How Lucky I Am To Be A Baby Boomer - Shit Happens

One of the reasons I started writing these stories is that when you look up Baby Boomer Blogs they are all pretty depressing.  Maybe information on social security, medicare, how to care for aging parents, downsizing and everything else we as baby boomers are supposed to be worried about are important.  I want to read about more positive things myself. Stuff is going to happen to all of us as we age but stuff happened to us when we were younger too.

Back in my ice show skating days there was a year when everyone was having trouble with routines, getting their costumes done and just showing up for rehearsal's. The show director showed no sympathy for anyone and that year he had a big sticker on the back of his clipboard that said "Shit Happens". If you mentioned an excuse or complaint the back of the clipboard flashed in front of your face and you knew to close your mouth. In other words, no excuses or moaning, just put your skates on and glide on through life with a smile on your face.

I put that philosophy to good use three weeks ago tomorrow. As we age
there seems to be more and more discussion on slowing down, being more fearful of one dreaded ailment or another and forget doing all those things you have enjoyed doing all your life.  Go get a recliner, cable TV and a closet full of pills because you retired to the recliner. God forbid that you would go skating and break a leg or don't live in a house with stairs that you won't be able to climb next year. 

                                            Our Stairmaster

Three weeks ago I got tired of looking through dirty windows. Time to get the little ladder out and at least do the bottom part (I do live in a building with twelve foot tall windows). No big deal except when you step off the window sill and just miss the top of the two foot ladder. I crashed to the floor with all my weight on the back of my right shoulder. Oh, shit did happen! My right shoulder was at a very strange angle and my arm felt really different with a considerable amount of pain. Time for the emergency room only problem was that Marshell was on the roof and no way for me to tell him we had a problem.

                                      Scene of the accident

Two hours later I met Marshell at the door and suggested we go to the emergency room. Living in rural Oklahoma picking an emergency room can be a challenge.  The closet one is one we have had experience with before - veto. We could drive 35 or 40 miles to a larger town but I was not bleeding, only in pain - veto.  So we drove 20 miles to a new facility that turned out to be excellent. Verdict....dislocated shoulder (easily put back into place after much pain meds) and....a proximal humerus fracture (not so good).

My precious Dad was a pharmacist for 52 years. Growing up I can never remember going to the doctor except for stitches, a broken wrist and mono. Dad had a basic distrust of doctors after many years of seeing what drugs they gave to people and what the drugs did to them. If my brothers and I had a sore, swollen throat a nurse came to the house and gave us a shot of penicillin or our necessary immunizations. I never remember him going to a doctor or taking any medicine except for a Bromo Seltzer for stomach problems mainly because my Mother drove him crazy. After I got married a typical present was a Physicians Desk Reference that was so big it could have been a boat anchor but actually described every drug on the market, what they were for and most important - the side effects. Since I was not a baseball or a football fan I became pretty well versed in pharmaceuticals in order to have long conversations with my Dad.

After several stints in college majoring in how to be a Broadway star, an artist or an English teacher I went back at the age of twenty-eight with two boys ages one and five and a husband who complained every day about my going to college.  My goal was to obtain a degree in pre-med. Wow, I only needed fifty-two hours of math and science to graduate. The laughable thing about that was according to my SAT scores I was so bad in those two subjects it was a wonder I got accepted to college anywhere.  Besides that I needed to make all A's to bring up my past college grades for a future a medical school to even open my application must less read it.

My Dad had passed away before I got the brilliant idea to become a doctor but somehow I think he was proud of me for graduating from college with an overall 3.7 average with a degree in Biology and Chemistry. The medical school story is one I will leave for another day but what I learned in all this is to pay attention to your health and take charge of it. Only you know how you feel and no doctor is going to fully understand when you try to explain it. Any pill you pop into your mouth may solve your main complaint but comes at a cost of creating more problems. I never even fill a prescription until I have read the information on it  and most important what side effects it can cause. You can pretty well figure that you will have a fifty-fifty chance of getting one or all of the side effects listed which can lead to more drugs or even death. Drug companies are in business to make money. The more drugs they can get you to take, the more money they make. If you think they care about you as a person and your quality of life I have a bridge I would like to sell.

After coming home from the emergency clinic with my arm in a sling and being told in a week to ten days to go see an orthopedist I spent days reading everything I could find on the Internet about a broken humerus and the pain killers I was given. I learned that where I broke my arm is pretty serious and that surgery with plates and screws really is not helpful because it will cause limited mobility and complications requiring more surgery. Surgery might seem to be the quickest way to recovery but will cause long term side effects. It was not particularly good news to read it can take six months to a year to heal on its own but that is the best way to go. They said it happened often in older people with more brittle bones but it can happen at any age if the fall or car accident or throwing a baseball wrong puts the right force on the wrong place. Shit happens no matter what age you are.

