How many of your elementary school teachers can you remember? Can you put them in order? Did you have a favorite? A least favorite?
I remember Mrs. Owzarzak was my first grade teacher. I recall that she had some sons that were a few years older than me and also went to El Roble school.
I can't remember my second grade teacher's name, at least not right now.
In third grade I had Mrs. Bach and Mr. Miller for math. Mrs Bach was short and round and seemingly the meanest teacher ever. But it was the summer after her class that I was able to visit Washington DC --with the meanest teacher ever--and another 50 or so kids. Crazy. She must not have been too bad after all.
Mrs. Midtgaard was my fourth grade teacher and I liked her immensely. She spelled her last name with two As, just like we did too. Her kids participated in 4H also--though in the Rucker 4H club instead of our own Sunset 4H. I knew they had animals and lived in the country. And she used a really COOL green felt tip pen to grade our papers.
In fifth and sixth grade I moved to Brownell Fundamental school. It was similar to charter schools today, but I left the kids I rode the bus with for the years prior and had known all the time I lived in Gilroy. I don't recall the teacher's names that I had there, but I remember the school itself was not a good fit for me socially. I tried, but didn't ever feel like I fit in. I felt the kids felt and truly believed they were better than any other school. I knew too many people at my old school that were good people to believe that could possibly be true.
Instead of staying at Brownell for 7th and 8th grade, I remember begging my mom to let me go to South Valley Junior High. Once I knew that would be the case, I was told by the Brownell kids that I'd get beat up by the Mexican kids every day. I knew that wasn't going to be the case, as many many friends from my old school--and now many kids I knew from across town now--would be attending SVJH. I really enjoyed my two years there and it made me feel VERY confident as I started at GHS when it was time for 9th grade.
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Sunday, September 23, 2018
Sunday, September 16, 2018
#52 Stories--Story #47
What was your first introduction to formal education--preschool, kindergarten, homeschooling? What do you remember about those first few years?
I believe I participated in a preschool when we lived in Sunnyvale. I don't remember much of it. But I believe I attended at a local community park area. It seems to me that much must have happened that I do not recall.
I must have had a kindergarten year as well in Sunnyvale. The only think I remember about hat experience is a day when we got to learn about grocery stores and "pretend" to be shoppers. The strongest memory in that episode was the choice I had to pick a box of Lucky Charms cereal--which was not allowed in our home. I felt so empowered to choose that otherwise contraband breakfast food. Who knows what other lessons sank in quite so deep!
We moved to Gilroy when I was in 1st grade and I began elementary school at El Roble school, with Mrs. Owzarzak as my teacher. I remember having a turn to bring the classroom guinea pigs home for a weekend--and they DIED! That was the worst to me as a kid. The cage had been placed on the front porch, just in front of the kitchen window and the sunshine in the late afternoon or evening that weekend was too hot and too strong for their little bodies. They overheated and died. I was sure I'd never be allowed to have another class-pet come home with me again.
I believe I participated in a preschool when we lived in Sunnyvale. I don't remember much of it. But I believe I attended at a local community park area. It seems to me that much must have happened that I do not recall.
I must have had a kindergarten year as well in Sunnyvale. The only think I remember about hat experience is a day when we got to learn about grocery stores and "pretend" to be shoppers. The strongest memory in that episode was the choice I had to pick a box of Lucky Charms cereal--which was not allowed in our home. I felt so empowered to choose that otherwise contraband breakfast food. Who knows what other lessons sank in quite so deep!
We moved to Gilroy when I was in 1st grade and I began elementary school at El Roble school, with Mrs. Owzarzak as my teacher. I remember having a turn to bring the classroom guinea pigs home for a weekend--and they DIED! That was the worst to me as a kid. The cage had been placed on the front porch, just in front of the kitchen window and the sunshine in the late afternoon or evening that weekend was too hot and too strong for their little bodies. They overheated and died. I was sure I'd never be allowed to have another class-pet come home with me again.
Sunday, July 29, 2018
#52 Stories--Story #41
Of all the times you've moved to a new house, neighborhood, city, state or country, which have had the biggest impact on the rest of your life? In what ways?
I haven't moved that often. I think that is a lucky fact. I moved to my hometown when I was about 6. I don't remember much about the first two homes where my family lived. I remember the tri-toned green shag carpet of the first home and the circus fabric curtains of my room in the first house I lived in until I was three.
In the second house I lived, I recall the kitchen carpet. Yes. It had carpeting in the kitchen. That kitchen carpet once was covered in foamy soapy bubble from the liquid dish soap my dad used in the dishwasher to appease my mom who went to church by herself that Sunday while we stayed home. I'm sure my dad was guilty and trying to do something nice to appease her, but it made SUCH A MESS! I was sent in a frantic rush to the next door neighbor's home to "get help". I think that might be why I remember the kitchen carpet all the more.
My home growing up the majority of my life was my full time home for about a dozen years or so. this was where I learned SO many things. I experienced many things. It was in this home I feel like I came into my self. This is where I will always call home.
From there, I moved to Provo to go to school. I moved several times while I was a student. And the only place that mattered in that era for me was the final apartment at Stadium Terrace. I had many sets of roommates in that apartment. My first pair and the last set were wonderful ladies, who I love to this day.
When Genius Golfer and I got married we lived a short time in his mom’s basement then moved into an apartment that only lasted a semester, then we moved back to her home for awhile again while we saved money to purchase our first home. That was a good time, for the most part. She worked nights, I worked days...we got along quite well and I tried hard to be a good guest as well as a new family member in her home.
Finally GG and I found a home we could afford and scraped all we had together to buy a home. /our first home is out kids’ only home to this point—aside from their living places while they are at school, in the same way I still think of my home growing up. I love the home we created together. It has been the most wonderful place for our children began. They learned everything they needed as children, they gained lifetime friends, and our family gelled.
Recently we built a new home, a future home, and while we visit it and use it as a getaway place, it is a comfortable and beautiful place that we can share with our friends and enjoy. I look froward to the memories that we will make in that home. That will be a wonderful place for me, for us, for our family. I look forward to that.
I haven't moved that often. I think that is a lucky fact. I moved to my hometown when I was about 6. I don't remember much about the first two homes where my family lived. I remember the tri-toned green shag carpet of the first home and the circus fabric curtains of my room in the first house I lived in until I was three.
In the second house I lived, I recall the kitchen carpet. Yes. It had carpeting in the kitchen. That kitchen carpet once was covered in foamy soapy bubble from the liquid dish soap my dad used in the dishwasher to appease my mom who went to church by herself that Sunday while we stayed home. I'm sure my dad was guilty and trying to do something nice to appease her, but it made SUCH A MESS! I was sent in a frantic rush to the next door neighbor's home to "get help". I think that might be why I remember the kitchen carpet all the more.
My home growing up the majority of my life was my full time home for about a dozen years or so. this was where I learned SO many things. I experienced many things. It was in this home I feel like I came into my self. This is where I will always call home.
From there, I moved to Provo to go to school. I moved several times while I was a student. And the only place that mattered in that era for me was the final apartment at Stadium Terrace. I had many sets of roommates in that apartment. My first pair and the last set were wonderful ladies, who I love to this day.
When Genius Golfer and I got married we lived a short time in his mom’s basement then moved into an apartment that only lasted a semester, then we moved back to her home for awhile again while we saved money to purchase our first home. That was a good time, for the most part. She worked nights, I worked days...we got along quite well and I tried hard to be a good guest as well as a new family member in her home.
Finally GG and I found a home we could afford and scraped all we had together to buy a home. /our first home is out kids’ only home to this point—aside from their living places while they are at school, in the same way I still think of my home growing up. I love the home we created together. It has been the most wonderful place for our children began. They learned everything they needed as children, they gained lifetime friends, and our family gelled.
Recently we built a new home, a future home, and while we visit it and use it as a getaway place, it is a comfortable and beautiful place that we can share with our friends and enjoy. I look froward to the memories that we will make in that home. That will be a wonderful place for me, for us, for our family. I look forward to that.
Sunday, July 1, 2018
#52 Stories-- Story #38
Which of your birthdays were especially significant to you? When you turned 8, 12, 15, 16, 18, maybe 21? What do you remember about those special days?
I remember a few of my birthdays as I was growing up. I remember turning 8 and getting my own scriptures with my name son the overs, as well as a locking diary. The scriptures were nice, but that diary with a lock!! How cool was that?!?
I recall my 9th birthday because my parents were building a big shop just below the house and the cement flooring was done and the walls were up. It was a huge cavernous building--and for my birthday that year we had a roller skating party in the shop. So cool!!
Becoming 13 I thought was fun because I was an official teenager, but I don't remember much about the day itself.
The next big birthday I remember vividly was when I turned 18. I was working at the fabric store then, and on my birthday my boyfriend at the time brought me a HUGE bouquet of red roses to the store where I was working. The other girls thought that was pretty impressive. I was both impressed and embarrassed--as I am not a big center-of-attention-because-of-gifts kind of person. But it was memorable.
