Christmas 2010

Dear blog friends,

Hello readers! I hope that you had a happy holiday.    My son, my daughter in law, and my two grandsons had a splendid Christmas. There was lots of money for the boys, a promised shopping trip for the day after Christmas, a drum set for Justin, a camera for Nikki, a radar detector for my speedy son , and a laptop desk for my daughter-in-law.

On Christmas Eve, we all enjoyed our traditional treat.  We had s’mores.  Later on after watching TV, we all turned in for the evening.  Having not seen a wrapped gift under the tree from David to me I am ashamed to say that I cried myself to sleep. I had put a lot of thought into choosing and wrapping Dave’s gifts. Not seeing anything under the tree for me caused me to feel sorry for myself. I felt unloved.  It is true that our relationship has taken a bad turn but, at Christmas, I had hoped for a truce.  Instead, I cried over the loss of companionship and loving gestures.

David received cash from my son and his family.  From me, he received a camera, a photo printer, and a stuffed stocking.  My son and his family gave me a USB fan for my computer.  After all the presents were opened, Dave gave me an unwrapped box with a pair of diamond earrings in it.  They are lovely. Still I have an uncomfortable feeling of being unloved by him since he didn’t take the time to even try wrapping them or having them under the tree. He just handed them to me out of his pocket. Not much feeling there.

Well, today I worked all day getting David’s Aunt Barbara’s doll finished to have her ready for our trip to Arkansas. Given the lack of Christmas enthusiasm, I am not looking forward to spending a week on the road with Dave.  I guess I better work on my frame of mind.

Anyway, Church services were wonderful and the whole reason for the season is the birth of Jesus. So let us contemplate that. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all of you!

School In France

To say that I was not pleased to learn that school carried on here in Paris would be to put it lightly. I was furious! The day came that we were all settled in the little house in de Grasse Vilaage and there was no more procrastinating. School was starting again.
It was still first grade but this time it was November and all the other students had already been learning since September.  The classroom looked a lot like the one in Laurel and smelled of sack lunches, school glue, and chalk.  I gagged.  My stomach hurt and I was beginning to feel tears forming in my eyes.  I blinked hard.  Everyone turned to see me standing in the doorway holding Mommy's hand. I would NOT cry.  I stared back.

Mommy smiled and the teacher smiled.  The teacher thanked my mother, took my hand  and led me to the front of the class. I turned back just in time to see Mommy leave the room. She abandoned me again. Just like back at the red brick  school in Laurel! I hardly had time to think about this outrage when, most remarkably,the teacher spoke, " Mes élèves, c'est Barbara, un nouvel élève. Dites-lui bonjour."

Huh? Shocked, I barely registered all the bonjours that boomed at me from the students!  I looked up in total panic at the teacher, still holding my hand. " It is okay, Barbara," she explained in English, "we speak French for part of our day here in the first grade.  You will learn quickly. The children are saying hello. Now take a seat and we will get back on schedule."

I Miss Grandma

I Really Miss Grandma

When we lived in the states, we used to go on weekend trips to West Virginia to visit my grandmother. In the summers, Rachael and I would stay with her for a week or two.  My mom did not get along with my grandmother because she was my dad's mom and not her mom.( or at least that is how Rachael explained it to me). So, when we'd go for the weekend, Rachael and I would stay with Grandma while Daddy and Mommy stayed in a motel.

Well, we had visited with Grandma just before we left to go to France.  They all told me that it would be three years before we'd see her again. It didn't seem too bad because it was always three somethings (weeks, months, etc.) before we saw her and, as a child, what did I know about time?

We'd crossed the oceans, taken a train through the countries, and set ourselves up in Paris, France. Enough time had passed that I thought it must be time to go to visit Grandma.  But you can't visit grandma from France.  In fact, I couldn't visit Grandma until I was nine years old!  While I didn't understand the explanations from earlier, I understood nine years old! Why that was forever!

