The ties that bind
By
Gerry Niskern
I had a phone call last week that “warmed the cockles of my heart.” It was my cousin Joann. She was going to be in the valley for a few days and wanted to get together with me for a mini reunion. We hadn’t seen each other in eighty-some years! I have to tell you, the joy that I felt on hearing her voice was awesome.
My mom and dad both came from large families so I had loads of cousins. What I remember best about those cousins was playing outside in the evening after dark, up to nine or ten o’clock. The grownups would be in Grandma’s kitchen or sitting on the swings out under the grape arbor, laughing and talking, while we kids were running all over the neighborhood at the direction of Joann’ older brother. He had the imagination to led an “army “ of kids, including little three-year-old Joann, in make believe games. If I remember correctly, many included him as the “Lone Ranger”.
‘This is great’ I thought. I’ll be able to ask her lots of questions about Moundsville, the little town we both came from and places that I missed because my family moved to Arizona when I was ten and she was three. She remained there through high school before moving away.
She clarified a lot for me; I loved to hear about some of my favorite places and how they had changed. My favorites were hers too! I was able to answer a lot of her questions about the family history that I had learned about the time our grandparents had come over from Austria.
We reminisced about the story of the time my mother saved my cousin’s dad. I’ve told it before in my writing, but it’s worth repeating. It seems a group of little boys were breaking a strict rule at the elementary school one morning and my mother saw her six- year- old brother among them. Later on, from her third grade class room, she saw the principal yanking her little brother down the hallway with a strap in her hand. Mom was only eight but she ran out and grabbed the principles strap and said, “You aren’t going to strap my brother unless you strap those other boys too!” Back then, boys from foreign families were always the first to be punished. The lady was so astonished that she stopped, let the boy go, and said, “Both of you just get back to your class right now!”
However, the more we talked it became clear that my memories of fun at our grandmother’s house; the wonderful Christmas celebration (and polka dancing) on January 6th, my grandma’s Christmas, were not Joann’s memories! Even though they lived right around the corner, her little family did not feel welcome. “You know, Gerry, “ she sighed. “The family was not nice to my mom. We kids played together, but my dad’s sisters did not speak to my mom. “ “Well,” I replied. “What I remember is your Mom made the best donuts in the world. I was always told not to go around the corner to your house, but I couldn’t resist! I didn’t lie, I just neglected to mention my furtive visits where I always received a warm sugar coated donut from your mom.”
When you are a kid a lot of things go over your head. I knew there was tension when her mom and dad walked by and a lot of whispering among the women, but knew enough not to ask questions. Kids weren’t allowed to question everything back then. I never knew that when she went around to see our Grandma, one of my aunts wouldn’t let her in. I broke my heart to hear that she wasn’t allowed to be with our grandma anytime she wanted as I always was.
To her credit, over the years Joann always kept in touch. She sent Christmas photos of her kids and then grandkids. I’m in awe of her tenacity in keeping track of all our many cousins. She valued her ties to all of us.
As we spent hours catching up last Saturday I was able to tell her about the time I was finally able, as an adult, to truly know her mother. You see, years ago I had flown with my daughter and her new baby, to a cousin’s home in Long Beach to get away from her volatile situation. Lucky for us, Joann’s mother was visiting the cousin in California. This aunt that I was never permitted to know was the most vivacious and fun loving person I had ever met. She told us story after hilarious story. She joked and made a sad time bearable, all while her fingers were crocheting bootie after bootie for the baby. I often think how sad that petty family differences had kept this woman apart from our family. My daughter and I went home with our spirits greatly lifted and baby had a diaper bag full of booties!
In this season of all kinds of family celebrations: graduations, weddings and large family reunions, I’m so grateful for my cousin who created our little mini-reunion because she knows the value of the “ties that bind”.

