“Have you seen any good scorpions lately?”

By

Gerry Niskern

Are you new to our valley? How well do you know your neighbors? Have you met any of our resident scorpions yet?  The swift venomous arthropods are everywhere.

When you live in the desert, you have invaded their territory; especially when you dwell in an area where the ground has been disturbed for new housing construction and their nests are stirred up. The stinger is at the end of the tail; the sting site can be extremely painful. It generally does not swell, but there is instantaneous pain and numbness. Young kids and seniors are most at risk.

Almost everyone has a scorpion story. I saw my first scorpion years ago. It was a rather large one, on the wall above a sleeping newborn’s crib. The proud parents had invited us in to see their infant, and there on the wall was the culprit. What a lucky intervention that was.

We’ve had them quite often because we live in the Dreamy Draw area that is especially known for its scorpions. Our son gave us something handy to keep from stepping on one at night; plug in Limelites  that cast a faint glow on the floor, enough to throw a scorpion’s shadow to alert you.  I recommend getting one.

My resident historian took off his socks one night and surprise, there on the bottom of one sock was a squashed scorpion. He was lucky that time. It pays to shake out your shoes before putting them on. Sometimes you hear them first; they make a slight scratching sound on a hard surface.

Most pest control companies will tell you that you cannot kill them. Scorpions usually follow other bugs into a home. What actually can be done is to spray for their prey thereby eliminating the scorpions.

I remember walking into the kitchen one morning and seeing one on the telephone sitting on the counter. I came back with the flyswatter and to my amazement, I watched that tiny scorpion run down the wall, under the locked and what we thought was an airtight Arcadia door and out onto the patio. They can crawl through a credit card size slit.

Last year, we were at a friend’s new home in the Sun City area. She leaned down to pick up what she thought was a piece of dry grass from the carpet. Guess what, it stung her!  Her pain from that scorpion sting lasted several hours.

Another friend tells about the time when he was in high school and the family had just moved into a new home. He thought he saw a scorpion run under the refrigerator. Determined to get it, the high school boy got down on his hand and knees and looked under the frig. The little pirate dashed out and stung him on the nose!  Of course, the repercussions were serious from that sting.

According to the emergency room staff at John C. Lincoln, children under six and seniors are the only ones they normally to give antiserum for scorpion venom. It’s very hard on you. But unfortunately with children, if they are crying loudly, and it appears to be quite painful, they have to assume it’s probably a scorpion bite.

According to my research, there are 1,300 species of scorpions worldwide, and many varieties are non- poisonous. However, the poisonous ones live mainly in the Southwest Deserts. Watch out!.

“Have you seen any good scorpions lately?”

By

Gerry Niskern

Are you new to our valley? How well do you know your neighbors? Have you met any of our resident scorpions yet?  The swift venomous arthropods are everywhere.

When you live in the desert, you have invaded their territory; especially when you dwell in an area where the ground has been disturbed for new housing construction and their nests are stirred up. The stinger is at the end of the tail; the sting site can be extremely painful. It generally does not swell, but there is instantaneous pain and numbness. Young kids and seniors are most at risk.

Almost everyone has a scorpion story. I saw my first scorpion years ago. It was a rather large one, on the wall above a sleeping newborn’s crib. The proud parents had invited us in to see their infant, and there on the wall was the culprit. What a lucky intervention that was.

We’ve had them quite often because we live in the Dreamy Draw area that is especially known for its scorpions. Our son gave us something handy to keep from stepping on one at night; plug in Limelites  that cast a faint glow on the floor, enough to throw a scorpion’s shadow to alert you.  I recommend getting one.

My resident historian took off his socks one night and surprise, there on the bottom of one sock was a squashed scorpion. He was lucky that time. It pays to shake out your shoes before putting them on. Sometimes you hear them first; they make a slight scratching sound on a hard surface.

Most pest control companies will tell you that you cannot kill them. Scorpions usually follow other bugs into a home. What actually can be done is to spray for their prey thereby eliminating the scorpions.

I remember walking into the kitchen one morning and seeing one on the telephone sitting on the counter. I came back with the flyswatter and to my amazement, I watched that tiny scorpion run down the wall, under the locked and what we thought was an airtight Arcadia door and out onto the patio. They can crawl through a credit card size slit.