I would not be consoled. Grandma had no telephone on the mountain at her house in West Virginia.  I couldn't call her. And even if she did have a telephone,Mommy said long distance calls cost more money than Daddy made at work for the army. I couldn't even write her a letter because I didn't know how to write yet. 

So far, France was awful! I wanted to go home. I wanted my Grandma!

Trip Across The Atlantic

Anchors Away to Amsterdam

There was quite a whirl of activities that proceeded our boarding the Queen Mary. Soldiers came from the base where daddy worked to load all of our belongings into a great big moving van. Once the house was empty, Mommy cleaned all day for two days before the inspection required by the army was scheduled. The sparkling clean house passed the inspection easily and we all piled into the station wagon to head for New York City.
Rachael and I played car-trip games all the way. We played the alphabet game, the find-a-Volkswagen game, and finally, a radio game that we made up. I would pretend to be a radio and I would sing a song. Rachael would tire of the song and pretend to change the station by gently twisting my nose. I would make static noises until she released my nose. Then, having been programmed for another station, I would start a news station, sports station, or sing a different song. This game went on for hours and became one of our favorites. Though I didn't know it at the time, it prepared me for many an improv once I started a Speech class in high school. For the moment, happy laughter serenaded us all the way to New York.
I don't remember boarding the ship or setting sail. My first memory of the Queen Mary was captured in a picture of our whole family dressed in life jackets on deck for a shipwreck drill. It was a cold, rainy and incredibly dull day. The picture reflects three happy family members and a sulky me. What a boring activity for a five year old!
Once out to sea, my little family became sea-sick. That is, all of them but me. They lay in their bunks throwing up and moaning. The attendants on board brought remedies and meals but Mommy, Daddy, and Rachael were sick for days. Finally, apparently pitying the forlorn un-sea-sick girl, an attendant asked to be allowed to escort me to the activities room. My parents agreed.
What a wonderful place the activities room was. There were tables everywhere loaded with crafts and other little girls and boys with whom to play games. My favorite thing was making clothespin dolls.
Seated at one of the craft tables, the pleasant attendant brought my supplies:
a round clothespin/doll pin
scraps of cotton fabric and felt
paper doilies
yarn or felt for hair
embroidery floss
ball point pen
school glue
scissors
pipe cleaner

First I drew eyes, a nose, and a smile onto the round top of my clothespin to make a face. Then I took the pipe cleaner and cut it in half. The attendant had already drilled two small holes in the clothespin for the arms. I placed a half of the pipe cleaner into each hole, securing it with the school glue. Using the embroidery thread I secured one end just under my dolls neck. I wound it around and around the clothespin which made a shirt for the doll. I cut a round whole in the middle of the paper doily and slipped it over the clothespin. Once I had it positioned correctly, I glued it to the doll to make a skirt. Finally, I cut some of the red yarn and glued it to the head for hair. Voila! ( a word I would learn upon arriving in France.) I had made a princess or bride doll.
I spent many days of the two week voyage in the craft room. I played with a few of the other children but, being shy, and without my sister to bolster my confidence ; I mainly made clothespin dolls. I left the Queen Mary with a whole family of clothespin aunties and uncles and cousins galore in a shoebox I had decorated to look like a house.
We went ashore in a place called Amsterdam. I liked the name because it allowed me to use my first cuss word: Damn. I sang it with total abandon, "Damn, Damn, Amsterdam!" No one scolded me. It became my only legitimate means of expressing my frustration in later years.
Amsterdam was strange. The people worn shoes made from wood and painted with local people dressed in bright colors. Daddy bought a pair for Rachael and a pair for me. Surprisingly comfortable, I wore mine with great pride and sheer joy. The ladies of Amsterdam were very colorful also. They dressed in bright colored dresses and white aprons and wore the same wooden shoes like the ones I now wore.One morning at breakfast I saw one lady with a bucket and a broom, vigorously scrubbing her front steps and the street in front of her house. Daddy said that that was one of a Dutch housewife's daily chores. I hate chores and this one seemed unusually awful. I was glad that I was not Dutch like the ladies in Holland. I didn't think I'd like to scrub outside as well as do all the housework that I had seen Mommy do.

