.
3rd Grade (Margaret Craig) - Wayne Brady, Joan Ruby.
3rd Grade (Gertrude McSwaney) - Megan Beale, Patty Harbur, Beverly Hartzell **SC, Ricky Winter.
2nd Grade (Rita Carboni) - Shelley Fisher, Leslie Joseph, David Matter.
2nd Grade (Helen Thomas) - Kathy Harbur, Bobby Hodil, Linda Seidel.
1st Grade (Mary Ellen Gotkiewicz) - Diane Joseph, Nancy Thompson *SC, **SC.
1st Grade (Nell Mason) - John Aruffo, Jayne Goerman, Lynne Joseph.
Kindergarten (Pauline Cassell) - Paul Aruffo, Linda Cummings, Anita Harbur, David McNearney.
Kindergarten (Judith Nicely) - Mark Ambill.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
3991 Green Valley Drive
Here is a gallery of the former Beale home at 3991 Green Valley Drive. I plan to put up photos of each of the 18 houses on the street, though I won't have as much detail for most of them.
From the street, the house looks much the same, but take a look around the back.
The last owner, George somebody, who also owned the grocery at the corner of Harts Run and Middle Roads (not Geil's but across the street), made some unusual additions. According to Don Seidel, he also had a scheme to open a drive-in theater somewhere in the vicinity. I guess he is a dreamer, but he went broke and the house and store were both foreclosed.
Here's the new owner with his daughter. He is in the midst of renovations and expects to move his family in by the end of May.
Inside the addition is George's bizarre idea of an indoor swimming pool. Because the structure was not built to code, the new owner was required to dismantle the back wall of the pool.
Here is the kitchen in its current state of renovation.Danny and Wendy sitting in a tree
The notification didn't seem to work, so in another attempt here is an item I've been saving up. Wendy says I was her first boyfriend and here is the evidence. Our little photo album had captions, and this photo was annotated with "Danny and Wendy sitting in a tree." Joanne claims it is in my own handwriting. It appears the album was put together a few years later, after we had already moved.
The photo was taken in Northway Village, where the Beales and Rubys lived before moving to Green Valley Drive. I'm not sure what to make of the Jul 59 stamp on the photo. If that is a date, I think it is well after our two families had moved to GVD. Maybe it was printed after it was photographed.
Gallery of little Joanne
As a test of the new notification system, here is a small gallery featuring our own Joanne Beth Ruby in various cute outfits during the early years, plus one of the three of us. Now, Jo, how about if you hop on with a comment or post?
Friday, May 1, 2009
Period, people, place
In my high school creative writing class, we had to write a soap opera. This, Walter, Danny, and Joanne, is why your father thought he was depriving you by keeping you in Hampton Township. Where was Mrs. Beale when I needed her? She would never have given such an assignment. If she had, however, she would have recognized my soap opera. I wrote about what I knew best. Green Valley families: the neighbor -- who taught me to put lyrics to classical music as I lay night after night in pain and unable to sleep -- whose husband kept a picture of his mistress on his dresser. The woman who could swing higher and limbo lower than any of us -- the one who stopped the robber who broke into Goerman’s by pulling her car sideways across the street, blocking the getaway car until the police came to nab the thief -- the gutsy, fun-loving woman who was stricken with a mysterious ailment that aged her decades in a day. The hill under Hart’s Run caving into weird sink holes. Other things I won’t mention (since Linda would say, “Leave it to Nancy to turn our fun into something heavy”)
My teacher's assessment was, "This is unrealistic. All of this couldn't possibly happen on one small street." Years later, I thought about that comment when I read Anne LaMott’s Bird by Bird (recommended to me by both Anthony and Linda). LaMott says something like, "It doesn't matter if it's true. It has to be believable." Thanks to a Green Valley book recommendation, I did learn something from that inane assignment.
I also wrote a sociology paper in college, analyzing our relationships on Green Valley. I wish I still had the paper, but I’ve traveled light. I remember writing about the time David and Ellen woke John by tapping on his window late one night. They told him they were eloping and asked for money. John said he gave them all he had, but later rumors questioned whether he had completely emptied his piggybank. I also remember putting Linda in the center of our web of relationships. She is still the one keeping us all connected.
I don't think our childhood on Green Valley was idyllic. The memory of cruel things I did to and with people on the street keeps it from being idyllic. Moreover, as someone who was still on Green Valley during the Vietnam War and race riots (and someone who had to go to bed at dusk every night one summer, so our parents could yell at our ‘coming-of-age-in-the-60’s older siblings), Green Valley is where I learned about injustices both big and small.