On the pain killers.  Since the last time I took some for some dental problems they have started to add Acetaminophen (Tylenol) to them.  The theory is that the opioid plus the acetaminophen helps stop the pain and reduces the milligrams of addictive pain killer per dose.  Nice thought but acetaminophen can cause unusual bleeding and bruising and dark colored urine leading to liver damage. Those side effects popped up a week into the pills and I really had to argue with the doctor to change the prescription. Always remember that doctors do not have time to study every drug and their side effects so you need to be well versed in what pills you are popping into your body. After the argument I got a low dose pain killer with the option to take Tylenol only if I needed it.  That cut the amount of acetaminophen down to one-third of the amount in the other pill. Side effects gone and pain amount okay.

When the day finally came for my appointment with the orthopedist I was really ready to see what exactly they were going to do. Of course I am very picky about doctors and had looked for the best.  We were told to arrive early and all the wrath that would befall us if we didn't. Got there fifteen minutes early and sat in the very busy waiting room for an hour and forty-five minutes.  Then back to an examining room for forty more minutes.  I was on the verge of tears and had decided to give someone ten more minutes before I walked out when a Resident finally walked in all cheerful. It was all I could do to keep from crying and I was a little rude.

They finally took x-rays at which time the doctor showed up. This is a large practise with lots of doctors and I just got which one they picked for me.  Who would believe I would end up with a young doctor named James Bond? Has to be a sign.  To my surprise he repeated everything I had researched and I feel confident that I am in good hands. The orders were to keep the shoulder immobilized in a sling, use the hand and elbow as much as possible, sleep sitting up and come back in a month.

                                              My New Bed

So I am getting pretty good at being left handed, still cook and clean, can type with one hand and can actually hold a paint brush and paint my art stuff with my right hand. Marshell is great at helping me do stuff like getting dressed, chopping up food and anything that takes two hands. After going over to the bank one morning to acquire just how "full service" they were and having one of the girls curl my hair I bought a curling brush that works great one-handed.  I even had to redesign the sling since the ones they sell are made for people who sit in chairs. My new ones in designer fabric do what they need to do for a person who hates to sit.  Shit happens but life is great. and I am sure my arm will heal good as new.

One of the main reasons I have written this story is because I am tired of hearing about how high medical costs are going to be as baby boomers turn sixty-five. Ninety percent of the ailments that come with the aging process are brought on by each of us in the way we eat, lack of exercise and taking medicine without knowing what they do to us.  Marshell will be seventy-four in July and I will be seventy in June but we take no prescription drugs, get lots of exercise and became vegetarians three years ago.  

Where dieting never worked for losing weight both of us have lost between thirty and forty pounds, Marshell's arthritis is pretty well gone except when he eats the foods that inflame his joints, my cholesterol dropped about a hundred points, blood pressure hangs around 120/65 and we feel fantastic.  We rarely get sick and I am sure my arm will heal as fast as someone half my age. Think about it - all it is a choice between feeling like you are thirty and taking charge of your life and health by making a few simple changes.

How Lucky I Am To Be A Baby Boomer -

                                                                        PROM 1963

This week there has been a longer patch of spring-like weather.  The trees blossomed a few weeks ago but colder weather returned and made the blossoms on the trees disappear.  It is funny how you can walk outside some mornings and suddenly be reminded of a day from the past. Springtime when I was in school was always pretty special as it brought all the end-of-school activities like prom, graduation and the nearing of summer vacation.

Several years ago I was reprinting some pictures from high school at a local store.  There was a class reunion coming up and everyone was supposed to bring some.  I was working on the one posted at the top of this article when a friend came by to see what I was doing.  She made the remark that all the girls had waistlines! Guess it had not dawned on me that not only have clothing styles changed but also body shapes. Am I the only one that remembers that girls/women were supposed to have what was known as an hour-glass figure? Dresses were designed to show off a figure and no Prom outfit was complete without heels dyed to match the dress and hose.

The Prom picture was from the spring of 1963 and it was a pretty eventful one.  Paul and Joan had been married for almost two years and their son Don was beginning to walk and become a lot of fun. It was probably a bigger challenge to all the family involved when kids in high school get married than I realized at the time. Actually I think Joan's family and ours blended together pretty well considering two children were the only thing they had in common in the beginning.

Another thing we need to remember is that was the day of no cell phones and no answering machines. The only phone we had was a wall phone situated on the wall between the kitchen and the living room. I suppose that their were some teenagers who had Princess phones in their rooms. Not in the Hansen house.  I got to talk on the phone right in the middle of the whole family.

