Off to California

Mom and friend, 1956


Mulling over my next trip to California, I realized something surprising. Though our Dairy State roots stretch back for generations, my family has been sending shoots into the Golden State for nearly as long.

My grandpa's older brother, Pete, was the first to heed the Western call. He and his wife headed to Crescent City in the 1940's, and lived the rest of their lives there near the redwoods.



Uncle Pete on the right. One of my grandma's sisters with the baseball bat.


Most of my dad's siblings would grow up and leave for California as well, at least for a time. My uncle Chuck moved to San Francisco. My aunt Kathy joined him for awhile, and my cousin Michelle was born there. My aunt Judy and her husband lived in Poway for decades. My cousin John is a firefighter in San Diego. My cousin Tracy and her family live there, too. When the Air Force returned my uncle John and his wife to the U.S. from Iceland, California was the first place they were stationed.



Aunt Judy and baby Tracy at home


Grandpa and Grandma visiting San Francisco (I think?)


Toward the end of her high school career, my mom's best friend Karen moved to Canoga Park. For the next six years, until she got married, Mom spent six or seven weeks each summer visiting Karen. They went to the beach, Catalina Island, Tijuana, Disneyland, and saw shows at Whisky a Go Go. Mom spend more time in the Los Angeles of the 1960's than I've spent in any one place away from home. When I watch "Mad Men" episodes set in California, I can't help imagining Mom and her friends passing through the scenes.



















Top: Mom and Pooh, Disneyland. Bottom: Don Draper in California (photo from AMC)


When my dad joined the Marine Corps in 1960, he trained at Twenty-Nine Palms. He brought the family back in 1984, during our California vacation. Any real memories I had have long since been supplanted by a few minutes of "movie camera" footage Dad captured from our rental car: Marines marching in the distance, quietly (or so it is on the tape) chanting in their familiar cadence.



Dad, Marine Corps era


That 1984 trip was my first vacation outside Wisconsin. Dad attended a business conference in San Francisco - I recall silent film of Alcatraz from the same home movie reel - and the rest of us flew out to join him. First we stayed with Karen, who was married to an actor and living in Agoura Hills. They had a stable on their land, and their daughter - a year older than I - had an honest-to-god pony. On a swing set near the edge of the hilltop property, I felt as if I were flying out over the valley below with each upswing.

We proceeded to a hotel in Costa Mesa whose most salient feature to a four-year-old was the huge pool. Then we visited my aunt and uncle and cousins in Poway. They also had a pool, kidney-shaped, in which my sisters gave me "swimming lessons." In other words, they removed my water wings and repeatedly staged the pool equivalent of Charlie Brown and Lucy with the football.



One of my sisters, 15, by the pool. No idea how they convinced her to pose for this.


My aunt and uncle also had lemon trees, which, to a small child from Wisconsin, seemed like something that should not exist in real life. We went to the ocean, to Disneyland, to Universal Studios, to Knott's Berry Farm. Those were fun, but the kidney-shaped pool and the pampering from my supercool, sunshine-blonde, 14-year-old cousin were the best. I wanted to stay.



Me, standing in C3PO's footprints


I was not allowed to stay. But I have returned to California more times than I can count. Visiting family has turned into visiting friends, and even a few business trips of my own. I have favorite haunts in Los Angeles these days. More than any other state outside Wisconsin, California pops up in my family's history ... and in our current lives. No wonder I find myself drawn back again and again.



Across from Oakville Grocery, 2005

Old Photo Corner 4: Party

So, here's what I know about this picture.  In back is my mom's cousin Diane.  The front row is a line of Diane's relatives: her uncle Elmer, her mom Angeline (my great-aunt), her aunt Dorothy, her aunt Jane, and her dad, Tony.  Judging from Diane's apparent age here, I'd say this was taken around 1965.

The question is, what are they up to?  I encourage you to click on the picture to view a larger version.  It's definitely a party, and it looks like a pretty great one.  A birthday party, perhaps?  I definitely see presents, but no holiday decor.  Can't quite make out what's on the party hats ... Tony's looks a little like a monkey playing cymbals.

Whose birthday?  Hard to tell.  The wrapped present is in feminine color, but maybe that was all the wrapper had handy.  The unwrapped gift could be cologne or perfume.  I can't imagine it was Diane's party, though her presence might suggest it was for one of her parents.  I see snacks on the table, including ... so is that actually a giant chocolate-glazed donut in a clear dish?  Plus, of course, the noise makers.  Seriously, the older generation knew how to have a party!  They have noise makers.  They are draped in streamers.  Plus the (possible-monkey) party hats all around.  I want to go to there.

The best part, though, is that it is within my power to find out the answers to some of these questions!  I can ask my mom to ask her cousin.  Anybody have any other guesses?  I'll report back.


Also see Old Photo Corners 1, 2, and 3.

September draws to a close

Every year around this time, I think, "Maybe winter won't be that bad. Maybe it will barely snow at all." We know how that's worked out between 2007 and the present. Still, maybe this is the year.