Last year, we were at a friend’s new home in the Sun City area. She leaned down to pick up what she thought was a piece of dry grass from the carpet. Guess what, it stung her!  Her pain from that scorpion sting lasted several hours.

Another friend tells about the time when he was in high school and the family had just moved into a new home. He thought he saw a scorpion run under the refrigerator. Determined to get it, the high school boy got down on his hand and knees and looked under the frig. The little pirate dashed out and stung him on the nose!  Of course, the repercussions were serious from that sting.

According to the emergency room staff at John C. Lincoln, children under six and seniors are the only ones they normally to give antiserum for scorpion venom. It’s very hard on you. But unfortunately with children, if they are crying loudly, and it appears to be quite painful, they have to assume it’s probably a scorpion bite.

According to my research, there are 1,300 species of scorpions worldwide, and many varieties are non- poisonous. However, the poisonous ones live mainly in the Southwest Deserts. Watch out!.

“The Stir Stick”

By

Gerry Niskern

There used to be a running joke in our family about who will inherit the “stir stick”. Which offspring will be deemed worthy of the old pine stick that my grandmother, my dad’s mother,  used to stir her clothes in the laundry rinse water?   That piece of pine was bleached white and worn smooth as satin as she stirred the clothes round and round the old tubs till they were rinsed clean. She raised six children all alone by taking in laundry, with the help of that one small stir stick.

My own mother inherited the stick from her mother-in-law and used it many years. However, somewhere along the way the stick was retired, pushed to the back of a cupboard.  That probably happened when she purchased her first automatic washer.

She didn’t get a dryer though. Mom insisted on having the fresh breath of wind and sun on her towels and sheets. Actually, she didn’t take quickly to any new gadgets for the home. I wonder what she would have thought about the new cooking parties that the young homemakers are giving?

I can imagine Mom’s running commentary on the latest cooking tools.

As hostess carefully demonstrates how the new colanders can be used to drain not only pasta, but also canned peaches; I can just hear Mom saying, “What’s wrong with using the can lid like always?”

The innovative measuring cups have a cup on either end, so if one’s messy, you can use the other end. “Ever hear of measuring the dry first, then the wet?”

The new baking stones are touted to bake every cookie perfectly even. “But what if you have one kid like his cookies real soft, while another wants his dark and crisp. And then there’s dad who likes the date bars cut from the edge of the pan because they’re crunchier?”

The exhibition of the special onion chopper and handy tomato slicer would have brought the retort,  “use a knife.” When the hostess explains that the new garlic press can be used in a real emergency to crush bullion cubs.  Mom would say, “Make your own chicken broth, it’s better for you.”

Don’t even mention the improved spatulas that sell for thirteen dollars!  “Nonsense. Cake batter tastes just as good licked off a ninety-eight cent spoon.”

Something tells me those women of years ago who melted down their soap pieces on Sunday evening to get ready for Monday’s wash and saved their potato water to make gravy, wouldn’t be good ones to invite to today’s cooking parties.

Actually, if you look closely, some of  the old customs are new again.  Nostalgia is back in a big way. Young couples are snapping up the old Victorian homes. They’re hanging lace curtains and searching for handmade quilts.  Spinning wheels and butter churns are sought after items to place in the entry hall and Grandpa’s wicker rocking chair is on the front porch.

The latest trend is to knit your own afghans; some women’s magazines are now carrying complete instructions.  The sewing pattern industry is reporting a big comeback as stay- at- home Mom’s are buying sewing machines.

Cooking is back.  On kitchen stoves the size of small Volkswagens, today’s homemakers are simmering Thai stews and soups with Eastern-European flavors as they celebrate their ethnic backgrounds.

Everyone is embracing the “rootedness” of the home. They’re very keen on traditions. Parents desire a way of life they can pass on to their children.

The other day I saw some antique, hand decorated wash tubs hanging on a back patio. Since I’ve been hanging on to that old piece of bleached pine, I’ve been wondering, is it possible that we might see the return of the “stir stick?”

Nah.

“Outlaw the Fun!”