“Ask Mom”

By

Gerry Niskern

While sitting at a sidewalk cafe recently, I overheard two Middle Eastern boys explaining to another boy how to pronounce their Arabic word for bread. One said, “Wait, I’ll ask my mother” but the other laughed, “No, I’ll ask my mom”. How easy, just ask mom.
Moms know about everything. At least we thought she did when we were little.
Of course, when we became teenagers, mom didn’t have a clue; it was a wonder the woman didn’t need a keeper.
However, when 2,000 miles away at college it’s seems perfectly logical to kids to call mom and ask, “What do I use on my whites at the Laundromat?”
As we married and started families it was mom who we called to ask about a recipe or a petulant child. Or to try to help us understand men! Or women!
I asked several people whose mothers are gone this question: “Is there something you wish you had asked your mother when you could?”
Several said they would ask, “What was your childhood like? Where did you and dad meet? What attracted you to him?
Another wants to know her grandmother’s stories about growing up in Germany; what her feelings were when she left? Who did she work for when she got here?
One friend who’s parents marriage was “arranged” in Iran would ask her mother what her true feelings were at her wedding.
A friend from the Philippines told me she grieved that there were no baby pictures taken of her and she wants to know why.
Several wondered what kind of day it was when they were born?
One would ask, “What happened to my baby brother; what did he die from?”
I would ask my own grandmother about the sadness of leaving her infant in Europe when she immigrated to America.
My mother, an avid storyteller, loved our family and tradition. I would ask her thoughts the situation of our family today.
The mothers we see on greeting cards with the saintly smiles are perfect, but are they really mom? It’s through mom’s sheltering arms and the comfort of home that we learn to trust others and life itself. Mother is the twine that holds the family together. And yet, she is a mysterious set of contradictions. It’s hard to sort out your feelings for her: frustration, anger, companionship, apprehension, love.
Speaking of questions, I ran across a suggested list of soul-searching questions for everyone to ask himself on Mother’s day. I hope I fulfilled some of them when I had the chance. It read: When was the last time you visited your mom? What are the things that make your mom happy or sad? How many minutes do you spend in quality talk with your mom in a week? When was the last time you cooked for your mom? How much do you know about your mom’s mother? How well do you actually know your mother?
We can honor and show respect by trying to learn about the real person who we call mom. Have you asked your mother what she really wanted to do with her life, besides being your mom? What was her dream while growing up? Did she achieve her life goals? In other words, who was she, really?
I think one friend answered my question best. She said, “Well, the question wouldn’t really matter. Calling her would give me what I wanted: to hear the love in her voice, because more than anything, I miss her love.
So on this Mother’s Day, go ahead, ask mom now!

Another Kind of Mother’s Day
By
Gerry Niskern
“Mothers hold their child’s hand a short while, but hold the memory in their hearts forever.”
Unknown author
Over the years I have written many essays of Mother’s Day tributes to my mom. She was the best. But I think she, and most other mothers would agree with me that the role we have as a mother is the greatest reward in the world.
When I was a little girl and grownups asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, my answer was always, “a mother”. I’m fortunate enough to remember many, many details of each of my kid’s birth, infancy, toddler years and school years too.
I remember each tiny face. The softest skin on one, long eye lashes on another and the rosy cheeks and blond curl on top on the third. I loved recognizing which family member they each resembled at first and watching their personalities develope in the first few months and change over the years.
One slept thru the night from day one; The other two by six weeks. All three talked early, around a year. One walked at nine months and the other two walked at about ten months. Two played carefully with their toys and one liked to throw his! Later on, One liked to save her allowance, one would spend, but only if he was going to get “lots of money back” and one beat a hot path to the store every week to blow his allowance.
I remember who was a good eater and what each liked the best as babies. As they grew I loved cooking for them and I’m sorry to say that I insisted on one meal a week of the “hated liver and onions”. Back then mothers were told that that’s how to see that kids got their iron. (they’ve never forgiven me for that.) One of them always counted the rolls at dinner time and told everyone how many they could have. Unfortunately, they did that when we had company for dinner too!
It was such fun teaching each one the many games I had played as a kid. I loved helping them decide what to buy for their dad for Christmas. And all the Christmas mornings watching them open presents that Santa had brought.
Birthdays and Easter bring more memories. All of the egg coloring and egg hunts were precious times. Summer fun in the pool and school days too.
Then I turned around one day and….suddenly everyone was grownup and gone!
Those memories were mine and mine alone and writing about Mother’s Day this year, all I can say is “It was my pleasure!”