We were only in Holland for a few days. We took a train from 'Damn, Damn, Amsterdam' to Paris, France. We ate in a car called a dining car. The waiters were very fast. Mommy said that they were efficient, whatever that meant. I remember one time at dinner, Mommy laid her knife and fork cross-ways on her plate full of food while she leaned over to cut my meat for me. Quick as a wink, one of the waiters removed her plate. This was my first lesson in the nuances of a different culture. After much discussion between Daddy and the waiter and the arrival of a new plate of food for Mommy, I learned that putting your knife and fork cross-ways on your plate in Europe was a signal that you were finished with your meal! I guessed that it was high time that I learned to cut my own food with a butter knife!

The army gave a nice house in DeGrasse Village to live in for the three years we were to live in France. Just a few miles from Paris, the little subdivision of cul-de-sacs bordered the quaint township of Feucherolles. It was very nice. There was a yummy bakery , a doll shop, and an open air market there. I liked the new house, the little town, and I loved the Eiffel Tower!

Then, I found out that there was SCHOOL even in France. My little bubble popped like a balloon on a cactus plant.

First Grade in Laurel, Md

School

I wasn't ready. I didn't want to go to school. I wanted to stay home with Mommy. I wasn't old enough, anyway. I was only five. I wouldn't be six until November. But everyone said that I could start at five years old so start I did.
The first day was a little fun. I had new clothes and shoes. I even had a book-bag! It was red plaid! Dressed in splendor, Mommy and Rachael walked with me for the three blocks that lead to the big brick building. It was September and the leaves on the trees were dressed in yellows and reds. They danced in the early morning breeze and fallen leaves of gold and brown rustled across the school yard and down the street. so far so good.

my classroom was decorated by pleasant bulletin boards with pictures. The blackboard sported a row of perfect alphabet letters at the top. the teacher smiled pleasantly and showed me to a desk amongst the other girls and boys. There was laughter and crying. Laughter from the children who already had friends in the class and they played happily waiting for the mommies to leave. And the crying from children who, clinging to their mommies legs, begged to go home and not be left here at school. I sat politely at my desk by the window and watched through the chaos as my mommy walked down the sidewalk towards home. Abandoned. I too began to cry.

I really don't remember much about the morning classes. I didn't learn much more than what Rachael had taught me at home when we played school. I did learn that if you raised your hand, the teacher would call your name so you could speak. I raised my hand and the pretty lady called my name.
"May I go to the bathroom, please?", I asked softly.
"of course, my dear" she answered.
I walked to the door and down the hall. Spying the door my mommy had walked out of earlier, I opened it and walked home.
" Mommy!" I called out happily. I came home to use the bathroom!"
"Barbara Elaine Kitzmiller", Mommy spoke harshly. " You can't come home until school is out! Now march and I'll take you back." I began to cry as she took my hand and walked me back to the classroom at the red brick school three blocks away.
I was resourceful. Three days later, I asked to go to the bathroom again and walked home again. But I didn't go into the house. I played in the side yard in the little grove of trees. I heard the telephone ring and heard Mommy answer it. Then she began to call out for me. Of course! She wanted me to come in for lunch! But she didn't want me to come in . She wanted me to explain why the principal had called to say I was missing. Phooey...here we go back. I was practically running because Mommy was holding my hand up so high that my toes barely touched the ground. Here we went through the pretty leaves and up to the horrid red brick school.
This time, I waited for a whole week before I made my escape. I climbed out the bathroom window, avoiding the door they were now watching carefully. I went to the park. It was just a little way further down the street from the school. I liked the park and knew my way from trips there last summer with Mommy and my sister, Rachael. I was swinging on the swings, pumping my legs hard so that I could touch the sky with my toes when she found me. Holy Toledo! She was mad. She spanked me every step back to the red brick prison that was "school".
I finally made peace with my sentence and stopped trying to escape. At the end of October, Daddy got orders from the Army where he worked that we were moving to Paris, France. I got to stay home from school and help to pack up our whole house. No school! We were going to ride on a big ship called the Queen Mary and go to live in France. I sure hoped there was no school across the ocean.