By

Gerry Niskern

Have you heard that the grade schools are banning contact sports at recess? Tag is only one of many games forbidden at most schools because there have been injuries with pushing and shoving. The parents are complaining.  It’s about time they have a ban on fun, in fact, its decades late.

This issue of contact games reminds me of one first grader in our family coming home and telling of how much fun it was to chase the little girls at recess. When asked what they did when then caught them. “We just chase them. He replied, horrified. “We don’t catch them!”

Then there’s dodge ball.  I speak on behalf of all the uncoordinated kids who were subjected to dodge ball humiliation.

My heart would jump to my throat, as a kid, when the teacher announced, “We are all going to play together this recess. The game is dodge ball.”  That meant the boys too; the hard hitters.

First she appointed two captains and then came the mortification of being the kid chosen last. The next insult was always being the one put out. By out, I mean a sizzling ball speeding towards my body while I instinctively froze knowing there was no escape

It’s a good thing my school didn’t play wall ball too.

Workup softball at lunch recess was a disaster too.   We had an hour, but the best players ate fast, raced to grab the bat and ball, and then claimed positions on the diamond. If, on the other hand, you were required to walk home for lunch you never made it back in time for more than a field position.  It’s just as well. The one time I got to pitch, I caught a speeding ball right in the teeth.

Is jump rope is considered a contact sport these days? Those whirling jump ropes can sting when they smack you. That’s was right before your knees hit the pavement.

Lot’s of friends in school tried to help me master the Monkey Bars. “Just grab hold and swing right and then left as you go across.”  I tried, I really did, but by the 3^rd grab, I was on the ground. No soft sand under the bars at our school,  just hard dried mud.

The kids in our neighborhood played “Ante, Ante Over” too. One  team was in our back yard and one team in front. The ball was launched over the roof, and if someone caught it, they would sneak around house and try to hit someone with it.  That’s right. That someone was usually me. Then you had to be on their team. Playing with my older sister and her friends, my only function was being the easiest target. Those balls stung pretty good too.

Mothers didn’t want to hear about how hard you got hit either. The phrase was, “If you are going to cry, I’ll give you something to cry about.”

Then there were jacks. An easy game, or so I was told. All you do is throw out the jacks on the sidewalk, then take the little red rubber ball in one hand and throw it up in the air, not too far. Before it comes down, pick up one jack and catch the little ball in the same hand before it bounces twice. That was called onsies. Next came twosies or so I hear. That’s about as far as I ever got.

Personally, I think they should outlaw jacks too

“The Face of Labor has Changed”

By

Gerry Niskern

Did you have any help preparing for the coming holiday that celebrates the working people in America? You probably had a lot more help from unseen workers than you realize. We all tend to take other peoples labor for granted, just like we take our country’s holidays for granted.

Our country’s unique national holiday came about because back in the late 1880’s around 10,000 workers in the garment industry walked off the job and staged a notorious strike in New York City. They demanded that common laborers in the United States have a day of recognition for their efforts.

Look around this Labor Day. Do you notice anything different? There is a lot of white hair out there. A fast growing number of the unseen workers are seniors. These older workers show up everyday, sometimes regardless of poor health. They see what needs done and they do it.

The people who hire seniors can’t say enough good things about them. They know they’re on time, with no call-in excuses of “the car broke down or the sitter didn’t show up.”

Do you know any of these people personally? Probably not, since they just melt into the blur of people who serve your needs as quickly as possible and get you on your way. When you do spot a senior on the job, remember that they are probably someone’s mom or dad, grandma or grandpa.

Most seniors didn’t expect to be working in what has always been described as their “golden years”. They’re working for various reasons. Many just plain need the extra income. Social Security doesn’t go far in this day and age. Others are stranded with no pension from life long jobs. Some were just unskilled or unlucky. As one fellow said to me, “By the time you can make ends meet, they’ve moved the ends!”

I recently attended a swim suit sale at one of our large department stores. The snowy hair on the sales lady was getting whiter by the minute as she tried to take care of the whole department by herself. When I overheard her say, “I’m getting too old for this!” I inquired about her age. She was 88.

Pat, a friend of mine, retired from the phone company a few years ago and is now a hostess at one of our local restaurants. “I ‘m working part time now in order to have money for traveling.