                                          

                                              

Muskogee had a beautiful country club. My parents were not members and I am quite sure that joining or participating in activities there ever entered their minds.  I had attended dances at the club and snuck into the swimming pool "after-hours" with Joan but had no knowledge of golf at all. Joan, however, had grown up across the street from the club, her parents were very active members and to top it all off her sister, Beth, was a championship golfer.  That spring the Ladies Professional Golf Association came to Muskogee for a tournament.

With my never ending quest to not miss out on anything I think I must have skipped a lot of school that week and spent the week hanging out at the golf course.  If I was a pest to Beth and the other golfers no one ever told me to go jump in a water hazard.  They were all actually very helpful in showing me how to hold a club and attempt to hit the ball. To 
this day I have to laugh when I see golfers riding around in golf carts as I was told the best thing you can do is to carry the clubs across your shoulders as it builds up the right muscles and helps your posture. As I write this I now wonder if they were jacking with me? So began the golf phase of my life.

Joan's dad dug thru the garage and came up with some of Beth's old clubs and a bag.  He must have been trying to get rid of a lot of clubs.  Who carries five woods, fourteen irons and three putters?  When I say carry, I did carry them as I was told to do.  Then, because there was no way my parents were going to join the country club, I started playing at the public course, Meadowbrook.

                                            Don and Beth

Meadowbrook Golf Club has been mentioned in these posts before but not as a place to play golf.  It consisted of a nine-hole golf course, a swimming pool and a huge building with a pro shop on the back, a bar and in past days, a restaurant and a huge but rather dingy space with a stage. It was in the huge open part with the stage where Muskogee teenagers danced to the rock and roll music of the Huff Band and other local groups.

The dances at Meadowbrook were probably one of the highlights of growing up in Muskogee during the fifties and sixties. I guess our parents thought they were chaperoned. I can remember the guy that ran the club might stick his head in from the bar on occasion and there was a three hundred pound rent-a-cop parked on a chair outside the door who collected money.  I am sure that there was a lot of under-age drinking going on and a few fistfights in the parking lot but I actually never paid any attention to any of that. I went there to dance, listen to the music and have a great time.

The end of the school year arrived and with the start of summer I got to begin my chance to play golf.  Still had my morning paper route so I sprang out of bed at 4:00 each morning, threw my papers and then off   to play golf by 6:00. I  usually beat the manager, Bob, out every morning but would go by the club house to pay when I was done. That may make me sound like some sort of a nut but I have always thought mornings were the best part of the day.  Meadowbrook did not have the best of fairways but it was so beautiful every morning when all you could hear were the birds singing. Also helped that no one else was out that early to see my attempts to learn a pretty difficult game.

They say practise makes  perfect.  A lot of the facts hiding in that statement include if you know what you are doing in the first place, if there is any natural ability and how much practise you want to do to achieve your goal. Can't say there was any natural ability but I was pretty determined to learn well enough to go out and play with some of my friends. Bob would come out in his golf cart every once in awhile to make sure I was okay and to give me a few pointers which was a big help.

Summer was starting out to be lots of fun. Over the course of a lifetime I have come to realize that having a lot of fun can be great or it can be a serious omen of things to come. 







' 

How Lucky I Am To Be A Baby Boomer - 11th Grade

When I started writing this blog almost a year ago I was determined to write one every week.  Guess life gets busy or complicated, moods go up and down but they have to be on the upswing for me to write.  Looking back on some of the slightly "off-subject" things I have posted - maybe life creates it little distractions.

So back to the subject at hand.  When I looked thru my vast amount of keepsakes from the 11th grade it became challenging to think of where to begin.  Reading all the things that other people wrote in my yearbook that year was a good start.  There were countless comments about how funny I was.  Interesting, I think back about me being shy, quiet and unpopular.  Then looking at pictures, report cards, play and debate things I began to realize that I must have been pretty involved in everything at school.  I have to admit that as I look back on all of it - I did mange to get involved in some pretty funny stuff.

                                                                    Junior Play

Muskogee Central High had a program called M Service.  If you did things like participate in debate or drama, was a homeroom officer or worked on the school paper, etc. you were awarded points and then received a little green M on graduation.  The opposite of M Service was a program called Office E's.  M's were good while E's were bad. Too many Office E's and you could not graduate.

Back in the day girls were only allowed to wear skirts or dresses to school.  Never shorts, jeans or tank tops.  Culottes were also a no-no.  One day I wore culottes to school.  My luck found me caught by the Dean of Women.  She loaded me in her car and took me home to change clothes.  Did I change into something approved?  No, I put on one of my Mother's skirts which came down to my ankles since Mother was a good deal taller than I.  The poor women went ballistic and sent me back into the house to change again.  Wow!  I racked up two Office E's within ten minutes.

What was I doing in the Law Club?  That one completely escapes me but I know I was by a picture from a courtroom visit with other members. 