After that, they kind of blur together, but I do recall feeling really lousy about turning 25. Like that was the start of getting old. If I only knew then what old really feels like! HAHAHA
Then I turned 26 just 3 days after The Girl was born, and after that it hasn't mattered about my birthdays as much as the kids' birthdays. I guess that is the way of parenting.
However, I turned 33 and the kids were old enough to realize the "mom had an age". Then I was 33 to them for about 10 years. I thought that was hilarious.
I remember a few of my birthdays as I was growing up. I remember turning 8 and getting my own scriptures with my name son the overs, as well as a locking diary. The scriptures were nice, but that diary with a lock!! How cool was that?!?
I recall my 9th birthday because my parents were building a big shop just below the house and the cement flooring was done and the walls were up. It was a huge cavernous building--and for my birthday that year we had a roller skating party in the shop. So cool!!
Becoming 13 I thought was fun because I was an official teenager, but I don't remember much about the day itself.
The next big birthday I remember vividly was when I turned 18. I was working at the fabric store then, and on my birthday my boyfriend at the time brought me a HUGE bouquet of red roses to the store where I was working. The other girls thought that was pretty impressive. I was both impressed and embarrassed--as I am not a big center-of-attention-because-of-gifts kind of person. But it was memorable.
After that, they kind of blur together, but I do recall feeling really lousy about turning 25. Like that was the start of getting old. If I only knew then what old really feels like! HAHAHA
Then I turned 26 just 3 days after The Girl was born, and after that it hasn't mattered about my birthdays as much as the kids' birthdays. I guess that is the way of parenting.
However, I turned 33 and the kids were old enough to realize the "mom had an age". Then I was 33 to them for about 10 years. I thought that was hilarious.
Sunday, January 21, 2018
#52 Stories--Story #15
What is your earliest memory of feeling proud of yourself--at school, in sports, in art or music, in a club or scouting?
I don't remember all the details for this, but I remember that I entered the Bonanza Days talent contest--or some kind of pageant type of thing--when I was about 6th or 7th grade. I imagine it was a little like the Little Miss Lindon pageant or something. I just remember preparing a tap dance performance to compete with in this event. At the time, I remember being super excited and enthusiastic. I also remember actually doing it and then feeling proud of myself for doing it and then realizing this was NOT my kind of thing and vowing never to do something like this --competing-- ever again. And I never did.
I grew up a bit and realized that I liked speaking and performing--but NOT on my own. I wrote and acted as MC at a junior high talent show when I was in 8th grade--and I loved that! in high school I thoroughly enjoyed being part of the Mime Troupe (a mime and improv club at the school) where I performed in front of the school and other groups. I stretched into choir and drama while I was in High School and loved every minute.
In college I continued doing some drama but morphed into teaching where I was again in front of a group "performing". I still love teaching and speaking in front of the group--however I no longer have any desire to "perform" like a pageant girl.
I don't remember all the details for this, but I remember that I entered the Bonanza Days talent contest--or some kind of pageant type of thing--when I was about 6th or 7th grade. I imagine it was a little like the Little Miss Lindon pageant or something. I just remember preparing a tap dance performance to compete with in this event. At the time, I remember being super excited and enthusiastic. I also remember actually doing it and then feeling proud of myself for doing it and then realizing this was NOT my kind of thing and vowing never to do something like this --competing-- ever again. And I never did.
I grew up a bit and realized that I liked speaking and performing--but NOT on my own. I wrote and acted as MC at a junior high talent show when I was in 8th grade--and I loved that! in high school I thoroughly enjoyed being part of the Mime Troupe (a mime and improv club at the school) where I performed in front of the school and other groups. I stretched into choir and drama while I was in High School and loved every minute.
In college I continued doing some drama but morphed into teaching where I was again in front of a group "performing". I still love teaching and speaking in front of the group--however I no longer have any desire to "perform" like a pageant girl.
Sunday, September 24, 2017
#52 Stories--Story # 2
What subjects did you excel at in school? Which were hardest for you?
I was pretty lucky as most subjects in school came fairly easily to me. I was a good student and I liked doing well in school. I kept out of trouble with teachers and had friends in every grade. My favorite subjects were history and English--most of the time.
As a junior in American Lit, we had to read Billy Budd by Herman Melville. I hated that book. I don't even recall the storyline now. But that was the first class I remember NOT liking English. But even with that class, I did like some of the other books we were assigned. The older I got the more I enjoyed the literature and writing that was required.
I ended up finishing a bachelor's degree in History and I did love most of all the classes I got to take within the major. I loved American history the most, with a special fascination with 19th century American History. Even now, when I read for fun, I seem to always ended up back with British literature that is either written in or set in the 19th century--think, Jane Austen and Charles Dickens. And I still love the civil war period of time in the US. I read quite a few biographies and even those end up being about people from that time period--post Revolutionary War to the 20th century.
The classes and subjects that I had a harder time with in school tended to be classes that were more subjective--art, especially. I loved drama, however, as it is closely related to English and literature. But I never was very artistic and struggled to draw, paint, sculpt or anything else that I had to create for myself. I enjoyed photography, though and saw that as a creative outlet. And as a senior in high school I sang in two periods of choir--but more because I can follow a leader and had room in my schedule than for my prodigious talent.
I did fairly well in math until my junior year of HS when I had trigonometry. Mr. Duke was my teacher then and I remember one assignment asked us to use the angles and whatever to figure out the height of the light poles that held the lights that illuminated the football field. I saw no reason to "do the math" but instead questions Mr. Duke why someone hadn't thought to measure the poles before they were installed on the football field. He was NOT amused. When he couldn't given me a reasonable answer, I quit thinking math was that important.
In college my major required either a single semester of statistics OR 4 semesters of a foreign language. I signed up for the stats class and made it through the first day when I immediately went and dropped the stats class and enrolled in the first of several Spanish classes I would eventually.
I was pretty lucky as most subjects in school came fairly easily to me. I was a good student and I liked doing well in school. I kept out of trouble with teachers and had friends in every grade. My favorite subjects were history and English--most of the time.
As a junior in American Lit, we had to read Billy Budd by Herman Melville. I hated that book. I don't even recall the storyline now. But that was the first class I remember NOT liking English. But even with that class, I did like some of the other books we were assigned. The older I got the more I enjoyed the literature and writing that was required.
I ended up finishing a bachelor's degree in History and I did love most of all the classes I got to take within the major. I loved American history the most, with a special fascination with 19th century American History. Even now, when I read for fun, I seem to always ended up back with British literature that is either written in or set in the 19th century--think, Jane Austen and Charles Dickens. And I still love the civil war period of time in the US. I read quite a few biographies and even those end up being about people from that time period--post Revolutionary War to the 20th century.
The classes and subjects that I had a harder time with in school tended to be classes that were more subjective--art, especially. I loved drama, however, as it is closely related to English and literature. But I never was very artistic and struggled to draw, paint, sculpt or anything else that I had to create for myself. I enjoyed photography, though and saw that as a creative outlet. And as a senior in high school I sang in two periods of choir--but more because I can follow a leader and had room in my schedule than for my prodigious talent.
I did fairly well in math until my junior year of HS when I had trigonometry. Mr. Duke was my teacher then and I remember one assignment asked us to use the angles and whatever to figure out the height of the light poles that held the lights that illuminated the football field. I saw no reason to "do the math" but instead questions Mr. Duke why someone hadn't thought to measure the poles before they were installed on the football field. He was NOT amused. When he couldn't given me a reasonable answer, I quit thinking math was that important.
In college my major required either a single semester of statistics OR 4 semesters of a foreign language. I signed up for the stats class and made it through the first day when I immediately went and dropped the stats class and enrolled in the first of several Spanish classes I would eventually.
Sunday, September 17, 2017
#52 Stories--Intro and Story #1: School Lunch Memories
I recently recognized a suggestion to help use my time on Sundays more wisely--write down my own life's stories. I used to be a prolific journal keeper. I received a journal when I turned 8 as a birthday gift and I have an apple box full of little fabric-covered, lined-paper, hand-written journals from my growing up years. As I got older, my journal keeping sort of ebbed and flowed. It usually had to do with how well I was living the Gospel of Jesus Christ and how obedient I was directly related to how faithful a journal writer I was being at any given time.
In 2006 I began writing this blog, as a way to keep my family in touch with what was going on here, as several loved ones live far away and we don't get to see each other or speak as often as I'd like. But once the kids left for college, I've felt I had little to write about and I lost some of that interest in writing.
However, this prompting to journal about my own life's stories made sense to me. I love the biography that my mom has written about my dad's life--even though it is still under construction. I already love knowing those stories he has entertained me with over all these years are recorded and written down and that I will be able to share them with my own grandchildren someday down the road. What if my own children want to know things about me that I never thought to tell them? What will the do with the gaps in my journaling? To answer those kinds of questions, I have decided to adopt a Sunday afternoon activity of writing on one short topic based on these kinds of questions:
What is something you taught yourself to do without help from anyone else?