She went on to say, “I find that I have more patience because of my life experiences.  In the restaurant business, you have to learn to not take things personally. You’re there to serve the public”

Jim retired from a large company and drives a van for the guests at a resort. He gets along with the young guys just fine. That is, after he let them know they were not to refer to him as “the old man.”

Several Seniors mentioned the fact that they were better able to relate to their grandkids because of working with the younger set.

I knew  a distinguished gentleman by the name of Sam who was a Utility Person at AJ’s Preveyor of Fine Foods in Central Phoenix.  He was 77. Sam raised ten children, had nineteen grandchildren and five greats.  He’s retired from forty years with the U.S. Post Office; he always said,  “I’m a people person and I love this job.”

Every year when I asked him if he would be there on Labor Day, he answered cheerfully, “If it’s on Monday, I’ll be right here.”

“Labor With Love”

By

Gerry Niskern

Labor Day was the signal of the end of the season at my parents business each year.  They started their small manufacturing plant and retail store where they produced evaporative cooler pads and sold new coolers and parts here in the valley in l950.

At that time, the majority of residents used evaporative coolers.

When they opened, my dad, a time study engineer, had everything planned down to the last detail. The retail store was in front and in the large back facility he positioned    work tables, the rolls of cheesecloth and bales of shredded aspen needed. Every motion was planned down to the last detail.

When they placed the first ad for “unskilled” seasonal workers, only women applied. Some were Anglo and one was Mexican. They exchanged ideas on life and families as they worked together making the pads, laughing and talking.  Heating and Cooling service men would stop by for parts and pads and kid around with the workers. Of course, they had to keep it quiet when the Spanish program was broadcasting the daily soap opera.

Ernestina, the original Mexican lady returned to work year after year. In the off season she worked at Phoenix Linen supply. Her husband worked a seasonal job at Anderson-Clayton cotton gin. They were raising four children in a home with a dirt floor and outside shower. All four kids eventually graduated from ASU.

Most of the Anglo women who applied only worked one season for something special they wanted to buy for their home. Nellie, the second Mexican lady, came the second year. She worked at a bathing suit factory in the off season. She made fresh tortillas every morning for her family and always brought some to share.

One African American lady was their shaker for a few seasons. She shook and fluffed the damp excelsior so the women could grab loose handfuls more easily. They never had another shaker as good.

Mom hurried from the customers up front to the back room helping and supervising the women.  She made them fresh coffee at break time which she served with liberal doses of her views on morals, democracy and whatever she had baked the night before.

As years went by the Anglos went on to better jobs and more Mexicans women answered their ads. Mom eventually learned some Spanish and they learned English.

By Labor Day, the season was over. Come the New Year, the help wanted ad ran again and the chance for honest labor was offered: No matter what your ethnic background or legal status. No one cared.

“Roll those Dice!”

By

Gerry Niskern

Did your family have a chance to play any new board games this summer while the kids were on vacation? I’m sure just about every family has new video and computer games to enjoy, but I’m talking about good old-fashioned games that the whole family can play together. You know, the games the family used to play before they started sending the kids off into the other room with their  electronic games.

Yes, there are always a few quarrels and fights among siblings, let alone their competitive dads, but that’s part of the fun. The camaraderie that develops as the family members confront and challenge each other verbally can’t be achieved any other way.

There’s a variety of new games out each year. These amusements help the kids develop skills and knowledge. They learn about planning strategy and how to reason. They learn to compete by using their own creativity. There is a family favorite of ours that is called Gestures, really just another form of Charades. Everyone has fun acting out words. They get a chance to perform in front of others, which most kids don’t get a chance to do enough in school these days. Even the youngest family member can try to guess the words mimed by the other participants.

When you think about it, it’s really all about competition. How does your family compete? It’s easy to be a gracious winner, but sometimes the art of being a good loser needs a little cultivation. Where better than within the family circle?

My sly grandmother knew about competition. She used our competitiveness to her advantage as my cousins and I gathered in her kitchen on winter evenings. She dumped a stack of dry corncobs on the rug. Each child was given a cooking pot and told to see who could shuck the most corn. The only prize was just the bragging rights of being the one who had the most corn in his pot, but there was one thing for sure. Grandma always had plenty of corn for her chickens throughout the winter.