 And what ever made me, the big city girl,  run for F.F.A. Sweetheart? If that wasn't strange in itself how about my method to win.  To become F.F.A. Sweetheart you had to raise money for the organization.  There was a Pie Supper but trust me, my parents were not going to pay hundreds of dollars for a pie.  So, it seems that my sister-in-law had a horse she needed to get rid of.  Did I actually spend several Saturdays downtown with the horse tied up to the clock in front of McEntee's Jewerly store selling raffle tickets on the horse? I guess there was not a huge demand for chances to win a horse and my parents only paid some piddly amount for a pie so I did not win. But I did get a dress for the crowning of the F.F.A. Sweetheart that would reappear several times during the rest of the year.

To be honest it is hard to write these stories with out using names of co-conspirators in  my shenigans.  Since I am still friends with many of my classmates and uncertain about whether they really would want me to spill the beans on them, I leave out the names.  Do not think for a minute that innocent, shy me thought up some of this stuff by myself. I am going admit here that my sister-in-law's name was not Mitzi. I used Mitzi because I have never known any one in my life named Mitzi.  Made sense to me that no one else had either.

Her real name was/is Joan.  Joan did her share of silly stuff like the night we sneaked into the country club for a late night swim and running up and down the roads in her VW convertible. I remember one day when Joan and I went to Warner to visit a family friend of hers and I came home with a dog.  No dog had been allowed in the Hansen house for ten years.  My Mother's reaction was "take that dog right back where you got it".  The next sentence out of her mouth was what kind of a dog is that?  It was a little Sheltie that became Mother's dog that very afternoon. 

 There was a Saturday when Joan and I  decided I should become a blond. Well, after the stripping process I had decided on a Champagne Beige Toner.  What color is champagne?  I don't think you can really describe it as beige - how about pink?  Remember the F.F.A Sweetheart dress?  Did I mention it was made of a fuschia (dark pink) chiffon?  It just so happened that the Saturday Joan and I decided to make me a blond was the very same Saturday that I was to be an usher in a play at the high school.  Have you guessed yet what I was wearing to this event?  In 1963 it was really not stylin' to have your hair match your dress and I must admit I got a lot of stares that night. I will also say that my Mother's face was the same color as my hair and dress from anger. 

Little brother Kenny got assigned to ride along in the car with me if I had to go to the "library" better known as the cruising places in town at night.  Perhaps he grew up a little too fast and I should have been watching him.  He went to a junior high school dance one night and was no where to be found when I went ot pick him up.  Long after everyone was gone I found him propped up against a tree extremely drunk. That was an interesting evening on the art of getting my fourteen year old brother home and in the house without the parents realizing he was drunk. Thankfully he got so sick that he never did that again.

With all the funny stuff that I managed to do in my Junior year there were actually classes to go to.  Looking at my report cards I looked like a pretty serious student with all A's and B's in classes like Chemistry, French, English and Geography.  The rest of the day was filled in with Debate, Homemaking and would you believe, Jr. Drama.  I was probably lucky that there were lots of speech tournaments and plays to be involved in to keep me out of trouble.

It is interesting to look back on that year as I can see some lifelong patterns that began to develop.  There were disappointments that I began to treat with humor and a competitive nature that began to emerge.  Sixteen going on seventeen is a pretty tough age to get thru.  
Growing up when all my classmates and I did was with out a doubt more fun than we realized at the time.

If I thought the Junior year was fun, it was nothing compared to the following summer and then our Senior year.

Getting Old Does Not Have To Be A Baby Boomer Thing

This was to be a blog about becoming a sophomore in high school, a time filled with lots of fun, adventures having a car and falling very much in love for the first time. But that one is still formulating in my mind.  There have been a lot of things going on since the first of the year in my little world.  I read two blogs recently that have made me decide to veer to another subject.

Most of the baby boomer blogs contain material on the perils of aging. I do not read most of those as I find it depressing to hear about having enough money to retire, how to care for aging parents, what expensive retirement community you should move to, health issues, downsizing your living accommodations and on and on and on.  The latest one was just to admit you are aging, slow down and in effect, get old faster! Gads!  Makes me wonder what is wrong with people. I have been active all my life, learned new things at all stages of my life and now I am supposed to go sit in a chair and complain about getting old?

I had a dear friend who was in her sixties take me out for lunch on my thirtieth birthday.  She told me that I would have more fun in my thirties than at any other time in my life.  Great advice I put to use having fun raising two boys, going back to school and starting my own business.  There were moves to Kansas City, Philadelphia and Detroit, all interesting and fun places to live. All places that had houses to decorate, great people to meet, historic sites to see and lasting memories to make.