“Scents of Summer”

By

Gerry Niskern

The summer of 2023 is fast approaching. Looking back, here are some of my memories of summer. Are any of them yours?
While walking past a newly moved lawn the other day, it occurred to me that the charisma of summertime is all in the smell. Think about it. Does that fragrance of freshly cut lawn remind you of rolling down grassy banks with your cousins amid peals of laughter? Or perhaps the aroma of grass was mingled with the scent of the dust freshly watered down for the first pitch in your baseball game. You can smell it now, can’t you?
After the game nothing was better than the tangy citrus scent of cold lemonade unless it was the first icy gulp after a hot game.
If you grew up here in the valley, surely you remember the aroma
the cantaloupe sheds out on Grand Ave as you drove past this time of year. How long since cantaloupes in the supermarket smelled like that?
Speaking of melons there used to a family on West Jefferson, around llth Avenue, that sold the best watermelons in the valley. They kept them cold in large soda pop coolers. After much thumping and checking for sugar spots, your mother selected her melon. They always plugged it for her. No need. They were all winners. Everyone gathered around the table at home. When she slid the knife into the dark rind, the melon split apart with a loud crack releasing the familiar sweet aroma. It was heaven.
The fragrance of honey suckle and roses mingled with the ripe figs in our neighborhood. When the temperature hovered at 115, the smell of hot tar in the asphalt while we were bike riding was even stronger than the pungent odor of the Tamarisk trees as we relaxed on a wide limb while cooling off in the shade of the branches.
Summertime always sent older sisters out into the back yard seeking a tan. Soon the exotic smell of coconut oil rose from warm bodies. Inside the house the fresh, clean cooler pads made from shredded aspen wood meant summer was here.
Saturday brought the scorch of hot iron on the damp cloth as mom pressed dad’s pants for Sunday church. If you were allowed to go downtown on Saturday, the candy counters at Newberrys or Woolworth on Washington beckoned with chocolate aroma. And if that didn’t take your quarter, then the Carmel corn shop on Monroe tried.
The odor of cigars wrinkled your nostrils if you stepped into the lobby of the Adams hotel, just for a peek, of course. A trip past the Chinese Green Dragon that emitted the wonderful aroma of onions and spices on East Jefferson wasn’t on the way to anything, but the giant green neon dragon was fascinating to watch.
If the movie theatre was your destination, the smell of freshly popped corn beckoned.
Sunday afternoon meant family picnic time at Riverside Park down on South Central Avenue. The swimming pool was great. Then again, wading through the footbath that reeked with the smell of heavy chlorine you were required to walk through before entering the pool was gross. After a cool swim, the sputtering and popping of roasting hot dogs mingled with the savory smell of Mom’s potato salad. We washed it all down with a bottle of Barq’s, root beer, orange or strawberry.
The summer week was complete.

“Change of Plans”

My great-grandson will be finishing up his residency soon. He is an Internal Medicine specialist. He has been away from his family and working hard for seven long years. In this great-grandmother’s opinion, the hospital where he accepts a position will be “darn lucky” to have him!
Years ago when our children and even grandchildren, were grown up, his generous mother trusted us to take him on vacation with us for several summers.

I’m remembering many years ago watching this great-grandson and a new friend building a sandcastle on the beach. After a while, the girl asked, “Are you his grandparents?”
“No,” I replied. “ We’re his great-grandparents.”
“Whoa” she said, “Well, isn’t anyone else here with you all?”
“No, he’s just here with us.” I answered.
“Whoa”
That had been my reaction exactly back then when someone in our family asked our nine- year- old great-grandson if he wanted to go with my husband and I on our annual trip to California. His parents were expecting a new baby and I confess it took a while for the idea to grow on me, then I got busy and changed hotel and plane reservations to include a great-grandchild.
His Daddy delivered the youngster on our doorstep the evening before our flight. My husband tried to lift his backpack. He couldn’t. “What on earth do you have in here?”
“Some trail mix, an electronic fishing game, a gum making kit, three shell reference books, five story books, cookies (all melted together) and my world map.”
The trail mix, one shell book, and the world map were allowed to stay.
At Laguna Beach he played in the surf with a little boy from Russia. We had a world geography lesson back in the room where his great-grandfather helped him locate Russia on the world map. We were used to hearing different dialects spoken on the boardwalk, but our great-grandson was fascinated with the many languages he heard. One evening he saw a large group of women wearing beautiful long dresses with scarves covering their hair and part of their face. He asked their guide about them and learned they were from Jordan; and were the wives of a Sultan. When we got back to the hotel that evening, out came the map again.