Any intellectual amusement helps develop skills and knowledge that can be used many times in life.  Early child development educators are coming out with more books touting the value of free, creative play for children before the age of five. Many old favorites that families play fall in the creative category.

When the eight-year-old and the eighty-eight year old are both playing on the same team, something neat happens. The child learns that Grandpa really knows a lot! By the same token the Grandpa gets to communicate on a level playing field with the child. When grandpa shares his knowledge of finances  they will realize their mutual dreams of becoming real estate tycoons in Monopoly. One positive result is a young person who is able to communicate with Seniors easily throughout his life.

When new boyfriends or girlfriends are invited for a family gathering, the important question to ask them is, “Would you like to join our game?” If they are willing to try something new, work as a team player or be a gracious loser, they’re a “keeper”.

We are heading into the holiday season and lots of family gatherings. What a great opportunity to play some games that bridge the generations.

I once read a saying that stated: “You can learn more about a person’s character after an hour of game playing than you can in a lifetime of conversation.”

“What did you give the kids?

by

Gerry Niskern

Do you remember when you were first learning to read? Were books fun or  boring?  If there had been computer games, waiting at home, what would you have headed for first?

I remember my first reader. I was so thrilled when the teacher said we could take our books home and read only the next five pages. I couldn’t stop. I raced through the whole book. I got into big trouble when I enthusiastically mentioned the ending the next day to my teacher. Fortunately, today’s teachers are more likely to encourage rather than discourage runaway readers. Most teachers push their students and have high expectations of them.

We hear a lot about kids being different today. They are no different now; they’re only responding to what they are offered. They also mimic what they see us doing.

Do you enthusiastically talk about your latest read? Do they hear you comparing notes or swapping volumes with friends?

To put it another way, do your kids or grandkids see you watching TV, at the computer playing games, or other electronic driven pastimes in your leisure? Another question, how many books did you buy for the young ones this past Christmas, on their birthday or just because?

Now answer this, how many electronic games did you buy?

While we’re having this pop quiz, did the baby receive tons of toys that come with computer chips inside where pushes a button to see it light up, talk or move?  How many books did he receive? Those early months are when they should be developing their love of pictures and later the written word. These books need to be available from birth. They come in cloth or with extra thick and can be read with you as soon as they can focus on the pictures.  The little one can touch it, feel it, even taste it if an overwhelming urge strikes him.  While you are reading, his imagination is being nurtured and feed. Everyone knows that children who are read to, usually become good readers.

I don’t know if you have noticed, but the toy stores have a very limited amount of books these days. Each child is unique, and some will actually choose a book over a toy if given a choice.   Do you alternate a trip to the toy store with a trip to the bookstore the next time? Children need to be guided in that direction if we want to have good readers. Their curiosity and imagination have to be constantly encouraged. What better way than to have a new book to read? The young reader’s fertile imagination can conjure up the appearance of all the characters in the book, and wonderful images will form in his mind as he reads.

More importantly, reading provides a quiet respite in hectic young lives. They need to get away from our frantic world and turn real pages. I’m sure everyone remembers a special teacher in school who read to the class for twenty minutes or so every day. A chapter a day; you could hardly wait. Let’s face it. Teachers haven’t changed as much as the world has changed. They still read to the students in the early grades, but it’s an electronically driven universe. It’s getting more and more difficult to keep children’s attention and create the excitement of a good book. Given a choice, most children will go for the electronic games. Why not, they’re fun.

At the last baby shower I attended I brought a little boxed set of Laura Ingalls Wilder books. I thought may her imagination carry her down to Plum Creek and out across the prairie as far as she cares to read. It’s a start!

“The Yellow School Bus”

by

Gerry Niskern

They’re big and cumbersome. Annoying, actually. They block our view and slow us down when we are trying to get across town in a hurry.  Every neighborhood is invaded by them around the middle of August.  Yellow school buses.