My mom heard from a cousin of my dad's looking for family history info this weekend. She shared a few anecdotes about my great-grandmother. (The mother of these boys, as a matter of fact.) Yia Yia came over from Greece at the age of sixteen as a mail-order bride, which I knew. She had a gift for prophetic dreams, which I didn't know. A gift she passed on to my great-uncle Pete. Yia Yia begged my grandma and grandpa not to name their daughter after her, because she was superstitious. They did anyway. (That daughter was my aunt Ginnie, who died at the age of two from spinal meningitis.) Yia Yia also once had some sort of witch-woman lift a curse she was sure had been placed on her. I need more Yia Yia stories.

The other day I was thinking of how we pronounce the word "color." What is wrong with our language?

I have tickets for twelve concerts in October. This is both exciting and terrifying.

Old Photo Corner 3: Boys

My paternal grandfather, his brothers, and some of the neighborhood boys. From the ages of the kids I'd say it was around 1930. Grandpa is on the right, hand on the crossed-arm boy's shoulder. Uncle Chuck is laughing in the back row on the left. Next to Chuck is Frank, and the tallest boy in the back row is Pete. Or maybe it's the other way around. I have a hard time remembering which is which; I never knew either of them. As usual, I want to ask many questions about this picture. Was there a particular occasion? What are they laughing at? Did the kid in the sailor suit get teased? What's a little blond boy doing amongst the Greeks?

Before he retired and moved to Florida, Uncle Chuck owned this place in Milwaukee, the Venetian. Although he ran a store in the building, it was originally a beautiful theater. It had its grand opening right around the time the photo above was taken.


I wish I'd seen it before they tore it down.

Twin mix

Two of my nephews are turning six at the end of the month. Four years ago, I made a mix CD for the twins and their brother. It went over well.

Over the past week I've been trying to craft another mix CD for them. To sum up: intended audience is two six-year-old boys and their seven-and-a-half-year-old brother.

The last mix was easier. Nothing could be too babyish because ... they were babies, practically. Lyrics weren't very important, as long as they sounded fun. (And didn't cover blatantly inappropriate subjects.) This time it's a little harder. The boys definitely love music, but I'm afraid their tastes are already corrupted by what's considered "cool" by their older elementary school friends. (I have no idea what that is, but it can't be good.) In addition, some catchy songs that sound fun and aren't inappropriate are still a little weird when put on a mix for kids. Like "Fake Palindromes." Nevertheless, I think that one's staying.

I'm striving for catchiness above all, and giving preference to fast songs. (Tempo and length.) I can't resist throwing in an oddball or two, though, like Fleet Foxes' "White Winter Hymnal."

I've gotten suggestions from a couple of friends already. Does anyone else have a song or two to recommend before this thing goes to the burner?

Finally

More on my estate sale Saturday soon, but I wanted to relate a quick Sunday Lunch anecdote. My five-year-old nephew - the one obsessed with presidents, planets, and states - has a new obsession. Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (Depp version). He watches the DVD all the time, has memorized the special features including the biography of the man who plays the Oompah Loompas, and has even perfected the Oompah Loompa dance.

His babysitter has been telling her friends that he'll be president one day. Upon catching wind of this, my nephew immediately grasped the historical implications. "Mom," he asked my sister seriously, "Do you know what this means? It means that an Oompah Loompa will finally be president."

Hmmmm.

Happy ho ho ho to you

What do you get your mom for Christmas? Every year I struggle with this question. I know plenty of things my mother would probably appreciate, but what would be a really great gift? This year, inspiration came in the form of an email from the Riverside Theater in Milwaukee: Harry Connick Jr. would be playing a full band holiday show on December 12th. I've long had a soft spot for Harry, and both of his Christmas albums get tons of play in Mom's car every year. I scored a pair of balcony seats in the presale, and last Friday it was off to Milwaukee for my mother's Christmas concert.

It was great. The concert was heavy on the Christmas songs, but they weren't the whole story. We were also treated to some old standards; songs like "Come Rain or Come Shine," "Yes, Sir, That's My Baby," and "Basin Street Blues." From the familiar Christmas tunes to the extended instrumental solos on jazzier numbers, everything was top notch. Harry has assembled an incredibly talented group of musicians, and he's no slouch himself. Lucien Barbarin, in particular, gave a standout performance - he received a standing ovation from the crowd. I also hadn't expected Harry to be so funny. He told many stories, including a great one about Frank Sinatra on what would have been his ninety-third birthday. There was much witty banter with the crowd, especially those up front. Harry's not afraid to make fun of his fans, and I like that in a performer. (Addressing the husband of a woman who has seen four shows in a row: "You do know you're married to a freakshow, don't you?") And aside from the musical skills, Harry also has got some moves on the dance floor. (Dance floor in this case being the stage.) I'd like to see a Southern white boy dance-off: Harry Connick Jr. vs. Patrick Sansone. Let's make this happen.