He persuaded us to try different ethnic restaurants that we had always passed by. He was willing to order and finish exotic new dishes. We found we all enjoyed the variety. Looking at familiar sights through the fresh eyes of a nine year old brought exhilarating sparkle to our yearly trip. We didn’t have our yearly romantic get-away, but we had lots of fun.
We explored the tide pools in early light of dawn. We learned to chase the surf and quickly gather shells before another wave came crashing in. Our paddle ball skills were honed to perfection. Luckily, I only had to explain once that each person washed the sand out of his own swimsuit and hung it out to dry. Best of all, we had someone always willing to go after ice!
The trail mix in his backpack came in handy when our return flight waited in line on the tarmac at the Newport airport for two hours and we missed lunch.
On the trip home I knew we had passed a kind of milestone when my great-grandson turned to me and asked, “Grandma, could we go to the Grand Canyon next July?”
“Well, maybe so. Haven’t you been there?”
“No, then we could take the trip.”
“What trip is that, Honey?”
“You know, the mule ride to the bottom.”
Lucky for me his family went on vacation the next summer.

NOTE: Maybe he can take that mule trip down the canyon trail with his little daughter someday!

Full of Easter
By
Gerry Niskern
Easter is next week and everyone will be recording the events with their cell phones; memories saved for anytime they want them.
I have a basket full of memories of Easter as a kid, but most weren’t recorded in photos because cameras and film development was too expensive. My mother started a roll at Christmas, took a little at Easter and maybe finished it to be dropped at the drugstore after a birthday party. So, special memories you just learned to keep in your head and close to your heart.
When I was just past two my uncle had a Candy Store. He sold chances to win a large stuffed rabbit at Easter time. I don’t know if it was just a coincidence, but my mom won that rabbit for me. It was taller than I was. Mr. Rabbit stood upright with orange and green stripped trousers, a green tuxedo coat and very long ears. The rabbit got dirty very quickly in that little coal mining town with me playing with him all the time. One day I looked up and saw him hanging on the clothes line by his ears. Mom had washed him! I was heartbroken because I thought she was hurting him and she couldn’t convince me otherwise.
My dad had serious surgery that year and everyone who came to visit brought him one of those big decorated chocolate covered Easter eggs. Mom always said that every time they went to have one they found a tiny tooth mark where a bite had been taken out of each end of every one! I think I took “the fifth”. I don’t recall that memory.
Up until I was nine I had to wear brown hi top corrective shoes. I hated those shoes. One Easter memory that I fondly remember is when my dad said, “Hey, while we are waiting for everyone to get ready for church lets play a game of checkers. Get the board.” I reached up high on the mantle and resting on top of the board was a pair of brown and white low cut saddle shoes, for me! My very first pair of low cut shoes like everyone else was wearing and that made my Easter!
When my kids were growing up their grandma and grandpa colored dozens of eggs and left early to hide them out in the Carefree area among the boulders. When the kids and their cousins arrived there was a wild Easter Egg hunt. Everyone was fine every year until they noticed Grandma taking the youngest toddler that year and showing him where the eggs were. “ No fair,” they complained. “Grandma is showing him where the eggs are”. Of course she was. She was the Grandma!
So, do you have any memories in your Easter basket that are not recorded in photos and are yours and yours alone?