You can be sure that sitting on one of those buses that you are trapped behind, is a wide-eyed child just starting school. He is finally going to read!  His world is expanding and he is rushing to meet it through education.  Many children start dreaming of riding the school bus right after they receive their first Fischer Price school bus toy when they are toddlers. They placed their little pretend person in the front seat, because, of course, that is where they will ride to school when they are old enough.

I know.  I had those some illusions myself about riding in the front of the bus. Each school morning when I boarded the bus bound for our little country school I was sure that would be the day I  would finally get to ride in the front seat,  across from the driver.  Every time I climbed up those  steep steps,  I looked up to see our bus driver’s own  two little girls sitting smugly in the coveted seat. Just like Charlie Brown kicking a football, I didn’t stand a chance.

When I got to the school that first day, there wasn’t room for all the beginners.  Around forty children were crowded into twenty little desks.   Every year the farmers’ wives sent all their little ones, even three and four year olds, hoping for a miracle and the school would let them start first grade. The poor teacher had to weed out the ones that were too young and send them home.

Then, there was Charlie. I don’t remember his last name, but I will never forget his ingenuity at avoiding the whole issue of starting to first grade. He came on the bus with his older siblings as he was supposed to do. However, at recess time, he made a break for it. He slipped out of the schoolyard and walked home.  His father brought him back. He placed Charlie firmly in his seat and turned to put his lunch pail on the shelf. By the time he turned around Charlie was already out the door ahead of him. We kids watched in fascination as the crying little boy and his frustrated daddy went through the same routine time after time. I don’t remember who won, but something tells me it wasn’t Charlie.

I followed a bus out of our neighborhood the other morning. Seeing some of the excited Hispanic children boarding reminded me of the story my mother always told about her first day of school. The bus ride was fun and her sister directed her to the first grade room.  When class started, she concentrated as hard as she could, but she understood very little that the teacher was instructing them to do.  She remembers gulping back tears as she smoothed her freshly ironed dress with sweating palms. She tried to copy the alphabet as the teacher was indicating. Most of the other little German, Polish and Hungarian children were having just as hard a time struggling to understand. These offspring of immigrant parents played at home, just as my Austrian mother did, and didn’t learn English until they started to school. They all eventually learned English,  and were reading by the end of the year, but it was very hard.

I’m sure we all agree that whatever grade the kids on that slow yellow bus are in they deserve a safe ride to school. Please remember, when a bus is stopped, stop sign out or not, do not pass.

By the way, when I played school bus with my little great-grandson, he always  took the red-haired boy and I got to be the yellow headed girl. And I confess, I  always grabbed that front seat!

“Sounds of Summer”

By

Gerry Niskern

Do the sounds of summer take you back to memories of childhood?

Sometimes the charisma of summer is all in the sounds. Try to recall the sound of the water drops hitting the dust as the field was watered before the first pitch of the Little League game. And after the first pitch came the crack of the bat. You can hear it now, can’t you?

After the game, nothing was better than hearing the ice tinkling in the ice cold lemonade unless it’s your first crunchy gulp after a hot game. Or how about the merry sound of the Ice Cream man’s chimes and you knew soon that cool ice cream would be sliding down your parched throat.

When I was growing up near the State Capitol, there used to be a family on West Jefferson, around 11^th Ave. that sold the best watermelons in the whole valley. They kept them cold in a large, soda pop cooler. Mom’s

thumbs beat deep thuds as she tapped the melons.  Later, at home when she slid her big knife in the dark green skin, her choice melon split apart with a loud ripping sound. It was heaven.

Inside the house, the whir of the evaporative cooler motor meant a welcome breeze. Of course if the cooler wasn’t doing too well, in high humidity, that meant we were in for one of our monsoon storms.  The shattering snap of lightening and deep growl of thunder, even today, reminds me of the neighbors who slept in their backyards on hot nights. They had to run for cover many a summer night after hearing the drumbeat of the rain come marching across the yards.

Sunday afternoon meant family picnic time at Riverside Park down on South Central Ave. We headed for the sounds of water splashing and the shrieks of kids as they

became airborne off the huge slide and landed with a scream in the pool.

After a cool swim, the sputtering and popping of roasting hot dogs mingled with the sounds of a snap and hiss as dad opened bottles of Barq’s Root Beer, Orange or Strawberry pop.

The summer week was complete.