I do think our childhood on Green Valley was special. Very special.
While I've been too busy meeting deadlines to blog, I've been thinking about what made our childhoods special. Time, space, and each other were all we had. And that made our life abundant.
Time: Both the time in history and the leisure time we enjoyed. We had nothing but time, and that made us rich. Time to throw pebbles across the road, then cross the street and throw them back. Time to interview neighbors and write the breaking news: "Dan Przybylak bought a rake." Time to write mysteries. (I vaguely remember a rosewood box in Shelley's mystery.) Time to become blood brothers and sisters (during a time when no one worried about blood-borne diseases). Time to read a sappy section of Love Story on a tape recorder, again and again, until we got through it without bursting into laughter. (I remember Bill’s, "She looked me shtraight in the eye and shmiled.") Time to run in the rain, shielded by blankets and shrieking the Singing Nun’s Dominique song. Time to paint rocks. Time to learn the Camp Carondawonda songs – even those of us who didn’t go. Time to hear Meags tell ghost stories. (I remember crowding into the play house at the Lewis’ and, in the middle of a story as only Meagan could tell it, yelling at Anthony -- who was perched in the window -- to quit spitting in my ear. He denied my accusations. I put my hand to my ear and brought it down filled with blood. I ran to Mrs. Beale screaming. She sopped up the blood, and the incident enhanced the ghost tale.) Time to read Tolkien's trilogy in Shelley's bedroom until 3 a.m. Time to venture out: 7-Eleven for Slurpy’s, Baskin Robbins in Fox Chapel, The Gazebo in Squirrel Hill. Time to watch "The Avengers" at Fisher’s, then run the whole way ‘round the dark, scary bend. Time to pour glue on the road and set it on fire. Time to lie on the edge of Harts Run Road -- in the dark -- and count how many cars passed before someone stopped to see if we were dead (only to have us scramble away laughing).
In that self-absorbed way of children, I don't remember our parents giving us much time, but they did. My father took time to hose down our back patio so we could skate there in winter. My mother took time to make all our Halloween costumes, while my father took us to all of your houses so we could stuff our pillowcases with candy. Later, my parents took time to dance with Linda and me in our living room with that console stereo pumping out tunes by Andy Williams and Engelbert Humperdinck. (I remember Tom walking past the room, shaking his head at Linda and me, saying, "It's a good thing they don't drink.") Dr. Aruffo took time to make the treehouse, where we one day pledged never to grow up. Mr. Chesley took us all to Kentucky Fried Chicken. (The whole gang of us told the waitress to give the bill to "Dad.") Alan Fisher took time to describe the man who later became my husband to Jackie, because she was in bed with a migraine the first time he visited. Jackie spent time with us during a sleepover. I remember her watching me jump on that wide, sectional sofa and saying, "That's the most expensive sofa you’ve ever jumped on." I sat down immediately, but she told me to keep on jumping. Mrs. Seidel took time to listen to our teenage woes, perched on that ladder-stool by that little blocky-precursor-to-the-kitchen-island. Mr. Seidel took plenty of time giving us the most precise directions to every place we were going. Mrs. Beale took time to say the only positive thing anyone ever said about my lisp, "There's a part made for you in The Music Man." ("There ith?" I gasped.) If I'm not mistaken, there were times Mr. Beale let us tag along with him on the bus so we could spend the day downtown. Puffed up with my sophisticated knowledge of how to get downtown, I later took Lynne and Diane Joseph (who lived on Farm View before moving into one of the big houses on Middle Road, not far from the Rat Barn) downtown. I naïvely led them to Liberty Avenue and couldn't believe our luck at finding movies for a quarter. Mine was called Love in the Bathtub. All I saw was the title, before the proprietor kicked us out. I was more cognizant of losing my quarter than of taking a wrong turn somewhere.
People: We had nothing but each other, and that made us blessed. How else would Linda, with her messy room, and me with my mother's compulsive neatness, ever have hung out in each other's bedrooms hour upon hour? (Must say though, I’ve visited Linda and her family every place they have ever lived, and each home has been a place of order and beauty.) Would Tom and Tom ever have written a spoof of Sound of Music if they had places to go and people to see? Would Anthony and I ever have crawled through the woods early one morning and buried that costume jewelry (which we called a string of pearls), solemnly vowing to dig it up together some future day, if we hadn't been stuck together one Green Valley morning while everyone else slept? Would Shelley and John even have become friends if they had known each other only from Hampton Junior High School? Would Bill and Ellen have gone to that first prom if they had not lived on the same street? We were stuck together then and we are stuck together still.