What goals are you actively working toward right now?
What would you want your friends and family to learn about making and achieving goals from your example?
What will be the greatest achievement of your life?
What have been the most important and valued friendships in your life?
Who was your first best friend? Are you still in contact with each other?
What qualities in friends do you most admire?
Do you like to dabble in lots of different hobbies? If so, what are they?
What hobbies, interests, and talents do you have in common with your parents, grandparents, and other ancestors?
Who taught you how to work? What would you want your children and grandchildren to learn from your example?
What are some of your greatest career achievements so far?
What kinds of things did you collect and display in your childhood bedroom?
How many different homes or apartments have you lived in throughout your life?
What do you love most about where you live now?
What are the barest essentials you would need to make any place a home?
What lessons have you learned from your grandmothers’ life experiences?
What are some of the stories you loved hearing from your mother’s youth? From your grandmothers’ younger days?
What is the best thing about your relationship with your mother or grandmother?
Who are some important mother figures besides your own mother who have been influential in your life?
What life lessons have you learned from your father?
What are some of the stories you loved hearing from your father’s youth? From your grandfathers’ younger days?
What are some of the signature phrases, quotes, or sayings that remind you of your dad? Of your grandfathers?
Who are some important father figures besides your own father who have been influential in your life?
What were the biggest momentous events in your life and how have they changed you as a person?
What decisions have you made that have had a long-lasting positive effect on your life?
How does your family celebrate significant milestones?
What events and milestones are you still anticipating and looking forward to?
Do you have one special vacation spot that you return to again and again? What do you love about it?
What are all the different modes of transport you’ve used?
What are the most memorable meals or exotic foods you’ve tried on any of your travels?
What destinations are on your vacation wish list?
What are your memories of school lunch?
What subjects did you excel at in school? Which were hardest for you?
What extracurricular activities did you get involved in?
What valuable lessons have you learned from school that have helped you in your life?
What personal values do you hold most dear?
What values do you feel are most important to pass down to posterity?
What were the faith and religious traditions of your ancestors?
In what ways do you sacrifice your time to volunteer in your community?
How has your life been enriched by your commitment to causes?
Is there someone in your life who has inspired you to care more about community and global issues?
How has your commitment to make the world a better place evolved throughout your life?
Which were your top three favorite holidays when you were a child? Why?
Which of your childhood holiday traditions have you continued into adulthood?
What are the most memorable and treasured gifts you have received in your life?
What different occasions do you celebrate each year?
So beginning with the random question of the week, I'll try to share things that I may not have included in my personal journals over the years.
What are my memories of school lunch?
I attended elementary school at El Roble Elementary in Gilroy, California, from 1st through 4th grade. I think I remember generally bringing a lunch with me from home most of the time. I do recall a few special occasions when the school served a McDonald's hamburger or cheeseburger and those were the days I really wanted to buy lunch. I only remember the little McD's cheeseburger--not a happy meal or having fries with it. Just the little burger, wrapped in the the same old yellow paper they still come in, and a carton of chocolate milk. I'm sure it was less than a dollar for that at the time. I only remember ever having coins to pay for it. But it was a special treat when I got to do that.
We'd eat our little lunches on benches that were along the outside of the classroom buildings. I recall playing jacks with friends after eating right there near our benches on the blacktop. Jessica Santana was my best friend in those years. She was always very tall and willowy while I was pretty stumpy and rounder. I remember people calling us "Green Giant and Little Sprout" after the advertisement characters for the frozen vegetable company.
In 5th and 6th grade I moved schools to Brownell Fundamental Elementary in town. It was a lot like charter schools are now. It was supposed to focus on educational basics, but as a kid I didn't see much change from what I knew at El Roble. Just the kids thought the school was better than the other "regular" elementary schools. That attitude rubbed me wrong even then.
I remember learning to play handball during lunch there and slowly realizing that the boys who played handball weren't going to just "let the girls play" with them. I don't recall the lunch room or what I brought for lunch there beyond having to eat inside if there was rain. the lunch room had tall ceilings and was really loud with that many kids inside wishing they could play outdoors.
For junior high I moved schools again--even though Brownell had 7th & 8th grades. the friends I had at Brownell told me that if I switched to South Valley Jr High I was going to get beat up every day and that the Mexican kids would hate me because I was white. But I missed my El Roble friends and was not as fond of the elitist feeling among the Brownell kids. So I moved schools in Junior High.
South Valley was a little tougher looking, but I loved it. Sure there were some tough "chicano" kids in the school, but if I didn't bother them, I learned that they really didn't go out of their way to bother me. In fact, once I go to know a few in my classes, I made friends with them just like I could with the student council kids, or the jocks, or the music kids. They just had different interests and that was fine by me.
At SVJH we ate lunch outside, pretty much wherever we wanted. We didn't really have assigned spaces, but we ate with friends outside--again, unless it rained. In the rain we ate in the "cafegymetorium"--part lunchroom, part gym, part auditorium. It was REALLY loud then, because we were all pubescent, hormonal, growing pre-teens. I remember my favorite place to sit and eat outside was in the sunshine, just beyond the bus turn around toward the classrooms. A bunch of cute boys (some in our LDS ward) ate closer to the gym, but we could watch the boys from our spot in the sunshine. I'm quite sure the boys were clueless that we watched them everyday. But it was all part of the junior high fun.
In 9th grade we all moved to the high school. When I was in school, Gilroy High School had an open campus so if you had a car--or knew someone who did--you could go off campus to get lunch someplace. By this time, I think my mom gave up on us taking lunch so she'd give us lunch money to get lunch all week long. I had to ration it correctly or by Friday I wouldn't have money to eat. There were "junk trucks" that parked along the street side of campus and sold everything from hamburgers and hot dogs on the grill to soda and candy bars. I very regularly had a Snickers bar and a Diet 7Up for lunch and called it good. Once in a while I remember walking to my friend Steve Howlett's house, just a few blocks away from GHS, and having lunch with friends there. I loved his mom, Diane, and I especially loved it when she was there and I could chat her up about whatever was on my mind.
Usually the LDS kids and other friends hung out in Mr. Merrill's room. He was an old world history & geography teacher that didn't seem to mind the "crazy Mormon" kids invading his space. As I got older in high school, I'd sometimes have lunch in the theater--we had Mime Troupe meetings then. Or out on the quad with the "popular" and "cool" kids if there was a lunchtime activity. Once I could drive, I would sometimes take friends to Wendy's down 10th Street closer to the freeway. I remember thinking then that we never had enough time to get there, get our food, get back and eat all in the lunch period.
Once memorable lunch time as a Senior, I road in the bed of Brenda Scariot's truck with several other girls, who were much cooler and popular than I was, and we drive all the way to 1st Street's Senior Froggy's. David Manson had a truck full of senior boys and did the same thing. We grabbed our lunch as fast as we could and then high tailed it back to campus. Somewhere along the way, a chocolate shake got throw from David's truck over the cab of Brenda's--she was driving right behind Dave--and the spray of chocolate shake went all over many of us. At the time it was just funny. No one was angry or upset. Just another fun, crazy high school memory made.
In 2006 I began writing this blog, as a way to keep my family in touch with what was going on here, as several loved ones live far away and we don't get to see each other or speak as often as I'd like. But once the kids left for college, I've felt I had little to write about and I lost some of that interest in writing.
However, this prompting to journal about my own life's stories made sense to me. I love the biography that my mom has written about my dad's life--even though it is still under construction. I already love knowing those stories he has entertained me with over all these years are recorded and written down and that I will be able to share them with my own grandchildren someday down the road. What if my own children want to know things about me that I never thought to tell them? What will the do with the gaps in my journaling? To answer those kinds of questions, I have decided to adopt a Sunday afternoon activity of writing on one short topic based on these kinds of questions:
Goals & Achievements
What goals do you hope to achieve this year?What is something you taught yourself to do without help from anyone else?
What goals are you actively working toward right now?
What would you want your friends and family to learn about making and achieving goals from your example?
What will be the greatest achievement of your life?
Love & Friendship
Do you know the story of how your grandparents met and fell in love?What have been the most important and valued friendships in your life?
Who was your first best friend? Are you still in contact with each other?
What qualities in friends do you most admire?
Goals & Achievements
What were your favorite hobbies and pastimes in your childhood?Do you like to dabble in lots of different hobbies? If so, what are they?
What hobbies, interests, and talents do you have in common with your parents, grandparents, and other ancestors?
Who taught you how to work? What would you want your children and grandchildren to learn from your example?
What are some of your greatest career achievements so far?
Home & Hearth
What was your childhood home like?What kinds of things did you collect and display in your childhood bedroom?
How many different homes or apartments have you lived in throughout your life?
What do you love most about where you live now?