But although my forties were at times challenging with a divorce, being in business for my self and being a single Mom it was a time when I learned how to be me.  I could suddenly do what I wanted to do, move where I wanted to move, re-unite with old friends from high school, learned to go camping for a cheap vacation, and had much fun skiing, dancing and skating.  Son Wally filled the house with rock and roll bands, we both skated in an ice show for five years and went to a lot of drag races to watch son Wes.

Wally age 15, Mom are 43

Wally and Wes

The fifties brought me Marshell.  Wow! How did I manage to find someone that puts up with my wild schemes to go live in a gas station, build a race car or open a blues club?  Actually I think he had put his own slightly offbeat life when he was young on the shelf to be very traditional, raise a family and not look like a nut.  I wonder how many times in those first ten years he rolled his eyes back in his head when I was feeding nineteen stray cats or had taken on a project I had no idea how to do. 

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By the time my sixties rolled around and Marshell retired he had learned that retirement did not mean slowing down and buying a recliner.  It was a joint decision to purchase a 100 year old bank building for our place of retirement.  That constituted ten years of renovating and reconstruction, owning a diner, doing festivals and events, arts and crafts shows, feeding more cats and Marshell learning to skate.

Marshell's Christmas present at age 73

I will turn seventy this summer and the start of this year has been as busy and as crazy as every other decade. In January I had to have my adenoids removed just like most other twelve year old girls and then came cataract surgery.  Neither has made me feel old but only bothered because I have not been able to sign up for the Zumba class I want to take or go skating as the cataract lenses might dislodge. I will not confess to the eye doctor about the miles I walked helping on a political campaign or the number of times I ran up and down the stairs. Only three more weeks and I can go back to all my normal activities.

My debut playing Wipeout at age 65.

Perhaps you will think that Marshell and I are lucky to be healthy. Luck has nothing to do with it.  We became vegetarians four or five years ago (although there are times we can't turn down a cheeseburger and fries), get lots of exercise, take no medicine (that blows the minds of hospital workers who wants your medical history), get up everyday looking forward to all the possibilities the day can bring and most of all we have fun.  

I have been known to tell people I am ten years older than I am.  Boy! Does that blow their minds - especially women.  You are only as old as you act and feel.  All those blogs about getting old, living in smaller spaces, ridiculous cartoons about being forgetful and not being able to do this or that drive me crazy. Sitting at the coffee shop listening to constant complaining, watching mindless television in a recliner and finding nothing right in the world will make you old. Making the comment you can't do something you did in your thirties or forties is only because you stopped doing it. Fill your days with meaningful things to do, take a class, learn to play a musical instrument, go hang out with some young people that aren't your grandchildren, go do something you've never done before, laugh a lot and stop worrying about things you have no control over. Live everyday like you are in your thirties and you will feel and act that way.

How Lucky I Am To Be A Baby Boomer - My Sixteenth Summer Part Two

The arrival of my car on my sixteenth birthday in June did not exactly afford me the freedom that every teenager envisions. I was blessed with a Mom who had pretty strict rules.  Why would you go to a slumber party when you have a bed to sleep in at home?  If you go to the 7:00 movie you should be home shortly after 9:00 since you can have a coke at the movie instead of the local drive-in. A girl should not be out in a car by herself but will be safe if she takes her fourteen year old brother with her. Little brother, Kenny, and I became very creative.

When we moved to the new house Dad built a two car garage on the back of the lot.  Kenny had the 1934 Ford inherited from Paul.  Children were banned from Mom and Dad's garage since it needed to remain in pristine condition.  That garage became a meeting place for every teenage hot rodder in town.  Both of our earnings from the paper routes went for tools and car parts.  It was amazing how Kenny always needed a quart of oil, spark plugs or some guy had something we had to go look at after dinner.  Kenny became the " go-to-guy" for all automotive questions at fourteen. He was also the child in the family who could do no wrong.  That worked out well for me.

If the garage was not filled with guys from sixteen to twenty years of age, we created some errand to run in town.  This gave us the freedom to cruise all the hot spots.  Of course I would rather have cruised without my fourteen year old brother but everyone thought Kenny was pretty cool as we made the rounds.  Muskogee had four places you could usually find most of your friends.  First stop was Russ's Drive In.  It was actually a pretty nice restaurant but at night the drive in stalls were filled with teenagers.  Next was Chet's Hot Dog stand where everyone would park, get out of their cars and hangout. (I still go there every trip to Muskogee). After Chet's you drove up into Honor Heights Park and checked out who was there and the last stop was on the east side of town, The Corral, where Kenny's hot rodder buddies were.  Since Kenny NEVER got into trouble, it was amazing how long it took to get to the auto parts store and back.

I can't remember ever not loving music.  There were those piano lessons I took in hopes of playing rock and roll that were all classical music with recitals in stupid frilly dresses, the years of skating to all the popular songs and all those dances that we all went to.  I had a vast collection of the 45's and a larger collection of vinyl albums.  The albums, which I still collect, ran the gambit on types of music.

