There’s been more then a few earthquakes reported around the world recently. I was reminded of a column I wrote a few years ago. Enjoy

“Same Room Next Year”

by

Gerry Niskern

Something woke me. I think it was the silence. The echoing waves that lulled us to sleep at night breaking below our room were suddenly quiet. Too quiet. I sensed, felt and heard something all at the same time. What was it?

A monstrous murmur, moving closer and closer.

A penetrating, prodigious groan of some giant, deep within the earth.

A dull roar, but no, more than that, a feeling of tension and then…the bed started to tremble and then shake violently!

I looked up. “No, not again,” I pleaded. “This happened on our vacation last year. It’s not fair.” My answer was snapping and popping as the ceiling moved above me. I could see brick walls swaying in a crazy dance high over my head in the pre dawn light. They undulated back and forth, back and forth. I decided it wasn’t a good time to bargain.

The walls are going to cave in on us. We’re two floors down, in an old seaside hotel hanging over a cliff above the Pacific. So much for early, California charm.

Complete terror shut down my brain and I told myself it was not happening. It was all a dream. An instant later I shot out of bed and dashed towards the door as my husband started for the balcony. We collided in the dark room as we both made the announcement, “We’ve got to get out of here.”

“Come on, the balcony,” he urged. “Maybe we can get down to the beach.”

“No,” Miss science class drop out answered. “There’ll be a tidal wave!”

I turned back towards the hall door as he yelled, “Wait a minute. I have to find my jeans.”

Bracing myself in the doorjamb, I screamed “Hurry up. Hurry up.” I was planning to hit the street in my nightgown whether the world was ready or not!

By the time we reached the stairs, the worst tremors seemed to be over. One by one, trying to act casual in various states of undress, other hotel guests and we straggled out into the open space above. Believe me, the three hundred-pound guy in glow in the dark boxers was not a pretty sight.

We stood around in the chilly dawn, arms crossed in strategic places. We shared stories and nervous laughs about our common ordeal. One fellow started laboriously explaining the movement of the pacific tectonic plate and the North American tectonic plate and how forces produce changes in the earth’s crush. I didn’t have the heart to tell him no one was listening. The men all had their attention on the blonde in the black see through teddy.

Various thoughts kept running through my mind like, “I want to go home! Could we even get a flight out today? Would the freeways be passable?” I found myself repeating the old childbirth litany, never again, never again. This was not what I had in mind when I agreed to a natural environment vacation.

Ken convinced me it was really over. He asked why not go back to our room? Personally, I could think of a million reasons. Later he went for coffee and rolls and we turned on the news to get the results of the quake.  We watched harried television newscasters explain solemnly in their usual pompous manner that the quake had been an 8.6 on the Richter scale, but not to worry. Then we watched them dive under their tables as television equipment fell around their heads and we felt another one!

“I’m out of here.” I yelled.

“Hurry up, will you?” Ken urged as we started up the cement stairs again. This time, there was a slight problem. The steps kept moving sideways when I tried to put my foot down.

In the parking lot again, we watched people throw suitcases with clothes spilling out, into their car trunks. One driver shouted back over his shoulder, “I don’t care if they are just aftershocks!”

We decided to walk into the village and try to calm down. The shop keepers told us that the epicenter had been inland and the beach was perfectly safe and then they told us to stay, relax, enjoy the rest of our vacation and could they wrap up that little trinket for us?

We returned to our room eventually.  I set the world’s record for changing into a bathing suit and getting outside again. Every few minutes during the day, the beach trembled for a few seconds. Putting my hand palm down on the sand, it was a strange sensation to feel the beach moving.

Then, as the day drifted by, the sun and surf conspired and lulled us into a calm complacency. When we checked out a couple of days later, we conferred our kids long held suspicion that we were certifiable. We both nodded in agreement when our old friend, the hotel manager, asked, “Same room next year?”

“Today’s Moms need a few old maxims”

By

Gerry Niskern

Today’s young mothers, either working or stay-at-home, strive to achieve unrealistic standards set by today’s society. Many magazines demand that mothers see that their children are involved in sports, music lessons and other enriching experiences every single day. They struggle to meet every need of their children’s entire emotional, psychological and intellectual well being twenty-four seven.