What are the barest essentials you would need to make any place a home?
Mothers & Motherhood
How has your mother or being a mother enriched your life?What lessons have you learned from your grandmothers’ life experiences?
What are some of the stories you loved hearing from your mother’s youth? From your grandmothers’ younger days?
What is the best thing about your relationship with your mother or grandmother?
Who are some important mother figures besides your own mother who have been influential in your life?
Fathers & Fatherhood
What did you enjoy doing with your father when you were a child?What life lessons have you learned from your father?
What are some of the stories you loved hearing from your father’s youth? From your grandfathers’ younger days?
What are some of the signature phrases, quotes, or sayings that remind you of your dad? Of your grandfathers?
Who are some important father figures besides your own father who have been influential in your life?
Events & Milestones
What do you know about the day you were born?What were the biggest momentous events in your life and how have they changed you as a person?
What decisions have you made that have had a long-lasting positive effect on your life?
How does your family celebrate significant milestones?
What events and milestones are you still anticipating and looking forward to?
Travels & Vacations
What were your most common childhood vacations like—road trips, visits to grandma’s house, camping trips, weekends at the lake or the beach?Do you have one special vacation spot that you return to again and again? What do you love about it?
What are all the different modes of transport you’ve used?
What are the most memorable meals or exotic foods you’ve tried on any of your travels?
What destinations are on your vacation wish list?
Education & School
Who was your most beloved teacher? Why?What are your memories of school lunch?
What subjects did you excel at in school? Which were hardest for you?
What extracurricular activities did you get involved in?
What valuable lessons have you learned from school that have helped you in your life?
Values & Beliefs
If you had to pinpoint three main values that your parents lived by and tried to instill in you, what would they be?What personal values do you hold most dear?
What values do you feel are most important to pass down to posterity?
What were the faith and religious traditions of your ancestors?
Causes & Convictions
What motto or creed do you live by?In what ways do you sacrifice your time to volunteer in your community?
How has your life been enriched by your commitment to causes?
Is there someone in your life who has inspired you to care more about community and global issues?
How has your commitment to make the world a better place evolved throughout your life?
Holidays & Traditions
What were some of your favorite holiday traditions in childhood?Which were your top three favorite holidays when you were a child? Why?
Which of your childhood holiday traditions have you continued into adulthood?
What are the most memorable and treasured gifts you have received in your life?
What different occasions do you celebrate each year?
So beginning with the random question of the week, I'll try to share things that I may not have included in my personal journals over the years.
What are my memories of school lunch?
I attended elementary school at El Roble Elementary in Gilroy, California, from 1st through 4th grade. I think I remember generally bringing a lunch with me from home most of the time. I do recall a few special occasions when the school served a McDonald's hamburger or cheeseburger and those were the days I really wanted to buy lunch. I only remember the little McD's cheeseburger--not a happy meal or having fries with it. Just the little burger, wrapped in the the same old yellow paper they still come in, and a carton of chocolate milk. I'm sure it was less than a dollar for that at the time. I only remember ever having coins to pay for it. But it was a special treat when I got to do that.
We'd eat our little lunches on benches that were along the outside of the classroom buildings. I recall playing jacks with friends after eating right there near our benches on the blacktop. Jessica Santana was my best friend in those years. She was always very tall and willowy while I was pretty stumpy and rounder. I remember people calling us "Green Giant and Little Sprout" after the advertisement characters for the frozen vegetable company.
In 5th and 6th grade I moved schools to Brownell Fundamental Elementary in town. It was a lot like charter schools are now. It was supposed to focus on educational basics, but as a kid I didn't see much change from what I knew at El Roble. Just the kids thought the school was better than the other "regular" elementary schools. That attitude rubbed me wrong even then.
I remember learning to play handball during lunch there and slowly realizing that the boys who played handball weren't going to just "let the girls play" with them. I don't recall the lunch room or what I brought for lunch there beyond having to eat inside if there was rain. the lunch room had tall ceilings and was really loud with that many kids inside wishing they could play outdoors.
For junior high I moved schools again--even though Brownell had 7th & 8th grades. the friends I had at Brownell told me that if I switched to South Valley Jr High I was going to get beat up every day and that the Mexican kids would hate me because I was white. But I missed my El Roble friends and was not as fond of the elitist feeling among the Brownell kids. So I moved schools in Junior High.
South Valley was a little tougher looking, but I loved it. Sure there were some tough "chicano" kids in the school, but if I didn't bother them, I learned that they really didn't go out of their way to bother me. In fact, once I go to know a few in my classes, I made friends with them just like I could with the student council kids, or the jocks, or the music kids. They just had different interests and that was fine by me.
At SVJH we ate lunch outside, pretty much wherever we wanted. We didn't really have assigned spaces, but we ate with friends outside--again, unless it rained. In the rain we ate in the "cafegymetorium"--part lunchroom, part gym, part auditorium. It was REALLY loud then, because we were all pubescent, hormonal, growing pre-teens. I remember my favorite place to sit and eat outside was in the sunshine, just beyond the bus turn around toward the classrooms. A bunch of cute boys (some in our LDS ward) ate closer to the gym, but we could watch the boys from our spot in the sunshine. I'm quite sure the boys were clueless that we watched them everyday. But it was all part of the junior high fun.
In 9th grade we all moved to the high school. When I was in school, Gilroy High School had an open campus so if you had a car--or knew someone who did--you could go off campus to get lunch someplace. By this time, I think my mom gave up on us taking lunch so she'd give us lunch money to get lunch all week long. I had to ration it correctly or by Friday I wouldn't have money to eat. There were "junk trucks" that parked along the street side of campus and sold everything from hamburgers and hot dogs on the grill to soda and candy bars. I very regularly had a Snickers bar and a Diet 7Up for lunch and called it good. Once in a while I remember walking to my friend Steve Howlett's house, just a few blocks away from GHS, and having lunch with friends there. I loved his mom, Diane, and I especially loved it when she was there and I could chat her up about whatever was on my mind.
Usually the LDS kids and other friends hung out in Mr. Merrill's room. He was an old world history & geography teacher that didn't seem to mind the "crazy Mormon" kids invading his space. As I got older in high school, I'd sometimes have lunch in the theater--we had Mime Troupe meetings then. Or out on the quad with the "popular" and "cool" kids if there was a lunchtime activity. Once I could drive, I would sometimes take friends to Wendy's down 10th Street closer to the freeway. I remember thinking then that we never had enough time to get there, get our food, get back and eat all in the lunch period.
Once memorable lunch time as a Senior, I road in the bed of Brenda Scariot's truck with several other girls, who were much cooler and popular than I was, and we drive all the way to 1st Street's Senior Froggy's. David Manson had a truck full of senior boys and did the same thing. We grabbed our lunch as fast as we could and then high tailed it back to campus. Somewhere along the way, a chocolate shake got throw from David's truck over the cab of Brenda's--she was driving right behind Dave--and the spray of chocolate shake went all over many of us. At the time it was just funny. No one was angry or upset. Just another fun, crazy high school memory made.
Saturday, October 17, 2015
Makes Ya Think
This morning I attended a funeral of a neighbor. He was a good man, father, husband, neighbor, and fellow congregant. He was 66 years old.
His children--6 of them-- now all married and in their own rights good people, took part in the service. As I listened to reminiscences or memories they shared I couldn't help but think what I would share if I was in their shoes and I was eulogizing my dad. I'm not saying this to be morose, or to hurry anyone's demise, but funerals are designed to make you stop and think.
Many things came to my mind about my dad, and mom for that matter. As the older daughter of these two unique people, I have a lot of memories. Some of those are possibly unique to me--but many are shared with others. One of this neighbor's sons began by saying that his dad would tell the same story, because he liked to tell it, and you'd listen because of that fact alone until you've heard the story a dozen times. Immediately I though of the Black Pontiac story. It's capitalized because it is one of THOSE stories. I love watching my dad tell that story. I've heard it more than a dozen times. I can anticipate the next line and begin chuckling to myself long before I know dad is getting close to the zinger of an ending.
In the funeral the kids talked about their parents being a team in their family's business and in life. I have seen that with my parents. How they can still love each other after working all day together--for YEARS! How they know the other one so well that few things surprise them, but they still try. It is inspiring and heart warming and fills me with wonder.
They spoke about their dad's business and the "almost done" quality of his work. How their dad (and electronics repairman) would stop on their way out of town for a vacation to help some granny adjust her TV before they hit the road. Many times I remember picking up a part being part of the day's activity or running to a customer's place on their way to dinner.
A life long friend of the deceased spoke near the end of the service today of the joy they shared as boys and the appreciation he had of a true, life long friend. Those kind of people are rare, and to have one is a real treasure. My parents have a few like that in their lives, and because of my parents' decision to live in the same place and put down permanent roots, I have those in my life too. he is absolutely right--they are treasures.