Those were the days of Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis, Chuck Berry and Buddy Holly but also folk music. I think I had every album the Kingston Trio ever recorded along with the Lamplighters, Joan Biaz and on and on. Maybe due to the fact that a brother of one of my classmates became friends with Mason Williams in college then went on to write songs, perform with The New Christy Minstrels and Kenny Rogers that we got into folk music. How I happened to acquire a four string tenor guitar is still a mystery to me but that was my key to a lot of fun that summer.

On the east side of town was Spaulding Park.  There was a little lake, the Girl Scout house, a cage of monkeys (always a question as to why they were there) and a swimming pool with a band shell on the backside of it.  That summer on Tuesday nights every folk music player and fan gathered at the band shell to play and sing. Once I discovered the Hootenanny in the park it didn't take me long to learn to sort of play the guitar and join in the fun. My Dad thought it was so cool he actually purchased a six-string Framus for me by the end of the summer. Our folk music summer carried into the school year and it seemed like there was always an assembly, a follies or a talent show or something that brought out the guitars and music.

To add to this summer of fun was not only my paper route but brother Paul's paper route.  He left around midnight every morning to deliver bundles and rural papers around the Muskogee area.  It usually took him until around six in the morning and he had a problem running off the road when he fell asleep.  I remember he had a little Ford Ranchero
that had all four  corners dented from running into things in his sleep. Everyone worried about him so his wife, Mitzi   and I started leaving at 3:00 or 4:00 in the morning in her VW convertible to do all the rural paper tubes.

That may sound like a real chore but I remember it as a lot of fun.  She and I got to be really good friends as we ran up and down dirt roads sticking newspapers in tubes by mailboxes. I can remember one morning at dawn driving down in a ditch when we saw a tornado in the distance.  We would meet up with grumpy Paul at some closed up store in the middle of no where to pick up more papers.  He never appreciated the fact that we were laughing and having a great time.  The best part was that I, who never had many girlfriends, had found someone to giggle and share stories with.  

It was a busy summer with many new experiences.  Paul and Mitzi's son was born the latter part of July.  I can honestly say that was the first time I had ever even seen a newborn much less got to hold one. The thought that I was an aunt seemed very strange.   Having a car I started going to the Sunday night youth service at our church which was always fun.  Perhaps a little light on the church and heavy on the fun. Of course there were probably negative things that happened but nothing I didn't live through and learn from.

The summer flew by and the start of school always brought more excitement.

How Lucky I Am To Be A Baby Boomer - My Sixteenth Summer

Muskogee Central High School

I did not keep a diary or as they are now known, a journal in high school.  If I was not a pack rat, a neat pack rat, I would have trouble remembering all this.  Lucky for me some Birthday or Christmas prior to high school I got a huge scrapbook called a Date Data.  How stupid that sounds now but it was a big deal then.  

The Date Data had pages where you could write down who you dated, when you dated them, where you went, an evaluation of the fellow and an endless amount of other information. It also had pages for pressed corsages, cards, notes and anything else I could not bear to throw away. Some how I have managed to move that around since high school - maybe 26 or 27 moves. It is a treasure trove of information while being rather funny at the same time.  I know I went to sixteen dances in my sophomore year and somehow I managed to date the same boy at Christmas time for all three years.  Pretty amazing that I did that but more amazing is that I still have two of the presents he gave me.

Moving out to the suburbs, Grandview, by name created a problem that school was too far to walk.  I did ride the bus to school and home part of the time.  How could I give up Carnation Ice Cream everyday?  But the neighborhood was filled with a lot of my classmates so it was fun. The move plus Paul's marriage created another change.  Paul got a before school job delivering newspaper bundles, Mom went to work for the paper and Kenny and I ended up with newspaper routes.  I never have included my being the first newspaper girl in my resume although I was actually proud of it. Kenny and I had all of Grandview - he rode his bike and I walked the route carefully putting the papers on the porch or somewhere that they did not get hit with rain or snow.

Of course the BIG deal for the month of June was my birthday - my 16th birthday. As I remember Mom and Dad rushed off to work that day with only a Happy Birthday wish for me. Just where were all the fireworks and the brass bands?  No cards, no presents, swell.  I would show them so I rode my bike to the little neighborhood store and came home and baked my own birthday cake.

Dad showed up at home around noon which was unusual and announced that he was taking me to get my Driver's license.  Ah....He had only taken me out once to let me practice driving during which he taught me to drive with one foot on the gas and one on the brake.  Not a good thing!  But who could pass up attempting to get a driver's license.  So off we went.  Surprise to me - I passed.  Dad went back to work and my girlfriend and her Mom showed up with a birthday card and a cake.  Things were looking up a bit - I was now in possession of a card, two cakes and a driver's license.