Not least among the people who made our street were our parents. My children had very special childhoods. In fact, our oldest son went to a dinner party with Berkeley math people. Instead of foods, the "menu" board listed encouraged and forbidden conversation topics. Forbidden topics included Math and Politics; encouraged topics included Noah Snyder’s Childhood. With us, they entered cultures, learned languages, traveled, and met people from all over the world. Homeschooling gave us ample time us to ride bikes, read books, and do every single activity in Kids’ America and books of science experiments. My children did not, however, have what we had on Green Valley. Although my happiest childhood memories involve trespassing, I never let my own children trespass. Our parents shaped us powerfully by not exerting much force on our childhoods.
Place: "When everything else has gone from my brain…" Annie Dillard wrote in the prologue to An American Childhood, "what will be left, I believe, is topology: the dreaming memory of land as it lay this way and that." What will be left in our brains, when all else turns to mush, will be Green Valley. On our dying beds, we will feel again the bumpy ice of Hodil’s pond frozen under our skates and smell again the dirt road we flung ourselves on when patrol planes flew overhead. We will hear the braying donkey and the dinner bell. We will taste the blackberries that grew in the tangle across from Chesley’s. Our throats will choke on the smoke of blackened marshmallows stuffed in s’mores -- our only consolation that last forlorn night of summer. We will awaken with a jerk, slobbering in wheelchairs and startled witless that we are not sitting under the Shady Tree. When the end is near and we’re shrouded in our sheets, we’ll think we are in a nest hollowed out of the long grass in Hodil’s field. We’ll look up and remember the day we discovered that clouds moved.
My teacher's assessment was, "This is unrealistic. All of this couldn't possibly happen on one small street." Years later, I thought about that comment when I read Anne LaMott’s Bird by Bird (recommended to me by both Anthony and Linda). LaMott says something like, "It doesn't matter if it's true. It has to be believable." Thanks to a Green Valley book recommendation, I did learn something from that inane assignment.
I also wrote a sociology paper in college, analyzing our relationships on Green Valley. I wish I still had the paper, but I’ve traveled light. I remember writing about the time David and Ellen woke John by tapping on his window late one night. They told him they were eloping and asked for money. John said he gave them all he had, but later rumors questioned whether he had completely emptied his piggybank. I also remember putting Linda in the center of our web of relationships. She is still the one keeping us all connected.
I don't think our childhood on Green Valley was idyllic. The memory of cruel things I did to and with people on the street keeps it from being idyllic. Moreover, as someone who was still on Green Valley during the Vietnam War and race riots (and someone who had to go to bed at dusk every night one summer, so our parents could yell at our ‘coming-of-age-in-the-60’s older siblings), Green Valley is where I learned about injustices both big and small.
I do think our childhood on Green Valley was special. Very special.
While I've been too busy meeting deadlines to blog, I've been thinking about what made our childhoods special. Time, space, and each other were all we had. And that made our life abundant.
Time: Both the time in history and the leisure time we enjoyed. We had nothing but time, and that made us rich. Time to throw pebbles across the road, then cross the street and throw them back. Time to interview neighbors and write the breaking news: "Dan Przybylak bought a rake." Time to write mysteries. (I vaguely remember a rosewood box in Shelley's mystery.) Time to become blood brothers and sisters (during a time when no one worried about blood-borne diseases). Time to read a sappy section of Love Story on a tape recorder, again and again, until we got through it without bursting into laughter. (I remember Bill’s, "She looked me shtraight in the eye and shmiled.") Time to run in the rain, shielded by blankets and shrieking the Singing Nun’s Dominique song. Time to paint rocks. Time to learn the Camp Carondawonda songs – even those of us who didn’t go. Time to hear Meags tell ghost stories. (I remember crowding into the play house at the Lewis’ and, in the middle of a story as only Meagan could tell it, yelling at Anthony -- who was perched in the window -- to quit spitting in my ear. He denied my accusations. I put my hand to my ear and brought it down filled with blood. I ran to Mrs. Beale screaming. She sopped up the blood, and the incident enhanced the ghost tale.) Time to read Tolkien's trilogy in Shelley's bedroom until 3 a.m. Time to venture out: 7-Eleven for Slurpy’s, Baskin Robbins in Fox Chapel, The Gazebo in Squirrel Hill. Time to watch "The Avengers" at Fisher’s, then run the whole way ‘round the dark, scary bend. Time to pour glue on the road and set it on fire. Time to lie on the edge of Harts Run Road -- in the dark -- and count how many cars passed before someone stopped to see if we were dead (only to have us scramble away laughing).
