Tag: childhood

Shriners Hospitals will always be my favorite charity #MFRWauthor

Shriners
Funny people doing serious work

I know I’ve mentioned it before, but I was struck with polio when I was a baby. I understand that the epidemic was one of the last large polio epidemics and a record for the residents of Sioux City, Iowa in 1952. Not a record I wanted to take part in, believe me!

Mom said I’d started walking at 9 months and had already been getting into things, when one morning she woke to my screams and I couldn’t stand up in my crib.  So many people were affected, they read the names of those admitted to the hospitals on the radio, which is how my grandparents heard that I’d been admitted to St. Vincent’s. No one could figure out how I’d caught the virus. I was too young to go to the pools in town, and I never went anywhere without my mom or grandparents, none of whom got sick.

Teenage girls
LOL, not me!

I was lucky—I lived. And luckier still when Mom knew a man who was a Shriner. He sponsored me and got me into the program when I was old enough. We started taking the 275-mile trip to Minneapolis, which had the closest hospital every few months. When we moved to Alameda, CA, I went to the hospital in San Francisco, and later, when we moved to Virginia Beach, VA, we had the long trek to the hospital in Greenville, SC. But those trips were worth it! Through years of braces, surgery, and endless (it seemed!) physical therapy and nightly exercises, I was able to end my time with the Shrine group a teenager who could walk, dance, ride a bike, and do most of the things any teen could do. They worked a miracle, and they didn’t charge a dime.

That’s why—with all the very worthy charities there are out there—Shriners Hospitals for Children  will always be my favorite. And, they spend the money donated well. They’re highly rated for using their donations where they’re supposed to.

Who do you routinely donate to?

Read the next blog in the blog hop by going here.

Dee
Burning Bridges by Anne Krist: old letters put the lie to Sara’s life. Now, mending her past mistakes while crossing burning bridges will be the hardest thing she’s ever done.

One Woman Only
Only a Good Man Will Do
Naval Maneuvers

Nostalgia, in a time when we need it! Jan Selbourne

Reading Dee’s blog post, Making Changes, made me smile. It  took me back a LONG time, to when I was a young kid.

Jan Selbourne's dad
My dad, digging stump holes. Our Collie dog Sandy would drop his ball into the hole, wait for dad to throw it, and off he’d go to fetch and bring it back – again and again.

My parents had scraped up just enough money to buy a block of land in a country town east of Melbourne, Victoria. There was one main road through the town and our road was unsealed. Dust in the summer, mud in the winter. Our block sloped steeply back from the road with plenty of ti-trees and eucalyptus trees at the bottom. The plan was to live in a small fibro bungalow while my parents and older brother Don built the house. A small loan from a building society and that’s what they did, starting with a thick carpentry how to do it book, basic tools and now I look back, a lot of courage.

Electricity wasn’t connected until the house was built, so we lit ‘Tilly” lamps at night, we had a wood burning stove for cooking and heating water for a bath, which incidentally was a galvanised iron tub in the kitchen. We had an ice chest to keep food cold, the ice truck delivered blocks of ice weekly in winter, twice weekly in summer. The ice-man wore thick leather gloves and a thick leather shoulder pad. He hooked his pick into a block of ice, up onto his shoulder and with a curt g’day to mum, carried it into the house to deposit it into the chest. No time to talk, especially in summer.

At the back of the bungalow was the outhouse – the “dunny”. The ‘nightmen’ in their truck collected the full pan twice a week, replacing it with a clean pan reeking of the eye-watering strong disinfectant Phenyl. To this day, the smell of Phenyl reminds me of the dunny and country railway toilets.

It was a very bushy area, plenty of blue tongue lizards, a lot of native birds, especially bell birds, and thankfully we didn’t see any snakes. I clearly remember a swagman camped at the bottom of our block because there was a small creek and plenty of open land beyond. Mum made sure he was okay and didn’t need anything. He’d light his fire, cook his food and boil his billy, and a few days later he moved on.

The floor plan for our new house was laid out on the ground with wood stakes and string. Armed with shovels, my dad and my brother Don dug every stump hole by hand. In went the redgum wooden stumps. Then the flooring joists. My job was to help paint the weatherboards with pink primer, which I did until my hands ached. Up went the house, bit by bit, because dad and Don worked weekdays. Then the inspection by the municipal building inspector. Was the house built to satisfactory standards? Yes, it received a big tick. Time for the tradies – the plumber, the roof tiler and the electrician. And – at last – we were able to move in. My brother had his own bedroom. I had my own bedroom. Mum had an electric stove. And we had a real bathroom with an inside toilet! But we kept the ice chest, what money was left didn’t stretch to a refrigerator. We now see ice chests in museums but believe me, they are as almost as efficient as a fridge – minus the freezer.

Looking back, it was a perfect life for kids. Sure we walked the mile or more to school and back every day, in the rain or the summer heat, so did all the other kids. There were no luxuries but we had a lot of fun and the best games playing in the bush at the back of the block. I admit I had it easy compared to my brother who was nine years older than me, but that four inch paint brush and endless weatherboards was hard work!