The whole morning was a tender reminder of the blessing I have to have parents with me still who not only love me, but love each other--still. My parents recognize and value their family and they will be the first to say we are not a perfect example of anything, I know they keep trying because it is worth it to them. And that makes it all the more worth it to me.
I'm even more grateful to have them here still, and while I live 900 miles away, my heart is always closer than that. Separation is only insurmountable when your heart isn't willing to be there. and that is not the case with my parents. What a tremendous blessing. Like they always have been to me.
His children--6 of them-- now all married and in their own rights good people, took part in the service. As I listened to reminiscences or memories they shared I couldn't help but think what I would share if I was in their shoes and I was eulogizing my dad. I'm not saying this to be morose, or to hurry anyone's demise, but funerals are designed to make you stop and think.
Many things came to my mind about my dad, and mom for that matter. As the older daughter of these two unique people, I have a lot of memories. Some of those are possibly unique to me--but many are shared with others. One of this neighbor's sons began by saying that his dad would tell the same story, because he liked to tell it, and you'd listen because of that fact alone until you've heard the story a dozen times. Immediately I though of the Black Pontiac story. It's capitalized because it is one of THOSE stories. I love watching my dad tell that story. I've heard it more than a dozen times. I can anticipate the next line and begin chuckling to myself long before I know dad is getting close to the zinger of an ending.
In the funeral the kids talked about their parents being a team in their family's business and in life. I have seen that with my parents. How they can still love each other after working all day together--for YEARS! How they know the other one so well that few things surprise them, but they still try. It is inspiring and heart warming and fills me with wonder.
They spoke about their dad's business and the "almost done" quality of his work. How their dad (and electronics repairman) would stop on their way out of town for a vacation to help some granny adjust her TV before they hit the road. Many times I remember picking up a part being part of the day's activity or running to a customer's place on their way to dinner.
A life long friend of the deceased spoke near the end of the service today of the joy they shared as boys and the appreciation he had of a true, life long friend. Those kind of people are rare, and to have one is a real treasure. My parents have a few like that in their lives, and because of my parents' decision to live in the same place and put down permanent roots, I have those in my life too. he is absolutely right--they are treasures.
The whole morning was a tender reminder of the blessing I have to have parents with me still who not only love me, but love each other--still. My parents recognize and value their family and they will be the first to say we are not a perfect example of anything, I know they keep trying because it is worth it to them. And that makes it all the more worth it to me.
I'm even more grateful to have them here still, and while I live 900 miles away, my heart is always closer than that. Separation is only insurmountable when your heart isn't willing to be there. and that is not the case with my parents. What a tremendous blessing. Like they always have been to me.
Saturday, August 9, 2014
Most Welcomed Surprise
Last night, I was in the middle of ironing shirts, watching the Prince of Persia, when the doorbell rang. I wasn't sure who was home, so I went to answer it. I'm glad I did, since it was for me.
One of my original Trek Boys was standing at my door. I broke into a big smile and had him come in and give me a hug. We sat down in the front room and visited for 20 minutes or more.
I asked him about his family--they just moved this summer across town. Everyone is great. The younger siblings already knew people in their new ward and neighborhood, so that was an easier transition for them. His older sister recently graduated from BYU and had started her first post-collegiate job, so I ask about how she was doing.
I had just received a sweet note from his sister, just younger than him, who is serving a mission and doing great! We chuckled about how much she is loving being a missionary. No surprise there.
Then I asked him about his work and school. He works at the Senior MTC teaching Russian and Ukrainian to Senior Couples preparing to serve their missions. Crazy! He loves it of course, and told me about Skyping with a general authority who was working in Germany, but who is trying to learn Russian. He is teaching these folks via Skype and only gets to work with them about one hour a week or so.
He told me he was leaning a new direction for school. When we trekked he was thinking some kind of neuroscience to study brain functions. That was pre-mission, of course, and even pre-university. Considering the upheaval Ukraine and Russia are in currently, I could absolutely see the interest International Relations wold hold. I told him about my darling roommate and former FHE brother, now married, who work for the state department and have traveled most of their married life. They have three daughters they have brought with them all over the world. He looked relieved to hear people can do that with a family. He said he has a lot of homework to do to look into what kind of careers were possible, but he'd love to work fro the US in a diplomatic assignment or something in the eastern European countries.
Then I broached the subject: dating. He's been home about a year, and I asked him if he was seeing anyone yet. He was very open with me. Apparently these kids get asked this a lot. He said he's dated quite a bit, but nothing serious. But there was one young women he knew from high school, where they were good friends, who just returned from her own mission about two weeks ago. We chuckled about striking while the iron is hot, without scaring her away. I gave him permission to ask her out next weekend. If she is still in the obedient missionary mindset, and maybe she'd be more open to seeing someone seriously. And if not, they have a lot of catching up and getting to know you again to do too. Hint, hint. wink, wink. He promised to keep my posted.
This kid is one of the kindest, sharpest, brightest kids I have known. He astounds me with his knowledge and understanding of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. He is a loving son and brother and took his responsibilities on trek, and in callings and as a missionary since that time appropriately. Add some curly hair and big bright smile, and I'm a goner.
It's been five years since we were a trek committee together. So most of the kids I have been blessed to serve with, I know they have moved on with their lives. And that is good. I want that for them. But once in a while, a personal 20 minutes to catch up and give them a hug again makes my whole day. I'm astonished that 12 kids I was fortunate enough to work with for about year have made such an impression on me. I hope I did as much for them, but I love them whether they like it or not. And I am so proud to call them my friends.
One of my original Trek Boys was standing at my door. I broke into a big smile and had him come in and give me a hug. We sat down in the front room and visited for 20 minutes or more.
I asked him about his family--they just moved this summer across town. Everyone is great. The younger siblings already knew people in their new ward and neighborhood, so that was an easier transition for them. His older sister recently graduated from BYU and had started her first post-collegiate job, so I ask about how she was doing.
I had just received a sweet note from his sister, just younger than him, who is serving a mission and doing great! We chuckled about how much she is loving being a missionary. No surprise there.
Then I asked him about his work and school. He works at the Senior MTC teaching Russian and Ukrainian to Senior Couples preparing to serve their missions. Crazy! He loves it of course, and told me about Skyping with a general authority who was working in Germany, but who is trying to learn Russian. He is teaching these folks via Skype and only gets to work with them about one hour a week or so.
He told me he was leaning a new direction for school. When we trekked he was thinking some kind of neuroscience to study brain functions. That was pre-mission, of course, and even pre-university. Considering the upheaval Ukraine and Russia are in currently, I could absolutely see the interest International Relations wold hold. I told him about my darling roommate and former FHE brother, now married, who work for the state department and have traveled most of their married life. They have three daughters they have brought with them all over the world. He looked relieved to hear people can do that with a family. He said he has a lot of homework to do to look into what kind of careers were possible, but he'd love to work fro the US in a diplomatic assignment or something in the eastern European countries.
Then I broached the subject: dating. He's been home about a year, and I asked him if he was seeing anyone yet. He was very open with me. Apparently these kids get asked this a lot. He said he's dated quite a bit, but nothing serious. But there was one young women he knew from high school, where they were good friends, who just returned from her own mission about two weeks ago. We chuckled about striking while the iron is hot, without scaring her away. I gave him permission to ask her out next weekend. If she is still in the obedient missionary mindset, and maybe she'd be more open to seeing someone seriously. And if not, they have a lot of catching up and getting to know you again to do too. Hint, hint. wink, wink. He promised to keep my posted.
This kid is one of the kindest, sharpest, brightest kids I have known. He astounds me with his knowledge and understanding of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. He is a loving son and brother and took his responsibilities on trek, and in callings and as a missionary since that time appropriately. Add some curly hair and big bright smile, and I'm a goner.
It's been five years since we were a trek committee together. So most of the kids I have been blessed to serve with, I know they have moved on with their lives. And that is good. I want that for them. But once in a while, a personal 20 minutes to catch up and give them a hug again makes my whole day. I'm astonished that 12 kids I was fortunate enough to work with for about year have made such an impression on me. I hope I did as much for them, but I love them whether they like it or not. And I am so proud to call them my friends.
Wednesday, July 23, 2014
Kids Say The Darnedest Things
Last night at dinner one of the kids asked if I ever wrote down things they said as a very little child. I told them, yes, and asked "Do you want to hear some?"
I think this answer surprised them. But I ran upstairs to get the book of kid-isms I had kep of them.
The first thing The Boy noticed was that he must not have spoken for some time, since he wasn't included with his own quotations until about half way through.
The Girl mentioned that while she spoke more--or at least got written down--her quotes weren't nearly as funny as The Boy's.
We had some that were so funny, that I couldn't get through them as I read them. For example:
One day The Boy (who almost only ate hot dogs) asked for a "hot on a pork chop". I didn't know what he meant, so I asked him again what he wanted for lunch. "I want a hot dog on a chapstick!" Finally we figured out he wanted to have a hot dog on a chopstick, so he didn't have to touch it but it was easy to eat.