I Don't Like Milk

Milk

I don't like milk. I use it sometimes on my cereal but just enough to dampen it. Certainly not enough to have leftover to drink. I like chocolate milk and even strawberry milk. I like milk shakes and ice cream sundaes. I like pudding and cream pies. I even like eggnog. But I don't like milk.

I ask myself why since the taste is the same in all my favorites but I do not like it plain in a glass. And then I see it.

There sits the glass in front of me. I am five years old. I have finished my dinner and all that remains is the half full glass of cold white milk. Mommy says to drink it and then I may be excused. Only, I am full and I tell her that I don't want it. But then, Daddy says that I can't get down until I drink the milk.
So there I sit on my chair on my two telephone books with the glass of lukewarm milk in front of me on the table. Mommy washes all the dishes and stops only to encourage me to drink the now warm, stale milk. Daddy orders me to drink it and warns that I will sit there until I finish it. It is now yucky . One tiny sip confirms my suspicion that room temperature milk is not good at all.
Mommy finished the dishes and goes to sit with Daddy to watch TV. I cry. I try another tiny sip and gag a little. Daddy says that if I haven't drunk the milk by bedtime, he will spank me and then put me to bed. The clock ticks ominously:
Bedtime, tick, bedtime, tock, bedtime, tick, bedtime, tock.

My bedtime passes and Daddy is really mad at me. I can't drink the milk. Mommy says to let me sit until they are ready for bed and then deal with me if the milk still remains. I can tell that she wants me to drink it to save myself a spanking. but I just can't.Finally it is their bedtime and I am given one more chance. but it is no use. I can't. I won't. I'd rather have a spanking. I get my way. I get the spanking and the milk is poured down the sink. While Daddy puts me in my bed, crying and distressed, Mommy washes the glass, dries it and puts it in the cabinet. Mommy is crying too just like me.

the next night, I climb up onto my telephone books to take my place at the table. I look at my glass. Koolaid!!! I check out my sister, Rachael's, glass. Milk! Never again will I see milk in my glass- only Rachael's. Mommy saved me after all. Sometimes Koolaid and sometimes water graces my place setting in the years that follow. But never the dreaded milk except when Mommy adds some of the wonderful powder that makes my milk chocolate!
So, now I am 56 years old. All my adult life I have only kept enough milk in the house for cooking and dampening cereal. When my sister visited, I'd buy a gallon for her to have since it is her favorite drink. I pour whatever is left when she goes home down the sink, smiling quietly to myself.
I don't like milk. I like chocolate milk and even strawberry milk. I like milk shakes and ice cream sundaes. I like pudding and cream pies. I even like eggnog. But I don't like milk.


Barb Curtis
October 29, 2010

Oh Where Oh Where has My Little Dog Gone?