Experiencing the concert with my mom was wonderful, but the night's surprises weren't over for me. On the way home I learned that one December in the mid 1960's, Mom and her girlfriends drove down to New Orleans. They stayed in the French Quarter. They swam in a pool on Bourbon Street on New Year's Eve. They went to Preservation Hall. I had no idea. The concert also brought up many memories of my grandpa. I knew Grandpa had taught himself to play the piano and guitar, but Mom told me all about how he and his brother and their friends used to get together and jam. Many nights when she was a little girl, Mom would do her best to fall asleep in her bedroom upstairs while down in the basement she could hear Grandpa on his guitar, Uncle Richie on the harmonica, and their friends on trombone and saxophone, playing and laughing into the wee hours. "He would have loved that show," Mom said. As we were walking into the house, she told me this had been her best Christmas present ever ... right behind Cinnamon Bear, the teddy bear she got as a little girl.

I'll take second place to Cinnamon Bear any day. Mission accomplished.

A good day for baseball in Wisconsin

Today the Brewers managed something they haven't done since I was two years old. They made the playoffs.

Granted, there was a time when I thought they might win the division. And then there was awhile when I thought they had the wild card spot comfortably in hand. But all in all, to end a season with a day of baseball like today is not a bad thing. Days like today remind me of why, when I manage to pay attention, I do love this game.

I'm not the world's biggest Brewers fan, but I grew up on Brewers games. I've never attended a game at Miller Park, but as a child I saw many at County Stadium. My dad must be pretty happy right now. The picture above is him on the field at County Stadium ten years ago, on a day when his friend threw the first pitch. This might eclipse that experience for him. (Actually, if I know my dad, he's already predicting a loss in the first round.)

Admittedly, I don't remember much from the 1982 World Series run. My parents do have a yellowing pennant hanging down the basement with names that are still familiar to me. Paul Molitor. Cecil Cooper. Robin Yount. Here's hoping they get to add another one with some new names. CC Sabathia, Prince Fielder, Ryan Braun? Stay tuned.

The weekend and the week

Birthday party was a success. Above you see the great cupcakes my sister made for the occasion. Those are mini marshmallows on top.

Tomorrow I set forth again for points west. Summer wouldn't be complete without a nice run of rock tourism, would it? It wouldn't. Tuesday: work, then Chicago to Denver to Boise.

Upcoming

I have a busy month ahead. By the end of September, I'll have added another new state to my tally, and set foot in many others. I'll have served as a bridesmaid in my best friend's wedding, in full Indian regalia. I'll have finished preparations for and participation in our biggest annual event at work.

But before all that, I will attend a circus-themed 7th birthday party for my nephew.

Old Photo Corner 2: Chicken hands

Again a feature from Dad's side of the family, here we see my grandma and grandpa in January of 1964. I love this one, because one of my most prominent memories of Grandma and Grandpa as a child was going over to their house for Sunday lunch. Grandma would make her Saltine fried chicken, or there would be Greek soup (also involving chicken), and salad, and often toast. I'm not sure why there was usually toast. But Grandma would usually burn at least a few slices, and then be "forced" to put them outside for the birds.

This particular dinner was before my time - before my sisters' time, too. My dad would have been just out of the Marine Corps, I think, at age 23. Grandma was 44, and Grandpa 46. They look much older than that to me, but because I only knew them when they were older, I can't really trust my judgment.

I know that kitchen so well - my sister and her family still live in the same house my grandparents did. But I don't remember the wallpaper. That is some crazy wallpaper.


Previously:
Old Photo Corner 1

Happy birthday, Mom and The Spot

Tomorrow is my mom's birthday. Not to publicize her age too widely, but it's also the birthday of The Spot.


My mom and The Spot are exactly the same age. What's more, The Spot is half a block from the house where she grew up. My grandpa used to enjoy telling the tale of the day his daughter was born, when he came home from the hospital and grabbed a celebratory hamburger at the new joint down the street. Every year, The Spot puts a big ad in the newspaper in honor of the 4th of July and the restaurant's birthday. And every year, they sell hamburgers for [Mom's age] cents. As you might imagine, every year, she appreciates this tradition a little less.

Happy birthday, Mom. Have a root beer whirl and some cheese squares.

Old Photo Corner 1: Greek girls

Awhile back, my cousin scanned a ton of old family photos. I love looking at them, so I thought it might be fun to write about them. Like this one:


My great-aunt Irene and her friend Bessie, ca. 1925. Irene was the sister of my paternal grandfather. They were born in Wisconsin, but my great-grandparents emigrated from Greece in the early 1900's. (More on them later.) I love Irene and Bessie's outfits here. I wish I knew if they wore them for anything besides photo shoots such as this - celebrations? Ceremonies? Were the outfits hand sewn or store-bought? Here or in Greece? Did they pick out the aprons? What's the story with the prism-looking necklaces?

I guess I have more questions than comments about this first photo. It's times like these when I want to interview, in detail, every single older member of my family.