Be Nice
By
Gerry Niskern
“Be nice!” my mother admonished me when I was growing up, every time I complained about an elderly, crabby neighbor. “But what if they are not nice to me?” I complained. “That doesn’t matter. Old people have a hard life. Always be good to them!”
Those words of my mothers are beginning to come back to me like “bread cast upon the waters.” Due to a balance problem, I’ve started using a cane once in a while when I’m going to an unfamiliar walking area. And I don’t know why but I’m constantly amazed at the kindness of people.
I’ll be slowly making my way up to the door of a building and realize someone is standing there holding the door for me with a warm smile. Or I’ll go to pull out a shopping cart at a store and someone goes ahead and offers me one. Those sweet gestures catch me by surprise and that unexpected kindness is a ray of warmth that touches everyone.
Much has been written about the rude, inconsiderate people in the public these days. I’ve been pretty vocal myself. I hate the sense of disconnect in today’s world where most don’t feel the need to know their neighbors or even speak to another person in a waiting area. I think we can all agree that technology has definitely changed our lives. Companionship comes from all our electronic devices now.
So, this cane that I use for balance has taught me that there are indeed a lot of caring people in our world. Their small gestures of compassion are happening everyday.
You know, I don’t even mind the occasional “triage” consultation that happens in parking lots when someone stops me and says, “Oh, is it your back? Or your foot?” And then proceeds to tell me of their current physical problem. I learn about a great cream for sore joints or best orthopedic doctor in town while cars are zipping around us.
It has renewed my faith in humanity and I’m reminded that “kindness is a gift that keeps on giving.”
I think many mothers in years past must have had the same mantra that mine did!

I Never Looked Back
By
Gerry Niskern
(authors note: Our doctor used to say that measles are “in the air” in the spring.I’m reminded of one springtime our family had.)
When my daughter Kathy started kindergarten I envisioned her bringing home lots of interesting things to show me and her little brothers. I was happy for her. It was going to be a great year.
Well, She brought things home all right. The first thing was Chicken Pox. She gave it to her little three year old brother Mark. Three weeks later the baby broke out. Kathy and Matthew, the baby, only had a few pox, but Mark, the three year old, was totally covered. He became so sick with a high fever that we rushed him to St. Joes emergency one night and the ER doctor said “ when kids get this covered they have as many inside as outside!” Baby aspirin and trips to the doctor became our new lifestyle.
Next Kathy came home with Rubella, the light measles. The brothers caught it several days apart. Just as the first child was feeling better, the second one would come down. And so it went, week after week.
Later around Christmas time we took time off from our schedule of having all the childhood diseases to fit in the Asian Flu. In l957 the Asian flu emerged, triggering a pandemic. The whole family had that; me and Ken too. By that time I hadn’t slept for months, at least it seemed that way. Their daddy was trying to help, but still had to get to work every day.
Everybody, baby included, finished up with a case of strep throat in time to celebrate Easter. We had the usual Easter egg hunt at the crack of dawn in our yard to see what the Bunny had brought, then church, and afterward a visit to one set of grandparents for lunch. Of course, later we were expected for the rest of the day at the other grandparents.
I had developed at touch of Bronchitis and suddenly that holiday evening I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I started to panic and hyperventilate and managed to partially paralyze myself. Ken rushed me down to Good Sam and they called our family doctor who had been our constant companion thru that winter; so wouldn’t he want to join us on Easter too?
The nurses got me calmed down and when the doctor arrived I kept saying over and over to him, “tell them what’s been happening”.
He took one look at me and said “ Get her a private room.” Then he turned to Ken and said,
“She’s staying here for a while and getting some rest. Don’t let anyone know she is here, except her mother.”
I stayed five days in a blissful blanket of quiet and did nothing but sleep and breathe in the healing mist from a huge vaporizer . When Dr. Craig came to sign me out I remember him muttering to himself a he filled out the chart, “Lets see. How can I word this so the guys in the ivory tower will cover it?”
When my frazzled young husband came to take me home that morning he said, laughing, “ I’ve got to tell you this. When I was trying to talk to Kathy and Mark about you, and explaining that they should try to not aggravate you, Mark said, “But daddy, she’s the mom and if we want to aggravate her, we can aggravate her.”
I got home just in time for Kathy’s next big surprise. I noticed her jawline looking strange. As time went by I realized she was swelling up with the mumps. And of course, right on schedule, a week or so later Mark started swelling and then Matthew the baby. More sleepless nights with high fevers and lots of baby aspirin all around.
Bit the fevers weren’t going down. Guess what. The hard red measles had joined the mix. More days and nights of very sick kids.
Then one day as I was giving my very busy mother a “triage” report I mentioned that everyone’s fever was gone and they all seemed okay; just a little funny looking with swollen, rash covered faces.
I received a surprise call from Mom the next morning, a Friday. “Pack a suitcase. I’m coming over this afternoon and when Ken gets home you two take off and don’t come back till Sunday evening. The kids will be fine with me”.
When she arrived I “hit the door running” and never looked back.