In that self-absorbed way of children, I don't remember our parents giving us much time, but they did. My father took time to hose down our back patio so we could skate there in winter. My mother took time to make all our Halloween costumes, while my father took us to all of your houses so we could stuff our pillowcases with candy. Later, my parents took time to dance with Linda and me in our living room with that console stereo pumping out tunes by Andy Williams and Engelbert Humperdinck. (I remember Tom walking past the room, shaking his head at Linda and me, saying, "It's a good thing they don't drink.") Dr. Aruffo took time to make the treehouse, where we one day pledged never to grow up. Mr. Chesley took us all to Kentucky Fried Chicken. (The whole gang of us told the waitress to give the bill to "Dad.") Alan Fisher took time to describe the man who later became my husband to Jackie, because she was in bed with a migraine the first time he visited. Jackie spent time with us during a sleepover. I remember her watching me jump on that wide, sectional sofa and saying, "That's the most expensive sofa you’ve ever jumped on." I sat down immediately, but she told me to keep on jumping. Mrs. Seidel took time to listen to our teenage woes, perched on that ladder-stool by that little blocky-precursor-to-the-kitchen-island. Mr. Seidel took plenty of time giving us the most precise directions to every place we were going. Mrs. Beale took time to say the only positive thing anyone ever said about my lisp, "There's a part made for you in The Music Man." ("There ith?" I gasped.) If I'm not mistaken, there were times Mr. Beale let us tag along with him on the bus so we could spend the day downtown. Puffed up with my sophisticated knowledge of how to get downtown, I later took Lynne and Diane Joseph (who lived on Farm View before moving into one of the big houses on Middle Road, not far from the Rat Barn) downtown. I naïvely led them to Liberty Avenue and couldn't believe our luck at finding movies for a quarter. Mine was called Love in the Bathtub. All I saw was the title, before the proprietor kicked us out. I was more cognizant of losing my quarter than of taking a wrong turn somewhere.
People: We had nothing but each other, and that made us blessed. How else would Linda, with her messy room, and me with my mother's compulsive neatness, ever have hung out in each other's bedrooms hour upon hour? (Must say though, I’ve visited Linda and her family every place they have ever lived, and each home has been a place of order and beauty.) Would Tom and Tom ever have written a spoof of Sound of Music if they had places to go and people to see? Would Anthony and I ever have crawled through the woods early one morning and buried that costume jewelry (which we called a string of pearls), solemnly vowing to dig it up together some future day, if we hadn't been stuck together one Green Valley morning while everyone else slept? Would Shelley and John even have become friends if they had known each other only from Hampton Junior High School? Would Bill and Ellen have gone to that first prom if they had not lived on the same street? We were stuck together then and we are stuck together still.
Not least among the people who made our street were our parents. My children had very special childhoods. In fact, our oldest son went to a dinner party with Berkeley math people. Instead of foods, the "menu" board listed encouraged and forbidden conversation topics. Forbidden topics included Math and Politics; encouraged topics included Noah Snyder’s Childhood. With us, they entered cultures, learned languages, traveled, and met people from all over the world. Homeschooling gave us ample time us to ride bikes, read books, and do every single activity in Kids’ America and books of science experiments. My children did not, however, have what we had on Green Valley. Although my happiest childhood memories involve trespassing, I never let my own children trespass. Our parents shaped us powerfully by not exerting much force on our childhoods.
Place: "When everything else has gone from my brain…" Annie Dillard wrote in the prologue to An American Childhood, "what will be left, I believe, is topology: the dreaming memory of land as it lay this way and that." What will be left in our brains, when all else turns to mush, will be Green Valley. On our dying beds, we will feel again the bumpy ice of Hodil’s pond frozen under our skates and smell again the dirt road we flung ourselves on when patrol planes flew overhead. We will hear the braying donkey and the dinner bell. We will taste the blackberries that grew in the tangle across from Chesley’s. Our throats will choke on the smoke of blackened marshmallows stuffed in s’mores -- our only consolation that last forlorn night of summer. We will awaken with a jerk, slobbering in wheelchairs and startled witless that we are not sitting under the Shady Tree. When the end is near and we’re shrouded in our sheets, we’ll think we are in a nest hollowed out of the long grass in Hodil’s field. We’ll look up and remember the day we discovered that clouds moved.
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