Mom arrived home about 5:00 with another birthday cake. It was beginning to look like a bakery. At 6:00 my Dad arrived home but not in his 1960 Studebaker Golden Hawk that he left in. He drove up in a 1954 red Chevrolet Belaire CONVERTIBLE!!  Can't say it had shiny red paint or that it was perfect but to me it was the most beautiful thing in the world.  I can honestly say that I was never again so in love with a car as that one.  I had hoped that a car would arrive that day but there sure were no hints given.  Paul had gotten a car, a 1952 Willis that he hated, for his birthday and fourteen year old Kenny already had the 1934 Ford with no seats and a rope throttle.  Needless to say, my parents never had a thought of letting any of us drive their cars but it had began to look bleak for me.

So began the great adventure of being able to run around in your own car.  One of the best stories occurred about a week after I started driving.  I was headed into town one beautiful morning, top down, short blonde hair flying and suddenly see flashing lights and heard a siren.  My heart was pounding as I pulled off of the road as I couldn't imagine what I had done.  A Highway Patrolman approached the car and said that I did not slow down by five miles an hour when crossing some railroad tracks on Hwy 69.  That was not one of the laws I remembered from the driver's test.  As he leaned over the driver's door I happen to see his name tag.  He was the same patrolman who had stopped my very pretty Mother as well as a lot of other women for "unwritten laws". I took off my sunglasses and said "Hi, Mr. ______.  It's me, Donna, your newspaper girl".  As he rushed back to his patrol car he did tell me to take it easy. He also never sat on his front porch any more in his pajamas at 5:30 in the morning waiting for his newspaper.

I never thought to ask where my Dad came up with the car.  About 25 years later I got to be friends with a girl who was a classmate but we did not really hang out much together.  She told me one day that she always hated me in high school.  I could not imagine why until she told me that the red convertible had been her sixteenth birthday present but her dad got mad at her and sold it to my dad.  We have laughed about it for many years and I did give her a picture of it with the caption "our car".

So began a summer of 1960's era fun, Hootenannies, cruising town, dances at the memorable Meadowbrook Country Club, fun with Paul and adventures with his wife, Mitzi and all too often getting caught at places where you were not allowed to be. There were too many times the red convertible was too easy to spot.

Many more adventures that summer to read about next week.

                               Memories of Carnation Ice Cream

How Lucky I Am To Be A Baby Boomer - Starting High School

After a couple of months break for the holidays, a little family drama and one thing after another, it is time for me to get back to the theme of my blog.  For newer readers the reason I started writing about being a baby boomer is because I, like most of my peers, feel like growing up when we did could not have been more fun.

I was always one of those kids that could not wait to get to school every morning. It is hard to remember how I felt about starting high school in the fall of 1961.  There is always apprehension in beginning any new adventure and entering the doors of that huge red brick building with 1,400 or 1,500 other students had to be a little frightening.  It was one of those moments that you looked forward to and dreaded at the same time. Upon entering those big doors it seems like my life took on a new adventure every day. 

Somehow my sophomore year found me in accelerated classes.  How that happened I will never know but it was a struggle to keep up, especially in Algebra II.  Homework always got done since I never wanted to look stupid in class and actually my grades were not bad.  The real fun though of going to school was all the other stuff.  As I told my kids in later years, school itself is not fun.  You have to join in the extra curricular activities for the fun part.  I was very good at that.

Muskogee High School was pretty outstanding in many ways. The football team, called the Roughers, had many state championships through the years.  They were called the Roughers because in a state championship game in 1925 they played with no helmets due to a lack of funding and their rough play. The half-time shows at the games were as outstanding as the football team with the 140 piece All-Boy Marching Band and the 70 member girl's marching team called the Crack Squad. My sophomore year I was one of 158 members of the Pep Squad that sat in the stands and cheered.  I still rather cringe over the thought of wearing the seven gore green skirt, white blouse, green tie and the green and white beanie.

The best part about the football games was the stadium.  Indian Bowl, as it was known, was actually adjacent to Alice Robertson Junior High. It was built in 1939 by the WPA.  Prior to then the games were played at the downtown athletic park which was really a baseball stadium.  When Indian Bowl was built it was the largest football complex in Oklahoma with seating for 6,500 people.  The first game had over 8,000  fans come to see Muskogee play Fayetteville, Ar.  The best thing today about Indian Bowl is that it is still in use even though a new high school was built in 1970 on plenty of land to accommodate a new stadium.  The old concrete bleachers have been replaced and the press box is now three stories tall but the basic structure is the same.