My first Drivers License
By
Gerry Niskern

I just took my car to emission testing the other day and it reminded me of the time I got my driver’s license, years ago.

“I’m not having another baby until I learn how to drive” I declared as I heaved my whale sized body out of the car, slammed the door and lumbered up the walk to the door of my Ob’s office. I hated having to wait for someone to take me places. I wanted my own wheels!

The following summer, while my young husband, Ken, was at Arizona National Guard camp I stayed with my folks. Every evening mom took care of my baby, while my dad took up the role of my driving instructor. We went to a huge insurance company’s parking lot and I drove, round and round and round. I shifted from first, to second, and over to third, over and over and over.

“Press the gas gently, and slowly let off the clutch”, my dad patiently repeated the words, again and again. His old green Chevy truck bucked and choked, lurching forward by frantic leaps and bounds, like a rodeo bronco I eventually got the hang of it and just as I was congratulating my self, thinking, “There’s nothing to this driving business” my dad commented, “Now tomorrow, we start practicing parallel parking.”

“You mean, between two cars?” I gasped. “Yes.” He laughed. “That’s what you usually park between. You won’t get your drivers license unless you can parallel park to the officer’s satisfaction.” “Well, there goes my dream of my own wheels.” I sighed.

After a couple more weeks of practicing parallel parking, Ken drove me over to the MVD, and waited in our brand new black Ford two door sports sedan. I was petrified. I knew I couldn’t do it. I took the written test with no mistakes. But I couldn’t feel happy because I was instructed to report to the driving test officer.

My feet were dragging with dread when I started out the door. Then I saw a crowd around our car. A distraught young woman was crying as an officer was writing out her first driving ticket! It seems she had started to pull out with the officer for her driving test and had managed to take off our brand new left rear fender. Seeing the distress all around, the officer said that after we exchanged insurance information I was free to go. He initialed my test form and said “It’s okay, young lady. You don’t have to take the driving test. You passed!”

“Do You Have Any Green Stamps?”
By
Gerry Niskern

Every day we all read about the turmoil at Disney World. According to a recent column by Ross Douthat in the New York times, the Magic Kingdom of family fun is still a great experience for the family. Granted it has become much more expensive and the lines are longer every year. When I hear once again about Florida’s battle with Walt’s World I’m reminded of our trips to Disneyland in California years ago. I’m glad we had the experience of enjoying Walt Disney’s” dream” with our kids and later on, grandkids. Please enjoy an essay I wrote about our trips.

The other day someone asked, “Do you remember S & H green stamps? Of course, I remember.
The first thing that comes to mind is Disneyland, but I’ll get back to that later.
Way back when I was a kid, and the earth was still cooling, my mother saved green stamps. The Sperry and Hutchinson company gave out the green stamps in partnerships with many supermarkets, gas stations and department stores.
The stamps were rewarded with the purchase from a business and based on the dollar amount of the purchase. Some stores enticed people in with double stamp days. The stamps were pasted into collector books that could be redeemed for valuable items from their catalogue or an S & H store.
One summer our family of five and my sisters family of five went to the Magic Kingdom entirely free. It took 39 books of stamps for each of our families to exchange for certificates that entitled each one a deluxe 15 ride package. We had saved for months and our mother chipped in to help out. We were still there at midnight for the fireworks when Tinkerbell flew across the sky and tripped the display. Our kids, all grade school age, had the time of their lives.
Of course, I have to admit, my first trip to Disneyland was sans kids. We hired a sitter and headed to San Diego one summer. “Let’s drive up to Orange County and look around,” my scheming husband suggested one morning. When we reached Anaheim he said, “Oh, look over there, at that little mountain. Do you think that is the Matterhorn at Disneyland?” When I responded, well, maybe it is!
Then as he intended all along, we spent a day at the Magic Kingdom. It was great.
The next summer, we took our two, five and seven year old. They loved it, but they made sure that every place we ate they told the waitress that they were going to Disneyland and with sad faces added, “They went last year without us!”
Of course, now you have to take out a small loan to make the trip to Walt’s World. There was a lot of satisfaction back when a whole family could have the adventure of a lifetime free; all on S & H Green Stamps.