Today’s mothers are encouraged to raise their children to think they are the center of the universe. Heaven forbid that the child is bored or allowed to think for themselves.

I imagine some readers remember complaining as a child about having nothing to do. I think the usual reply back then was, “Find something to do, or I’ll find you something.” Believe me, you didn’t want to know what that was!

My mother would advise today’s mothers to instead, arm themselves with an arsenal of maxims! I was raised by the maxim method, but didn’t realize it until years later.

When l begged to have my long braids cut off and my hair styled, I was informed that “beauty is only skin deep and furthermore, just remember that pretty is as pretty does.”

     On the afternoon my boyfriend and I ditched highschool, she flung open the front door and announced that she was “mad as a wet hen” after the school called and if I thought I had gotten away with it “I had another thought coming. You’ve cooked your own goose and your dad is going to come down on you like a ton of bricks.”

After a Saturday date, as we approached the front yard, the front porch light the size of a lighthouse beam would suddenly blaze on. I just knew she was smugly thinking, “I nipped that in the bud.”

     Certain occasions in our family were command performances. Family holidays, birthdays and especially funerals were required attendance. “What do you mean, you can’t go. Your Uncle John was the salt of the earth. Services are at two o’clock. Be there. After all, blood is thicker than water.”

Long after I became a mother myself, she continued to mother the young women who worked in my parents small manufacturing business. On Monday mornings she brought them samples and copies of a new recipe that melted in your mouth. When she worked along beside them she gave them liberal doses of her views on good morals. She advised them to take the bull by the horns and break it off with boyfriends that were not treating them respectively or were always four sheets to the wind; everybody knows, a leopard can’t change his spots.  Mom arranged a cash advance on her first paycheck if a new girl was having a hard time financially. She simply informed my dad that the poor girl was between the devil and the deep blue sea.

Mom supplied love in abundance, but she also gave us no nonsense replies to self-indulgent complaining. Most of the maxims she used were simply shortcut ways of telling us to stand on our own two feet and think for ourselves. Crocodile tears were not acceptable.

So, as my mother would say to young mothers today, “ Learn a few maxims. Who knows? Maybe someday when your children are adults, they might look back fondly at your method of upbringing and say, “She was worth her weight in gold!”

“I Went to a Celtic Wedding!”

By

Gerry Niskern

Tears of joy glistened in her eyes as the barefoot bride clad in white came slowly up the hill. As she swept into the groom’s eager arms she laid her dark head, crowned with a wreath of purple flowers, on his shoulder. He touched her lovingly as they danced slowly round and round and round.

The family and friends gathered in the meadow beside the tinkling rhythm of Oak Creek heard the couple speak vows of promise and love to each other and the bride’s child. The Red Rocks beyond stood in silent witness to the love flowing from everyone gathered at Red Rock Crossing last Sunday afternoon.

Earlier that day, as guests arrived at the large Ramada they found beautiful place settings and flowers on purple cloths adorning all the tables. The Groom came earlier to do the decorating! The side tables began to fill with the delectable dishes of a pot luck luncheon. Chili bubbled in a crock pot beside three kinds of lasagna. There were salads of every kind and fruit plates too. Slices of ham piled on a platter beside the rolls; mouth watering food brought by loving family and friends. No need for a wedding planner or special wines at this simple, relaxed time. A quick sip of champagne to toast the couple. After the long, long hike up the creek to the meadow where we watched this Celtic wedding take place the food was eagerly enjoyed by all!

During the ceremony the traditional mingling of blood from the groom’s left wrist and the brides right was sealed with long ribbons tying them together by the groom’s step-father who performed the ceremony. They remained bound together the rest of their beautiful day as they embraced mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, grandparents and friends.

As the day was winding to a close, I spoke to the new Mr. and Mrs. Brandon Thomas. “When your great-grandpa Kenny and I were young marrieds we used to camp here at Red Rock Crossing for entire weekends without another soul showing up. After putting our young kids to sleep in the tent and zipping it up, we used to go down to the deep pool and have a romantic, moonlight swim. So I’m not surprised that you, Brandon, brought your bride here to Red Rock Crossing to be married.”

“Voices”

By

Gerry Niskern

What do you think about the new friends we all have acquired in the past few years?  You know the ones. They’re voices. That’s all, just firm voices.