Writing that now, not too much trouble getting through it. But as I read that last night, I was laughing so hard, I was snorting.
Good times.
I'm glad I wrote some of the funny things they said. Sadly, I don't remember as much of their early years as I would like to. I hope that is included in the promise given to us when we are resurrected and all things will be restored to us. I really hope memory is part of that.
I think this answer surprised them. But I ran upstairs to get the book of kid-isms I had kep of them.
The first thing The Boy noticed was that he must not have spoken for some time, since he wasn't included with his own quotations until about half way through.
The Girl mentioned that while she spoke more--or at least got written down--her quotes weren't nearly as funny as The Boy's.
We had some that were so funny, that I couldn't get through them as I read them. For example:
One day The Boy (who almost only ate hot dogs) asked for a "hot on a pork chop". I didn't know what he meant, so I asked him again what he wanted for lunch. "I want a hot dog on a chapstick!" Finally we figured out he wanted to have a hot dog on a chopstick, so he didn't have to touch it but it was easy to eat.
Writing that now, not too much trouble getting through it. But as I read that last night, I was laughing so hard, I was snorting.
Good times.
I'm glad I wrote some of the funny things they said. Sadly, I don't remember as much of their early years as I would like to. I hope that is included in the promise given to us when we are resurrected and all things will be restored to us. I really hope memory is part of that.
Saturday, June 15, 2013
Bringing It Home, Again
We head home sometime today. Here is the final installments of the 2009 Trek memories:
DAY 5 And End of Trek
Friday, June 14, 2013
Thursday, June 13, 2013
Where Has The Time Gone?
Nearly four years ago our stake had a Youth Trek that I was privileged to work with the Trek Committee kids who planned and organized it. What a treat that was. This year, I get to go again, but as a Granny in a family.
So, while we are gone, I thought you might like to review the past Trek experience.
See DAY 1 and DAY 2 in these links.
Y.O.T.O. is our theme this time: You Only TREK Once (well, unless you get to go more than that....)
So, while we are gone, I thought you might like to review the past Trek experience.
See DAY 1 and DAY 2 in these links.
Y.O.T.O. is our theme this time: You Only TREK Once (well, unless you get to go more than that....)
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
So Long, Farewell...
My mom let me know that my hometown newspaper, we fondly called "The Dogpatch", had run a story on my former choir director. Mr Robb is retiring this year after 30 years of teaching music in my hometown of Gilroy. Here is the article:
They held it together until the second-to-last song. The a capella voices of 53 chamber singers – a mix of students from the Garlic Capital’s two main high schools – filled the cathedral at Mission San Juan Bautista with sweet harmonies toward the end of what marked the last spring concert for Gilroy’s legendary choir teacher, Phil Robb.
There had been intermittent sniffles and tender moments during the hour-and-a-half April 17 concert from student performers and a jam-packed audience of 500 – but for the most part, the evening rode on a wave of upbeat emotional energy.
This photo gives the phrase "You've come a long way, baby" a whole new meaning!
I thoroughly enjoyed singing as a senior in high school. It was the only year I sang. I had two open class periods and Mr Robb was desperate for voices back in the early days, so I sang in the Concert choir, and even qualified for the Chamber Ensemble. Boy I had a good time with these guys. We had a rag-tag group and sang our little hearts out. And Mr Robb was there for all the fun, drama, and learning--making a difference all along the way. That is what I love most about those high school memories. I knew I had teachers who cared about me--not just my grades--but me, as a person. Mr Robb was especially good at that. He will be dearly missed! But his family has much to look forward to, I'm sure! Congratulations, Mr. Robb! Thanks for the memories.
Farewell, Maestro
Carly Gelsinger | Posted: Friday, May 17, 2013 6:00 amThey held it together until the second-to-last song. The a capella voices of 53 chamber singers – a mix of students from the Garlic Capital’s two main high schools – filled the cathedral at Mission San Juan Bautista with sweet harmonies toward the end of what marked the last spring concert for Gilroy’s legendary choir teacher, Phil Robb.
There had been intermittent sniffles and tender moments during the hour-and-a-half April 17 concert from student performers and a jam-packed audience of 500 – but for the most part, the evening rode on a wave of upbeat emotional energy.
That is, until Robb himself cracked.
The choir held hands as they sang, “Good Night, Dear
Heart,” a simple, melancholic tune about goodbyes, with lyrics foraged
from the epitaph author Mark Twain used on his deceased daughter's
headstone. During the song, Robb led the singers by waving his hands
around in his trademark expressive way – until the last stanza, when he
doubled over with emotion.
This led the singers, who had been dangling on an
emotional thread all night, to burst. On the last note, they erupted in a
scene of sobs and embraces.
“Nobody said it was going to be easy,” said Robb wistfully as the choir dried their tears.
The iconic choral director will retire June 14 after a
30-year career instilling the joy of singing to Gilroy high schoolers.
Under Robb's direction since 1984, the music program at Gilroy High
School flourished and grew to a widely revered program among academic
and musical communities throughout the state and beyond. When CHS opened
up in 2008, Robb took that on, too, building the department from
scratch and laying the foundations for another choral program as he
darted back and forth teaching at both campuses during the week.
The musical legacy that Robb will soon leave behind
was on display the night of his final spring concert, when a thousand
parents, former students and community members came out over two nights
to pay homage to the man who deeply impacted generations of Gilroyans.
“It felt like 1997 all over again,” said Danielle
Rhinehart, a 2000 GHS graduate, moments after the concert ended with an
uproarious standing ovation. “That was the year I would sit outside the
door of the choir room and listen in on Mr. Robb's class. It was the
year I knew I wanted to join choir.”
Rhinehart stood with her brother, Josh Rhinehart, 25, reminiscing about their days in Robb’s chamber singer groups.
“It was the absolute happiest time of my life,” Danielle continued. “I honestly think music kept me in school.”
Josh Rhinehart remembers his first day in choir like it was yesterday.
“I walked in, and Mr. Robb was playing the piano.
Without looking up or turning around, he said 'Mr. Rhinehart, it's about
time you joined,'” he said.
As Danielle stood inside the brightly-lit sanctuary
after the concert, recalling some of her favorite memories, puffy-eyed
singers dressed in black dresses and tuxes mingled around their
families, wiping their eyes and laughing.
A family with two generations of Robb students, 1985
GHS alumna Katie Day and her son, Jake Day – who graduated last year –
laughed as they remembered the director milling around the cafeteria at
lunchtime, attempting to recruit new students for choir.
“He makes people join that you would never see as the
‘choir type,' ” Jake said. “At CHS and GHS, there was no choir type. It
was full of jocks and all kinds of people. Mr. Robb made singing cool.”
Katie described spring concerts in the mid-1980s,
when the choir women wore puffy pink dresses and the men sported snappy
gray suits.
“That's how long Phil has been enriching us. Since the days of pink dresses and gray suits,” Katie laughed.
Pamela Robb, Phil's wife of 36 years, said she's
looking forward to her husband's “very modified,
put-my-two-feet-in-the-water kind of retirement.”
Pamela said that although Phil, who she described as
“a little hyperactive,” will step away from his full-time role at GUSD,
he'll continue to dabble in teaching music with his part-time role at
Advent Lutheran Church in Morgan Hill. He's also been hired by GUSD for
the next school year as a part-time musical mentor to the two choral
instructors that will succeed him, thanks to a $30,000 stipend from the
Connell family, Gilroy's longtime choral music benefactors.
His legacy will live on symbolically as well. The
GUSD Board of Education voted unanimously last week to name the GHS
music building in his honor, which is a big deal considering GUSD's
policy is to name a facility after individuals “only under extraordinary
circumstances.”
Robb began teaching choir within GUSD in 1981 as an
elementary school specialist. Throughout the ’80s and early ’90s, Robb
filled numerous musical roles in the district at the elementary, junior
high and high school levels, zipping around between campuses on his
10-speed bike, holding a guitar under his arm. In 1992, eight years
after taking on his first high school choral class, he transitioned to
teaching solely at the high school level.
After years of arranging excursions for Gilroy choir
students to stay with host families in Japan, Robb and his wife helped
establish the Gilroy-Takko Student Exchange Program four years ago. The
program allows GUSD students to become enmeshed in Japanese culture,
traditions and lifestyles, while strengthening a transcontinental
relationship and forming new friendships with Gilroy's sister city.
Other highlights of Robb's 30-year career with GUSD
include what he described as the “musical moments” – a fleeting minute
of spine-tingling euphoria brought on by creating or listening to
beautiful music – that he experienced with his singers over the years.
During his tenure, Robb enjoyed these moments during student
performances at Carnegie Hall, a Gospel church in Harlem and an empty
train station in Sacramento.
As the choir sang those last chords of “Good Night,
Dear Heart,” during his last spring concert, Robb relished one of his
final musical moments he'll have with his students.