It was at one of the football games that my brother Paul who was a senior came over to the Pep Squad section to announce to me that he had gotten married. Married? I didn't even know he was dating anyone more than once or twice. Why was he telling me before he told Mom and Dad? He must have gotten around to telling me who he married at some point which only made things worse. I knew who she was from both of us going to a sports camp a couple of summers before. She was cute and she was the best at every sport at the camp. Paul goes off and leaves me with the promise not to say anything to Mom and Dad till he does. Boy, I can remember sitting there in that dippy Pep Squad outfit with braces on my teeth and bad hair knowing the reaction of our parents.  Not a great night. More on this later.

Since I was a person who couldn't wait to get to school and it was a long walk from home, my Mom dropped me off on her way to work.  Before school you could hang out in the cafeteria where they sold cokes and donuts.  Nothing like starting off the day on a real sugar high but hanging out was fun.  After school I could walk home or  go two blocks to the Carnation Ice Cream parlor and factory, then walk downtown to catch a ride home with Mom or Dad.  Did I really start out the day with donuts and pop and end the day with a sundae?  

Of all the places in America for President Kennedy to pick as the perfect location to start the Presidential Physical Fitness program he had to chose Muskogee.  Perhaps they had some inside information about the before school snacks, Carnation Ice Cream and Chet's Hot Dog Stand. I actually did not remember that we were the "example" school for the nation until someone found it on YouTube.  All I remember was that at some designated time you had to change into gym clothes, run around and exercise and then change back into school attire and head off to class. Maybe it was a good thing considering how bad we ate.

My sophomore year I remember dating some but not many of my classmates were old enough to drive.  It seemed like we spent a lot of time dancing.  There were dances in the gym after the basketball games to the music of the school jazz band, dances at the local "Y" where we had hung out all summer and of course dances at the famed Meadowbrook Country Club. Usually parents had to drive you there and pick you up.  Prior to having a driver's license or an older boyfriend dating was difficult.

Muskogee Central High had an outstanding speech department.  That was always at the top of my list to take as an elective subject. The speech teacher, Jack Gregory, was not only outstanding as a speech and drama teacher but as a caring and fun mentor.  He had many National Champion Debate Teams through the years and a huge speech tournament at our school every year.

In the fall of my sophomore year he gave all the speech class students a hayride and wiener roast.  In my infinite wisdom I accepted a date with a senior speech class member. I was feeling pretty smug but big brother Paul had to tell me how stupid I was for accepting the date.  Just who did Paul think he was telling me who I could or couldn't date?

The day of the hayride arrived and my date picked me up and we went off to meet the speech classes and the hay wagon.  I was having a great time on the hayride and the wiener roast that was out by the river was really neat.  The problems started on the return ride in the dark.  My date was pretty good sized and I was not much of a match for him as he threw me down in the hay. I think Mr. Gregory realized I was out of my league when it came to handling this guy and manged to keep us apart.  

Well add another stupid mark on my forehead as I actually got in the car with him so he could take me home.  We were almost to my house when he pulled off into a field. I was leaning on the passenger door trying to figure out what to do when all of a sudden the door flew open. A very angry voice said "get in my car!"  I made a thankful dash for the other car as my brother Paul had a few words with my date. Paul got in the car and asked if I was beginning to learn how not to be stupid.  I answered yes.  He didn't say anything else and dropped me at home.  It is interesting how quickly one can learn from poor judgement.

I guess Mom and Dad had been thinking about a new house since our experience of looking at the Bower house.  In the spring they bought a brand new three bedroom home in a development south east of town. They purchased all new furniture and Mom had great fun planning the landscaping.  It was sad to leave the old neighborhood that I had always lived in but the excitement of a new house and new neighbors was fun.

Prom time arrived and I was very surprised to be asked to go with a boy who was a junior.  We had not really even dated but he was very cute and very nice.  No, I did not have Paul check him out.  Actually Paul's wife, Mitzi, gave the okay and gave me a dress to wear. I wish to this day I had a picture of that dress so I could know if it really looked the way I remember it. The Prom was great fun and was my date.  I was very sad when he moved away that summer as I really did like him.

Back to the dress.  It was a very pale blue strapless dress made out of 100 yards of blue net.  The skirt rather reminded me of something out of Gone With The Wind.  My Dad's favorite story he liked to tell until the day he died was when I wore the dress a few weeks later to a banquet.  My date that night had a bug-eyed Sprite.  He was not a small person but the car certainly was.  Since it was a beautiful spring evening the top was down and to get me and the dress in the car my Dad had to come out and assist in stuffing the dress down so that my date and I could see out the windshield.  Must have been a sight to the neighbors.

What I remember, in general, about my sophomore year was a lot of growing up due to a flood of new experiences.  I think we were a lot less mature at fifteen then than kids are today and a lot less stressed.
There were probably some very insecure times but I was lucky in that I really remember lots of laughter and fun.

The approaching summer was one not to be forgotten.