At first it was a little disconcerting having someone I can’t see and didn’t know giving me authoritative orders. I remember years ago when we were waiting in the car for a real estate lady who ran into her bank for a quick minute. Suddenly, a woman said real loud, “Your engine is running and your seat belt is not fastened!”  I don’t know who went straight up first, my spouse or me. That was just the beginning the invasion of the voices.

Now days at the airport, when we are finally relaxing a little on the moving sidewalk, in one of many repetitious commands a voice instructs us over and over to “stand to the right and walk on the left, please”.

Then, there is our new robotic buddy at the supermarket. Actually, I like him. I get finished checking out faster and he’s never sniffing from a fresh cold.  He invites me to “press start here, scan the first item and put it in the bag.”Of course, he does get a little cranky sometimes. If I have a large item, like a twelve pack of cola, and decide to put it directly into the cart, he repeats “put the item in the bag, put the item in the bag! PUT THE ITEM IN THE BAG!!! By this time the courtesy clerk is scurrying over to see just how retarded I really am and the customers behind me are snickering.

Of course, his R2D2 chum at the gas pump doesn’t talk to me at all. He doesn’t have to, as long as I need him more than he needs me. I quietly slip him that little credit card and he delivers. Gas. Nothing else. No oil checks clean windshield or “have a nice day”.

On the other hand, there’s another voice we can be sure we’ll never hear. When we call the doctor’s office and get their menu with more choices than you care to use, there’s one option we don’t have to worry about receiving. Press # 5 and you can speak to the doctor himself.  Forget that one!

The voice in the box at the fast food drive- in offers a different challenge. Now, we know there is actually a live person on the other end of this form of communication. The problem is, they can never quite hear you and you sure can’t understand them. Come to think of it, maybe they could get lessons on how to speak clearly and distinctly from Mr. Robot.

Today’s children are different. They’re accustomed to taking orders from the voices in their toys. One little toddler I know pushes her pink fire engine along and is delighted when a voice tells her “Look both ways when you cross the street…In case of emergency, call 911….or Don’t talk to strangers!” The older kids take their instructions from their video game voice of authority before beginning a game. Maybe that’s better than the arguments we used to have as kids on the rules for Monopoly.  .

As time goes on, we’ll all continue to be introduced to more and more new voices in our lives

I have just one request. Could somebody please put a microchip in the take- home box in the restaurants? He could yell, ”Hey lady, you’re forgetting your doggie bag!”

“The Inner-child Wants to Play”

By

Gerry Niskern

There are bunnies, chicks, beautiful eggs and jelley beans everywhere we go in the valley these days. That only means one thing. Easter is coming and the family is making plans.

Easter is a special time, a time for family gatherings; in other words, knock down, drag out quarrels and fights. Or to put it another way, family games! You remember board games, don’t you?  Those were the games everyone, young and old played in the days before it became the norm to shuttle the kids off into the other room with their solitary Nintendo and computer games.

It’s time to start checking out the new games for fun at the Easter get together and for summer vacation time. There are loads of new ones out there.

Of course you can’t beat our family’s old stand by, Gestures, a different form of Charades that’s good for all ages. Even the tiniest player can try to guess the secret movements of his team. (Just make sure the men’s team doesn’t use their zoom lens on the video to see the answer cards across the room. Trust me, I speak from experience on this issue!)

As children, everyone played games. Old Maid, Tiddly Winks, Go Fish and puzzles to name a few. How about Monopoly, Parcheesi, or Aggravation? Those childish amusements helped us develop skills and knowledge. We learned about planning, strategy and reasoning. And if we’ve been lucky, we have been able to remain enough of a child to still enjoy the challenge of a game.

How does your family compete? You know, when you think about it, it’s all about competition. My sly old grandma knew about that human trait.   She used her grandchildren’s competitiveness to her advantage as we gathered in her kitchen on cold winter evenings. First she dumped a stack of corncobs out in the middle of the floor; then all the little cousins were given a large pan and told to see who could shuck the most corn. I don’t remember what the prize was, if indeed there was one.  But she always had dry corn for her chickens throughout the winter.

I remember when I introduced our oldest grandson to his first board game,  Hi-Ho Cheery’os. He was three. He was so taken with the idea that I was awakened the next morning at dawn with a little face peering down at me and saying, “ Hey, Grandma, do you remember that game?