“Mark Twain's life changed dramatically after his
daughter died. In that beautiful, lingering last chord, you can just
sense Mark Twain not wanting to let go of her,” he said. “I suppose, in a
sense, I didn't want to let go either.”
In the online version of this story there were several photos, certainly courtesy of Mr Robb's lovely wife Pam, that showed the choir all over the world. The final photo was this--the original Chamber Ensemble...see anyone familiar?
I thoroughly enjoyed singing as a senior in high school. It was the only year I sang. I had two open class periods and Mr Robb was desperate for voices back in the early days, so I sang in the Concert choir, and even qualified for the Chamber Ensemble. Boy I had a good time with these guys. We had a rag-tag group and sang our little hearts out. And Mr Robb was there for all the fun, drama, and learning--making a difference all along the way. That is what I love most about those high school memories. I knew I had teachers who cared about me--not just my grades--but me, as a person. Mr Robb was especially good at that. He will be dearly missed! But his family has much to look forward to, I'm sure! Congratulations, Mr. Robb! Thanks for the memories.
Friday, June 29, 2012
KissThisGuy(dot)com
There is a website, here (and see the title above), where people can record--forever, and everyone--song lyrics they have always understood WRONG. For example, Jimi Hendrix never recorded a song called "Kiss This Guy" . His song was called "Kiss the Sky". This is the basis for the title of the site.
Anyhoo. Genius Golfer and I ran away from home this morning to the "early bird" special at the movies to see "Rock of Ages". It was a completely guilty pleasure--both being children of the 80s, and loving the now classic big-hair-band rock anthems of the age.
We we joined in the theater by one other guy, who left half way through and then came back in for the ending. This is not a movie you will hear about when the Academy award nominations come out, but it was good for an embarrassed laugh and a few cringes and rolled eyes. But Tom Crusie, if he is really doing the singing, did pretty well. For a guy that is 50 next week.
Again, anyhoo.
On the way home we were laughing together about how when I was a kid and these songs were current radio fodder, I never heard the lyrics as that overtly sexual or racy or pro-illicit-drugs or anything other than just a 'good song with a beat you can dance to'. But seeing them as a mom (and a YW leader) I sure hear the differences now.
Yikes.
But that beats GG's take. He understood the lyrics to say something totally wrong, so they were never naughty songs for him. He was surprised by the lyrics too as we watched this dumb movie today. He heard these songs for the first time with their actual lyrics--sex, drugs and rock and roll!
You can't take us anywhere.
Anyhoo. Genius Golfer and I ran away from home this morning to the "early bird" special at the movies to see "Rock of Ages". It was a completely guilty pleasure--both being children of the 80s, and loving the now classic big-hair-band rock anthems of the age.
We we joined in the theater by one other guy, who left half way through and then came back in for the ending. This is not a movie you will hear about when the Academy award nominations come out, but it was good for an embarrassed laugh and a few cringes and rolled eyes. But Tom Crusie, if he is really doing the singing, did pretty well. For a guy that is 50 next week.
Again, anyhoo.
On the way home we were laughing together about how when I was a kid and these songs were current radio fodder, I never heard the lyrics as that overtly sexual or racy or pro-illicit-drugs or anything other than just a 'good song with a beat you can dance to'. But seeing them as a mom (and a YW leader) I sure hear the differences now.
Yikes.
But that beats GG's take. He understood the lyrics to say something totally wrong, so they were never naughty songs for him. He was surprised by the lyrics too as we watched this dumb movie today. He heard these songs for the first time with their actual lyrics--sex, drugs and rock and roll!
You can't take us anywhere.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Drawing a Blank
Yesterday I knew I had to get the "lesson" post written up or I'd forget what I had said in the lesson we gave. I also had two terrific other blog posts that I should have written down--at least the titles--because today I cannot recall what they were.
That is just how life is for me sometimes. I have moments of brilliance followed immediately by flashes of complete forgetfulness. I hate it when that happens.
Sometimes that happens when I was meaning to tell someone something, and I can't remember the topic. I figure, "It must have been a lie." Maybe that is what is happening with those two phantom blog post topics. I'm really hoping they will come to me again in a dream, or vision, or whatever it takes to jog this obese memory of mine.
If that happens I'll be sure to write it down the moment I thin of them, so I don't forget again. Dangit.
That is just how life is for me sometimes. I have moments of brilliance followed immediately by flashes of complete forgetfulness. I hate it when that happens.
Sometimes that happens when I was meaning to tell someone something, and I can't remember the topic. I figure, "It must have been a lie." Maybe that is what is happening with those two phantom blog post topics. I'm really hoping they will come to me again in a dream, or vision, or whatever it takes to jog this obese memory of mine.
If that happens I'll be sure to write it down the moment I thin of them, so I don't forget again. Dangit.
Friday, September 9, 2011
A Numbers Game
I have already heard it ad nauseum. This weekend, of course, is the anniversary of the terror attacks of September 11th. The Tenth Anniversary. I understand the media, especially, is making a big deal out of this. They just don't have many original ideas. But this year's anniversary seems to indicate that last year's, or the year before didn't mean as much.
I don't think that is right.
Simply because this year's anniversary is a nice round number, doesn't mean that the years since didn't matter. If anything, this year's number only amplifies the years since that terrible day.
Maybe I'm just uncomfortable with all the media hype for this weekend, because it brings up some tender feelings I have still about that horrible day. One most days I can suppress the feelings, while still remembering what happened. But when the media keep pounding it over my head, there is no where those tender, wounded feelings can hide.
I can't help but recall the shock and devastation I felt when I was told by my neighbor to "come in and see this" just as The Girl was to catch her carpool to school. I can't forget the feelings of helplessness I felt seeing the towers crumble, knowing the hundreds that were still inside never to be found. I can't shake the memory of the cell phone calls from those aboard Flight 93 telling their families they love them and knowing that was the last they would speak to them. And I can't forget the feeling of loss of innocence that day for my children and families everywhere.
Just because it has been ten years, I haven't forgotten those things. But it still hurts to remember.
I don't think that is right.
Simply because this year's anniversary is a nice round number, doesn't mean that the years since didn't matter. If anything, this year's number only amplifies the years since that terrible day.
Maybe I'm just uncomfortable with all the media hype for this weekend, because it brings up some tender feelings I have still about that horrible day. One most days I can suppress the feelings, while still remembering what happened. But when the media keep pounding it over my head, there is no where those tender, wounded feelings can hide.
I can't help but recall the shock and devastation I felt when I was told by my neighbor to "come in and see this" just as The Girl was to catch her carpool to school. I can't forget the feelings of helplessness I felt seeing the towers crumble, knowing the hundreds that were still inside never to be found. I can't shake the memory of the cell phone calls from those aboard Flight 93 telling their families they love them and knowing that was the last they would speak to them. And I can't forget the feeling of loss of innocence that day for my children and families everywhere.
Just because it has been ten years, I haven't forgotten those things. But it still hurts to remember.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Treasure Unearthed
Today, while hunting through some very old cassettes trying to find a favorite Bill Cosby record I copied to a tape years ago, I ran across a little treasure I didn't know I had.
I discovered, on an unmarked cassette, a full tape of The Boy reading pictures books. He is reading pretty well, but it is his "little boy" voice so he might be third or fourth grade. It is awesome. I don't know if I knew he recorded himself reading...if I did, I don't remember it.
After my confession yesterday of wishing away my kids' childhoods, I feel like I got a little bit of it back today.
These aren't Grammy worthy recordings, of course. But listening to him read "Froggy's Baby Sister" or any of the Froggy books that he used to just love--with full Froggy and Mom voices-- is such a treat. Oh, wait. His oration of "Olive,the Other Reindeer" just began. Love it!
Throughout the recording I occasionally hear the "reading timer" we used to use so he'd get in his full twenty minutes or so required reading, but it goes off several times. That is good. I guess he really WAS reading when he squirreled off to his room when I told him it was time to do his homework and he didn't want my "help".
I can't wait to share my discovery with him when he gets home from school. I wonder if he even remembers doing them. Maybe in all my hoarding behaviors there really are treasures hidden...I hope there are. This one has been a hoot!
I discovered, on an unmarked cassette, a full tape of The Boy reading pictures books. He is reading pretty well, but it is his "little boy" voice so he might be third or fourth grade. It is awesome. I don't know if I knew he recorded himself reading...if I did, I don't remember it.
After my confession yesterday of wishing away my kids' childhoods, I feel like I got a little bit of it back today.
These aren't Grammy worthy recordings, of course. But listening to him read "Froggy's Baby Sister" or any of the Froggy books that he used to just love--with full Froggy and Mom voices-- is such a treat. Oh, wait. His oration of "Olive,the Other Reindeer" just began. Love it!
Throughout the recording I occasionally hear the "reading timer" we used to use so he'd get in his full twenty minutes or so required reading, but it goes off several times. That is good. I guess he really WAS reading when he squirreled off to his room when I told him it was time to do his homework and he didn't want my "help".