I can still see that carpentry book, and the spirit level, dad used it while digging the stump holes and the floor joists. Heck, a book and a spirit level, dogged determination and hard work built a house…

Jan SelbourneJan Selbourne was born and educated in Melbourne, Australia and her love of literature and history began as soon as she learned to read and hold a pen. After graduating from a Melbourne Business College her career began in the dusty world of ledgers and accounting, working in Victoria, Queensland and the United Kingdom. On the point of retiring, she changed course to work as secretary of a large NSW historical society. Now retired Jan is enjoying her love of travelling and literature. She has two children, a stray live in cat and lives near Maitland, New South Wales.

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5 Top Childhood Memories #MFRWauthor

My childhood is somewhat different than most of y’all’s in that I had polio as a baby. Most people nowadays don’t know what polio is—or was, since Shrinersit’s mostly been eradicated here in the U.S. I was lucky. One leg and my back were affected, and even luckier, my godfather was a Shriner, so as soon as I stabilized and reached the age the Shrine Hospitals would take me, he got me in. The Shriners were like my fairy godmothers throughout my life. I can’t think of a finer organization! So thank you Shriners! I mention all that because having polio is part of my childhood and my memories. So here goes…

  1. Going from Iowa (home) to see the doctors at the Shrine Hospital in Minneapolis. My great uncle Richard lived in Minneapolis, so Mom and I would stay with him when we went up, and we always went by train since it was a heck of a long drive and Mom only had a couple of days off work. Uncle Richard was a giant of a man who cussed worse than any sailor I knew but who but soft as a marshmallow inside. I loved him. He changed girlfriends often, and frequently we stayed in one of their apartments instead of with him (maybe why he changed girlfriends so often?). I remember staying in his place once and he told mom that he’d left fish in the refrigerator for dinner. When she opened the door there was a WHOLE fish, uncleaned in the fridge! Going up to see him was such an adventure, it made going to the hospital almost fun.
  2. Spending time with my grandparents. In Sioux City, we lived just across town from my grandparents—Mom’s mom and dad. My grandmother backed the best pies in the world, especially tart cherry from cherries picked in her backyard. But my grandfather—Papa—Papawas my favorite person in the world. He was my mom’s stepfather and I guess he’d always wanted children, and then he got me. I rode him around the living room like a horse, danced while standing on his feet, and watched TV with him while sitting on his stomach. Nothing I did was wrong or bad as far as he was concerned. I loved that man with all my heart!
  3. Moving to Philadelphia. When Mom married my stepfather, we moved to Philly where he took a training course for a few months. Having lived in Iowa, I’d never seen a black person before. I walked into my new classroom in the first grade and there were only three white kids in the class. Quite a shock. But such fun. I learned how to double Dutch jump rope in that class (even in a brace up to my thigh), and one of the girls introduced me to soft pretzels from a vendor who came by the schoolyard at recess. When my mom walked me to school, we met a boy in my class whose grandmother walked him to school. He was always dressed so well, with a beautiful coat and matching cap. We met up at one corner and he took my hand and walked me the last two blocks while Mom and his grandmother watched. The reverse happened after school. His name was William. I never knew his last name but I’ve never forgotten him and his kindness.
  4. Learning how to ride a bike. After Philly, we moved to Alameda, California. Dad’s duty took him to Asia on his sea tours, and on his last he brought back a beautiful blue bike. He was on the Midway and had First bikealready flattened the tired once by riding the bike all over the flight deck when he could. I was so excited over that bicycle I couldn’t see straight Soooo…he taught me to ride but not to stop. I used to run into things—fences, trees, etc.—in order to stop instead of using the brakes. Don’t judge. I’m a slow learner. We took that bike with us to Virginia, our next duty station, and I rode it for years.
  5. Going home. I had many stays in hospitals, going from hospital visits in Minneapolis to surgery in San Francisco and a stay for more than two months to several surgeries in Greenville, SC with stays more than two months for each. Once, when the stay was for more like three and a half, I had had surgery and therapy and was wondering when I might go home. We were coming back from the schoolroom when we rounded a corner and there were my parents! I dropped my crutches and started crying. They hugged me, helped me pack up and said I was going home right then, that day. It was the greatest feeling. I don’t think I stopped smiling all the way back to Virginia Beach.

These aren’t all the childhood memories of course, just the ones that jumped out at me. Except for polio, I had a somewhat charmed childhood—no broken bones or broken hearts. I had people who loved me and people to love. It was a good time and I’ve been blessed.

Read the next blog in the blog hop by going here.

Dee
Only a Good Man Will Do: Seriously ambitious man seeks woman to encourage his goals, support his (hopeful) position as Headmaster of Westover Academy, and be purer than Caesar’s wife. Good luck with that!

Naval Maneuvers: When a woman requires an earth-shattering crush of pleasure to carry her away, she can’t do better than to call on the US Navy. Sorry, Marines!