There’s an old saying that goes something like this, “ You can learn more about a person’s character after an hour of game playing than you can in a lifetime of conversation.”

Easter also brings new boyfriends and girlfriends to meet the clan. The young people in our family don’t worry about their friends passing inspection with Mom and Dad. The important question is “Are they game players?”

Sooner or later, after the baked ham and strawberry pie, someone will suggest a game of spoons. That’s played by passing and collecting sets of cards and then everyone grabbing for a diminishing supply of spoons.  If the new girlfriend hangs in until the end, even after breaking a nail or two, Grandpa can be heard to whisper, “She’s a keeper, get that girl an engagement ring.”

I found our old Mr. Mouth game the other day. On one Easter day I introduced my little two-year old great-grandson to the trick of flipping the small disks into the opening and shutting frog’s mouth. I’m not sure how much I learned about his character, but I was playing Mr. Mouth the next day as the sun came up over Piestawa Peak.

I wrote this column for the Arizona Republic a few years back, but it still applies!

“The Snowbird Club”

By

Gerry Niskern

. Have you ever complained about or made fun of the hundreds of motorhomes that arrive in our valley each winter? Come on, I know some of you have.

Actually, those Snowbirds in their RVs are tougher than you think.  They deserve a lot of credit for surviving in their tiny little home for six months each year.

Last weekend on our anniversary we took our “new” previously owned motorhome on a shakedown cruise.  “Don’t worry” we told our kids, “Nothing to it”.

I was cautioned, “Don’t over load the storage space. We’ll eat out most of the time.  ”  So I took, four eggs, a half loaf of bread (no toaster) and 4 hot dogs .  I was receiving plenty of instructions from the guy who has taken the universal male oath to never follow instructions.

The first evening, we couldn’t drive to dinner because we were tethered. We had already plugged into the RV Park’s power source for water, electricity and sewer, put out our awning, and set up our outdoor chairs; hot dogs for our anniversary dinner.

We wondered why the overhead air conditioning wasn’t working when we tried to stay cool that first afternoon; the  next morning we realized we were plugged in, all right, but the park hookup breaker wasn’t on. . The refrigerator had been off on all night

I took my shower with explicit instructions of “how to shower in a motorhome on two gallons of water” Sounds easy till you try it; especially with someone yelling through the door, ‘Don’t use too much water!’ Instead of a two gallon, I’m guessing I had a two-pint shower.

The large coveys of Quail we had enjoyed watching all day suddenly disappeared about 5 o’clock. When we tried to sleep with the one lightweight blanket we had packed  we knew why the Quails hunkered down early. Nights in the Arizona desert are freezing.

In the morning the tub had three inches of grey water.  We tried a plunger and then searched for Drano.  Finally we read the instruction manual. Guess what? There is a control panel to check everything!  There are three water tanks in a motorhome. The clean water tank, the grey water from showers and sinks, and the black water tank (you don’t even want to know!)

The furnace went on unexpectedly the next evening. We worried it might be malfunctioning so we shut off the propane and flipped the circuit breakers inside. That worked. That is until the next morning we couldn’t get the coffeepot to brew, the micro to work and then we realized the frig had once again been off all night.

On the way home we agreed: Maybe we’re not tough enough to be Snowbirds.

Easter Traditions

By

Gerry Niskern

. Expensive spring vacations and pricey brunches are not in the plans for many Arizona families.

Easter egg hunts have been scaled down and new family traditions are in the making. In fact, many of  the new celebrations might resemble the desert picnics our family had when our children and their cousins were growing up here in the valley. The kids thought the Easter bunny hid his eggs out on the desert. That’s because Grandpa had scouted out a pristine site shaded by Palo Verde and Mesquite trees the week before. Then on Easter day he and Grandma hid dozens of dyed eggs among the desert poppies and blue lupine.

Did you know that the tradition of dyeing eggs in bright colors and giving them to family and friends goes back centuries.  The Egyptians and Persians practiced this tradition long before Christ was  born. In the Middle Ages, it was forbidden to eat eggs during the 40 days of Lent. However, no one told the chickens. The hens kept laying and out of the resulting glut, the Easter Egg tradition was born.