Oh Where Oh Where has My Little Dog Gone?
-Barb Kitzmiller Curtis

I was a little girl, just 5 years old. Mommy taught me how to care for myself and my toys and how to be a good girl. Daddy taught me how to recognize the bad girl in me and what consequences were. I loved them both . I loved my big sister, Rachael. I loved my stuffed dog.
I was playing in the side yard of the townhouse that was our home in Laurel, Md.. The sun shone brightly onto the table where I had placed a big metal tub . The trees cast dancing shadows across the green garden hose which wound carelessly through the yard and over to the table. I stood ready to bathe my beloved black and white spotted stuffed dog.
Washday clothes fluttered in the spring breeze, the line waiting for my doggy to hang there with them to dry once its bath was over. I sang and scrubbed and enjoyed the feel of my light brown hair caressing my freckled face in the same breeze that caused the clothes to dance with happy abandon.
Suddenly all around me grew still. The birds who had been singing a cheerful harmony became eerily quiet. The sun withdrew behind an ominous cloud. A large mix breed collie appeared as if summoned by the surreal atmosphere. But I am not afraid of the dog. I like dogs. They are much like me. They love -- just because. They are just waiting for a moment when someone will shower them with attention and be kind to them. In which case, they will cover you with sloppy kisses and unconditional love.
This dog ran to my table. He snatched my soggy stuffed dog from the washtub. "No, oh no!" I cried out as he ran toward the woods behind the house. I yelled louder, racing after the felonious canine. But it was too late, happening in an instant. As the two dogs, one stuffed and dripping, one very alive and trotting, evaporated into the spring green stand of trees I stood horrified. With tears of shock, I saw that the sun had returned from behind the cloud and shone brightly as the birds once again began to chirp.
Mommy and Rachael rushed out to me in response to my desperate cries now muffled into sobs that shook my little shoulders. Mommy assigned Rachael, 6 years my senior and then 11 years old, to help search the woods for my toy: my stuffed, tangible, confidence -sharing toy companion. I begged. I prayed. I hoped with all my little heart that the big dog had dropped my doggy.
Rachael sang as we searched, " Oh Where Oh Where Has My Little Dog Gone?". I cried and stumbled along with her. Sadly, we didn't find anything. I always cry when I hear that little song. Over the years, teasing me like all siblings will do from time to time, Rachael would sing that song just to make me cry. It always worked. Even now when I hear it , I still cry.
The loss that day was not just the loss of a toy. That day, joy was torn from my very hands and I lost a piece of innocence. I had experienced and would remember this first journey through the valley of grief.‎



Occurred in Laurel, Md. I was 5 years old.
Recorded: Wednesday, ‎October ‎27, ‎2010

Studio

Well, I started to set up my studio a few days ago but I didn't get to do it. I started and disturbed a bunch of yellow jackets. I got stung three times - once in each thigh and once behind my right arm. I am allergic so I ended up spending two days in bed.
On Friday, I went garage sale shopping with Dave. We found a small couch and I talked the guy down from $40.00 to $16.00. It is smaller than a love seat but plenty big for two people to sit comfortably.
Today, I shampooed the rug that is on one side of my studio and arranged my new couch and the comfy chair that I already had in there. Now I have a really cozy sitting room on one side and the other side of my building is the work area for painting and doll restorations.
Tomorrow, I am going to make my outdoor room/garden in front of my building. I am planning a water feature but that will have to wait awhile.I'm tired now. I have to pace myself or I'll have a FMS flare up and set myself back by weeks!
Life is good!

Studio

I spent the day getting my studio back in shape to start painting and working on dolls again. I bought a small couch at a garage sale yesterday and I now have a little sitting room on one side of the studio and the work area on the other side. It is really nice.
I'm all tired out from all that work. I even shampooed the carpet that I put in the sitting area. All that work is worth it though .
Tomorrow, I'm going to spruce up the garden around my building. I am planning a water feature but that will have to wait until next week. I'm way too tired to do that right now.
I was going to do all this last week but I ran into a bit of a problem. I disturbed some yellow jackets and I was stung three times - once on each thigh and once behind my right arm. I am allergic to them and it was terribly painful for three days. That put me really far behind on my plan. Everything just had to stop while I recovered in bed. I know it is really a sad story,right?!

Hot Water Heater

Our hot water heater went out last week. It flooded the laundry room, kitchen, and downstairs bathroom. Thank God for tile floors!  Then, a trip to Sears and a check for over 800.00. Finally a few days later, a guy comes to install it and charges an additional $575.00 above the Sears installation fee because it had to be brought up to code with double wall venting and an extension of two feet on the roof.  Whoever heard of awater heater costing so much? 