I can't wait to share my discovery with him when he gets home from school. I wonder if he even remembers doing them. Maybe in all my hoarding behaviors there really are treasures hidden...I hope there are. This one has been a hoot!
Friday, January 28, 2011
Where Were You?
It was 1986, and I was sixteen and a half years old and was between second and third periods, enjoying our morning break called "brunch" at the high school high school. I was sitting in Mrs. Goodrich's classroom poised to watch the launch of the Space Shuttle Challenger. On board were six crew members and a teacher--the first non-astronaut to get to go to space. Christa McAuliffe had fired up a lot of excitement for science teachers and students. We'd get to follow her outer space experiments and learn from her lessons from space.
But almost as soon as they launched, something went obviously, horribly wrong. Silence rang out in the classroom, and across our campus, and the world.
All seven aboard lost their lives, twenty five years ago today. Even thinking about it now, my heart sinks little and I get a little frog in my throat. They died doing something they were excited about doing, something they loved. And the whole world watched, and cried together.
Nothing worth having or knowing comes easy. Yet, how often do we take the knowledge we are given--at someone else's expense--for granted? NASA didn't just loose six astronauts and a vounteer teacher-in-space that day. Seven families lost their loves ones. Our nation lost seven explorers, discoverers, challengers. Brave men and women who believed what they were doing would help the world.
And for a while, they were exactly right. The world stopped and cried, and held on to one another while we all wondered what had happened. Like President Reagan said in tribute after the disaster, "We will never forget them, nor the last time we saw them, this morning, as they prepared for their journey and waved goodbye and 'slipped the surly bonds of earth' to 'touch the face of God'."
Monday, January 24, 2011
Deja Vu, All Over Again
This morning I was wiggling into my Strawberry Days golf shirt when from the kids' bathroom I heard a Bam, Bam,Bam!
I ran into the bathroom, and seeing legs and feet through the crack of the door and in the mirror's reflection, I gently opened the door and squeezed in to find The Girl in a pile on the floor right behind the door.
"Girl, Girl!" I called to her. "Are you conscious, or are you out?!"
"ah, ow, huh, whoa." She answered.
I think she was conscious, but still out of it.
Sure enough. She had been putting in her contacts when she suddenly felt sick to her stomach, and then just as suddenly blacked out, bouncing her head off the edge of the tub on her way to the floor. She has a nice lump on the back of her head.
Once I established that she neither would puke on me nor pass out again, I helped her gingerly back to bed, where she remained until about 1 PM today.
The entire ordeal this morning reminded me of a horrific chapter in my life, when I was just a year older than The Girl.
Of course, I'll tell you. I hoped you'd ask.
I was a junior in high school, and got up each day about 5 AM in order to get ready for school, and still make it to my early morning Seminary class at our church in town before the high school classes started.
Seminary is a daily religion class for LDS high school aged kids where we studied a different book of scripture each year for four years. One year is the Old Testament, followed by a year of New Testament, followed by a year of Book of Mormon studies and then a year of Church History including studying the Doctrine and Covenants. Anyhoo.
Well, since it was a early class, I had the first shower shift in my family. So about 5 AM I was in the shower. And I was naked, as you generally are in the shower. And the water was running at full blast, as that is the basic difference between a shower and a bath. Suddenly I felt myself getting woozy and before I could sit down, I blacked out.
All of this was reported to me later that morning, as I was still out of it for most of it.
Our best guess here, after the fact, is that on the way from a standing position in the shower, I twisted slightly and on the way down disturbed the location of my razor, and ended up landing on it, slicing open the back side of my upper thigh, just below my bum.
Now, the water is running, I am naked, and currently bleeding too. Hearing the banging commotion, my mom leaps from bed and runs to the shower to see what in the world happened. Seeing me konked out on the floor of the shower and bleeding from the upper thigh, lower bum, she shut off the water and proceeded to pass out herself.
This is a common family trait, come to find out.
But my mom has special black-out powers. She also seizes when she passes out, like an epileptic. She looks like a little fish thrown to the river bank, gasping for air. It is disturbing, especially when you are little girl. I'm sure it isn't a trip to Disneyland for her, either.
Sure enough, she begins her fish-flopping seizure have now closed herself into the tiny portion of the bathroom that houses the toilet and the shower. Her head is pushed into the back of the door and she is on the floor, unconscious, just outside of the shower.
My dad, hearing a secondary commotion, gets out of bed and comes to find us in a most unusual, and disadvantaged situation. He can't get to us because the door is shut, and Mom is directly behind it.
Hearing my dad get up following the two previous banging bathroom events, my sister gets up and as she stood in the hallway, all sleepy, and dazed, asked if she should call 911.
Eventually, and somewhat miraculously, Dad got into the bathroom to save Mom, and apparently, to save me--naked and bleeding and wet.
This is an episode where the telling of it ends as the beginning of the rescue. I just don't want to imagine my poor dad having to pull me out of the bathtub, like a naked, limp noodle. Because, let's face it, I was never a noodle shaped girl.
Oh. Just thinking of this is giving me some serious heartburn. And this is 25 plus years later. Yikes!! Sorry Dad, in case I never told you. And thank you for never, ever mentioning the naked part to me again.
The Girl was still in her pajamas this morning when I discovered her in the limp noodle situation. If she'd been in the shower already, I might have followed my mom's example. And we need only have one memorable situation like this per family, please.
I ran into the bathroom, and seeing legs and feet through the crack of the door and in the mirror's reflection, I gently opened the door and squeezed in to find The Girl in a pile on the floor right behind the door.
"Girl, Girl!" I called to her. "Are you conscious, or are you out?!"
"ah, ow, huh, whoa." She answered.
I think she was conscious, but still out of it.
Sure enough. She had been putting in her contacts when she suddenly felt sick to her stomach, and then just as suddenly blacked out, bouncing her head off the edge of the tub on her way to the floor. She has a nice lump on the back of her head.
Once I established that she neither would puke on me nor pass out again, I helped her gingerly back to bed, where she remained until about 1 PM today.
The entire ordeal this morning reminded me of a horrific chapter in my life, when I was just a year older than The Girl.
Of course, I'll tell you. I hoped you'd ask.
I was a junior in high school, and got up each day about 5 AM in order to get ready for school, and still make it to my early morning Seminary class at our church in town before the high school classes started.
Seminary is a daily religion class for LDS high school aged kids where we studied a different book of scripture each year for four years. One year is the Old Testament, followed by a year of New Testament, followed by a year of Book of Mormon studies and then a year of Church History including studying the Doctrine and Covenants. Anyhoo.
Well, since it was a early class, I had the first shower shift in my family. So about 5 AM I was in the shower. And I was naked, as you generally are in the shower. And the water was running at full blast, as that is the basic difference between a shower and a bath. Suddenly I felt myself getting woozy and before I could sit down, I blacked out.
All of this was reported to me later that morning, as I was still out of it for most of it.
Our best guess here, after the fact, is that on the way from a standing position in the shower, I twisted slightly and on the way down disturbed the location of my razor, and ended up landing on it, slicing open the back side of my upper thigh, just below my bum.
Now, the water is running, I am naked, and currently bleeding too. Hearing the banging commotion, my mom leaps from bed and runs to the shower to see what in the world happened. Seeing me konked out on the floor of the shower and bleeding from the upper thigh, lower bum, she shut off the water and proceeded to pass out herself.
This is a common family trait, come to find out.
But my mom has special black-out powers. She also seizes when she passes out, like an epileptic. She looks like a little fish thrown to the river bank, gasping for air. It is disturbing, especially when you are little girl. I'm sure it isn't a trip to Disneyland for her, either.
Sure enough, she begins her fish-flopping seizure have now closed herself into the tiny portion of the bathroom that houses the toilet and the shower. Her head is pushed into the back of the door and she is on the floor, unconscious, just outside of the shower.
My dad, hearing a secondary commotion, gets out of bed and comes to find us in a most unusual, and disadvantaged situation. He can't get to us because the door is shut, and Mom is directly behind it.
Hearing my dad get up following the two previous banging bathroom events, my sister gets up and as she stood in the hallway, all sleepy, and dazed, asked if she should call 911.
Eventually, and somewhat miraculously, Dad got into the bathroom to save Mom, and apparently, to save me--naked and bleeding and wet.
This is an episode where the telling of it ends as the beginning of the rescue. I just don't want to imagine my poor dad having to pull me out of the bathtub, like a naked, limp noodle. Because, let's face it, I was never a noodle shaped girl.
Oh. Just thinking of this is giving me some serious heartburn. And this is 25 plus years later. Yikes!! Sorry Dad, in case I never told you. And thank you for never, ever mentioning the naked part to me again.
The Girl was still in her pajamas this morning when I discovered her in the limp noodle situation. If she'd been in the shower already, I might have followed my mom's example. And we need only have one memorable situation like this per family, please.
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