Each baby’s first creative experience was usually at Easter when our family dyed their eggs. The kids typically started out with wax cryons, delicate designs to follow and great expectations. After a few eggs were colored and the first container of red dye hit the kitchen floor, the job became a little rushed and it was all downhill from there.

It didn’t really matter, because the eggs my kids valued most were the ones they found on the desert that the giant Arizona Jackrabbit left among the desert rocks and flowers.

For years our extended family gathered on the desert North of Thunderbird Road in the area where the Moon Valley Country club now stands. When that area filled with houses, we met for our picnic on the land just East of Scottsdale Road and Bell, where the Great Indoors was built.

Finally, we moved our Easter picnic among the smooth, round rocks of the Carefree area. The kid’s baskets full of candy were forgotten as they scrambled over the round rocks hunting for the mysterious eggs hidden among the boulders. And, of course, the Boulders Resort commands that old picnic site now.

So remember. The huge rabbit with the really big ears is coming again. And remind Grandma that it’s not fair to walk ahead of everyone showing the baby where the eggs are hidden.

A word of caution: Leave real early. You’ll have to drive out a long, long way past the houses to find a pristine desert site for your Easter picnic.

LOVE IS A FINISHED HOUSE

By

Gerry Niskern

NOTE: This was written a few years ago when Ken remodeled our last house.

Every year around this time we all realize that “sweeps” month on television has arrived. Anyone in our valley who clicks on their television sets knows the networks are competing for the highest ratings. They do this with sensationalism and brazen schemes. The pandemonium and  destruction, the  raw nerves…and that’s only from the home improvement shows!

Are any of your neighbors planning to remodel their home this year? Even worse, are you dreaming of a new addition?  Instead, I should ask, have you ever lived in a war zone? Did you ever sleep with every stick of furniture you owned stacked precariously beside your bed because the bedroom walls were still intact, at least for that day?

Whether you are newlyweds, or have a few years of martial bliss behind you, let me warn you about the home improvement shows. On the television home shows, the host is shown interviewing the owners of a recently renovated house. The delirious couple leads him from room to newly decorated room. They describe in glowing terms how easily they knocked out this wall and moved that door and behold, had a wonderful spacious new living room. All this, according to them, was accomplished while they were living in the home. According to the silly grin on their faces, it was actually fun!

Let me tell you about fun. Fun is rising every morning to be greeted by a new layer of white powder on every surface in the house from the ripping of dry wall as the partitions came down.

Try getting up at two a. m., when nature calls, and finding that none of the toilets are working. In television land, the newly remodeled bathroom is a vision of elegance. The husband explains to the viewing audience how easily the new plumbing for the twin basins fit together, just one, two, three.

Our plastic pipes, on the other hand, finally worked after four trips to Home Depot, three changes of fittings, and two applications of adhesive.

The wide-eyed T. V. host pauses in the “state of the art” kitchen and the beaming couple recount how they resurfaced the kitchen cabinets, installed a new countertop and punched out a sky light for an encore. They neglect to mention that the electricity and water are off for ten days while they breezed through these chores.

Trust me on this. Remodeling is the ultimate challenge of the strength of a marriage. One minute you’re in ecstasy while your handyman husband shows you how these two bedrooms will evolve into that spacious great room. The next minute you’re drawing up divorce and settlement papers.

One day you’re congratulating each other on the speedy way the  grand plan is  coming together, and the next day you come home to find your clothes scattered over every piece of furniture in the house. The walk-in closet no longer exists. Your mate explains that the laundry room, on the opposite side of the house, is now the closet…sort of.

I once heard someone say that the true test of a marriage is if a couple can successfully wallpaper a room together. Obviously the author of that quote had never remodeled a house.

Each year, after sweeps, some senator introduces a bill in congress to curb the excessiveness on T. V. In my opinion, they could have already solved the problem and saved thousands of marriages by voting to ban the home improvement shows. Legions of wives of “wannabe remodelers” would erect a monument in honor of the lawmaker who sponsored that bill.

If the government is not going to outlaw the home improvement fairy tale shows, the least they could do is insist on warning labels on the opening credits to alert spouses…VIEWING NOT ADVISED FOR HUSBANDS WHO OWN HAMMERS OR SAWS.

“Therapy for Today’s Swingers”

By

Gerry Niskern

Guess what? The old-fashioned porch swing is back. According to many home living magazines, today’s young families, in their pursuit of the coziness and warmth of Grandma’s house, are buying porch swings. The young marrieds have realized the therapeutic benefits of relaxing by gently swinging back and forth after a hard day working.