June 21, 2010

Today is the day after Father's Day and Mother's Day is over by a month.  These days were and are both nice in the way that they allow us to slow down long enough to set aside our own pursuits to honor those folks who raised us.  With both my parents gone, it is especially touching to celebrate these days.

 I honor my parents and am grateful for them.  My father was a fine military man and a great American. My mom was tenderhearted and truly a miraculous homemaker and wife. 

My son, whom I raised basically alone, gives me both a Mother's Day and Father's Day greeting as he realizes that I often found myself playing both roles. He himself is a fine father, an honest and generous man, and a great husband. 

Here is hoping that your Father's Day and/or Mother's Day was enjoyable. Also, let me remind you that Moms and Dads are Moms and Dads everyday so honor them every day with your love and support. Personally, I recommend plenty of hugs.

Being sick will wear you out!

Oh my gosh, a stomach flu will wear you out! At this point (after, what has it been now 3-4 -5 days? ) there is nothing else to say.

January 7, 2010

I am reading New Moon and listening to classical piano at http://www.lisztonian.com. It is a fabulous site that plays classical piano 24/7.  I love it!
I am feeling much better today. I had a complete day of juicing every hour on the hour and a double detox.  I am nearly completely healed.  I just have a little, infrequent cough. For more information than you will ever want to know about this amazing healing process, read the Gershen Theory. Enough said.
On the other hand, Dave is in a terrible state. He has some flu-like thing on top of the kidney pain I mentioned  earlier. He came home from the resale shop with vomiting and diarrhea. He declined dinner and went to bed. I tried to offer any assistance that he needed but he just asked for Pepto and to be left alone.  I gave him the Pepto and the solitude he asked for and am quietly reading, listening to music with headphones, and praying for him all at one time.
Otherwise, I am happy to be almost healed from my 4-5 day bad cold and back in the land of the living!

january 5, 2009

Well, this is a fine howdy-do!  My husband has been very ill with kidney pain for quite awhile now but has no insurance. Yesterday he slept all day and didn't speak to me until very late in the evening. He didn't even eat dinner.  Today he slept until late afternoon and then got dressed and said he was going to visit his dad.  He added that he would not be home for dinner but would eat with his dad.  I was fixing dinner at the time.
I don't know what to think. I know he is in pain and I feel bad for him. We are broke so I can't help him with the kidney problem since he has no insurance. He is depressed and with good reason. I feel left out and alienated by his silence and our lack of intimacy.  I am totally powerless to help him at all. He won't even talk to me. He asks what good does TALKING do?
I am at a complete loss.I just don't know how to help him. He is so grumpy and hurting so bad and so depressed about the state of our finances that it is difficult to even be in his company let alone be compassionate etc.
Pray that the Lord will fix this. I can't. I can only  leave it at the cross and ask that you, dear readers, will do the same.
To top it all off, I have a bad cold with fever and chills. What's a gal to do on days like this?

New year

It is now 2010. A new year has begun. It is difficult to comprehend that I am now 56 years old and still here! LOL! Seems so old...
Resolutions:  To be kinder, to give out smiles like candy, to give more compliments than complaints, to paint more, to encourage a more peaceful home life.  Some are going to be more difficult than others but I really think they are all doable and worthy. 
I plan to get my bedroom organized and decorated.  I am currently living without flooring. My chihuahuas refuse to be housebroken and I need to save up enough money to put down laminate or linoleum or something other than carpet. In the meantime, I had to pull up all the carpet because,quite frankly it was ruined and stank.
I have three chihuahua puppies ready to go to their new homes next week so the ad is ready to go up on www.zannibals.com and the procedes will go to putting in a bathroom for Dave in the loft. He wants to move there in order to have a retreat and privacy and get away from the constant noise of a busy household.  He is so grumpy lately that I have to agree that he needs a quieter environment. Result: He gets a bathroom and moves to the loft before I get flooring. 
No problem with that though. I care about his comfort and doing it supports my first resolution.
That is all for today, my dear readers. Hope your New Year is the best ever!