There’s just one problem. They are installing them on their back patios. Wrong! Before this becomes a trend, I’d like to offer some advice. Porch swings don’t belong in the backyard. How can you watch the passing parade on your street? How can you catch up on the latest news when the evening strollers stop to chat for a minute?

Some of my fondest memories include playing on my Aunt’s front porch steps while the adults were swaying gently on the squeaky swing.  My Aunt Sarah did a continuous monologue on the personal news of each passerby. She used to comment, “See that fellow, he’s stepping out on his wife, or “I think there’s a new baby on the way for that couple coming down the sidewalk.” Back then, after a hard day of laundry, baking and canning inside the house, the front porch evening respite on the swing was her way of “surfing the net”.

Other summer evenings spent swaying in one of the three swings hanging from my grandpa’s grape arbor. I would climb onto an adult’s lap and watch the lacy pattern on pattern of leaf shadows on weary faces at sunset. The trio of clicking swings provided a soft background of rhythm for grandma’s narratives of the old country.

My husband and I had several swings over the years. We know the seat must be constructed to gently curve, sloping down towards the back. It should be hung so that when sitting in it the swinger’s toes just touch the floor. It must be long enough to hold three adults or as many little kids as can squeeze in. The chain should be strong enough to hold your chubbiest relative. You know the one; they back up to the swing and suddenly drop! Only the strongest chain can withstand the shock.

It must be hung so that it can be pushed back to the full extension of the chain. Nothing surpasses the giggles of delight of a one-year-old taking her first wild ride choreographed by big brother doing the pushing.

When I was a child, the safe cocoon of the swing was a haven for playing dolls, experimenting with nail polish or discovering the enchanting world of reading. Many have  rocked with their dates and exchanged a first kiss on a swing. The proposal of marriage has occurred on a porch swing. Somehow, it takes the stress out of the whole event.

Colicky grandbabies love to hear “Rock a Bye Baby” over and over again while gently swaying. . While moving to a faster rhythm, it’s a great place to teach kids the old songs like “She’ll be coming Round the Mountain” or “Where have you been, Billy Boy, Billy Boy?”

Later on, when they’re teenagers, the sanctuary of the swing in the anonymity of the evening darkness becomes an easy place to discuss personal problems. Almost anything can be resolved while watching the stars come out

“Hold it! Don’t Move ”

By

Gerry Niskern

Have you moved lately? Don’t! Even thinking about changing houses leads to work. I’m talking a lot of mental work here.

It’s not the packing and heavy lifting that’s hard. No, it’s the decisions; many, many decisions. If you have an old “hope chest”, or the equivalent, you know what I mean. Back in the dark ages, when I was engaged to be married, young brides-to-be stored table and bed linens for their future homes in a beautifully finished large wooden chest. Mine was a light Ash modern design and I dutifully filled it with hand embroidered items.

As years went by the linens were used and replaced with keepsakes. You name it, I saved it. My old school projects and awards were stashed there. Then each new babies’ little beaded I.D. bracelet from the new born nursery at Good Sam. A washed out nightgown that was worn by all three, plus a handed down little necklace of rubber teething beads. Then their first Christmas outfits, tiny shoes, and favorite stuffed animals went in. Then came the report cards and achievement awards and hand made cards; oh my, the cards! Especially Mother’s day cards. My all time favorite one had unique hand made flowers pasted all over and read “Dear Mother, I only have $3. 65 so I can’t buy you anything, so I made you this card”.

I was getting rid of the chest, so everything had to be divided into three stacks.

There were three little silver cups. Each had a name engraved on it. They all learned to drink from them at around eight months and then straight to a sturdy glass Surprising, there were few spills. Those won’t be passed down to grandchildren. It’s Tippee cups now; the kind that are sipped from, then tossed on the floor till they are old enough for Kindergarten.                                                                                                                                      Right in the middle of sorting I found a bundle of a dozen full note book pages that read “I will note touch other peoples $”, over and over, front and back. I don’t know when I meted out that punishment, but it apparently worked.

So that sorting is done. Everyone has their bundle and I enjoyed the trip down memory lane. However, as I said before, don’t move!