Mary Louise Eklund

Tag: clothes

  • When Boys Were Supposed to Wear Dresses

    When Boys Were Supposed to Wear Dresses

    Both children are frowning wearing dresses while Hollis clutches a whip
    Sammie Sue Rolen on the right and John Hollis Rolen on the left

    In the above picture is my maternal grandfather John Hollis Rolen. He always went by Hollis. On the left in the picture is his oldest sister Sammie Sue, she went by Sammie Sue all her life.

    This picture has a few stories behind it. First one that comes to mind was when Aaron my son saw it as a little boy. I explained who the people were, that the little boy on the right grew up to be father to his Granny. He looked confused and asked “Didn’t they know he was a boy?” LOL!

    The answer is yes they knew he was a boy but little boys wore dresses until about 5 or 6 then they moved to knee britches. Then when they got to be 12 or so they moved up to long trousers. Was the custom then to which my son replied “I’m sure glad they don’t do that now. People would laugh at ME in a dress.”

    I remember Papaw, that’s what I called Hollis, telling me about transferring to knee britches. He father was home and they celebrated by going to the barn and putting one of the dresses on a stick and lighting it on fire. The marched about singing while Lavator, Hollis’s father, waved the burning dress. When they got back into the house Ollie Belle, Hollis’s mother, was irate that they burned a perfectly good dress!

    Another story Papaw told was he had a pair of yellow knee britches as one of his first pairs. Early on during the privileged time where he had a boy’s haircut and just moved into knee britches he was playing by the mailbox. The mailman came up on horseback and addressed Papaw as “fine sir.” Which Papaw replied, “It’s me Hollis bet ye didn’t recognize me in my little yaller britches.”

    So now back to the story that explains the sour faces in the photo. Ollie Belle, Granny Rolen to me and my mom, said she tried to get them both looking their best for the picture. However, Papaw was mad that they wanted to take away his new whip. Sammie Sue was mad at him for ruining her pretty pictures. Best Ollie Belle could do was get a picture of two pouting children dressed in the best clothes. Oh well what’s a mom to do?

    I have to say that pouting boy face carried forward in family genes. It looks just like Aaron did at that age when he pouted. Except we didn’t dress him in dresses. Much to his relief and mine, I’d hate to maintain all that finery in hand washing and ironing.

    As always I’d love to hear from ya. You can comment here or reach out to me on Flickr, Twitter, or Google+. Email is always welcome send ’em to marylouiseeklund at either yahoo.com or gmail.com.

    Until next time keep your skirts down and a tight hold on that whip!

  • The Things I Don’t Miss About Christmas

    The Things I Don’t Miss About Christmas

    HO HO HO

    Many people paint a rosy picture of their childhood Christmases.  In hopes of being a bit more practical I will admit there are many things I don’t miss about my childhood Christmases.  Not that they weren’t great Christmases but there are some things I’m thankful I DON’T have to do any more.

    I don’t miss getting dressed up to sit around the house.  Yes, my Nanny (what I called my maternal grandmother)  required everyone to look like a Norman Rockwell painting but better dressed.  Didn’t work, I was uncomfortable in a dress or skirt and knee socks trying to play with my new toy.  Give me jeans any day and I’m a happy camper, better yet sweats to just wear about the house enjoying myself.

    I don’t miss having to make my bed and display my gifts.  Well I didn’t HAVE to but my Nanny liked it. It did make writing thank-you notes much easier. Besides it’s easier to play with Barbies on a bed when you are in a skirt than in the floor.

    I don’t miss the good china.  Yeah it’s nice and I carried that stupidity to a new level when I was a young married woman by having specific Christmas dishes (well we used them all winter because they were winter themed).  No really the meal tastes just as good on every day dishes and is much less stressful to do.

    I don’t miss all the stupid school stuff.  When I was in 5th and  6th grade our class went about singing to different places and putting on some odd variety show.  We wore orange-yellow shirts with our names on them in fuzzy purple letters (our school colors were purple and gold but gold was expensive so orange-yellow stood in).  I’d “blossomed” to a C cup by the 5th grade and they had to shorten my name to fit on the shirt.  It looked like one of the girls is named Mary and the other Lou. I don’t miss that.

    I don’t miss the oyster stuffing.  I like oysters steamed or smoked.  I don’t like them in stuffing.  Enough said.

    I don’t miss the cut up stuff in the gravy.  Why my grandmother insisted on chopped  boiled egg and chopped turkey giblets put in the gravy is beyond me.  I like my gravy plain like my coffee.  They’re both beverages right?

    Really, this time of the year many people wax nostalgic about their childhood Christmas.  However being the cynic with a good heart I don’t want to gloss over the stuff I didn’t like (besides Mary and Lou are still hanging around,  albeit a bit lower now). 

    Yes, there are things about my childhood Christmases I miss.  They can all be summed up by one miss—I miss the anticipation.  I miss the build up to Christmas.  The excitement was so much I felt was going to burst and squirmed with delight at that feeling. It built so much until on Christmas Eve night I couldn’t fall asleep and my parents would take me on car rides to get me to go to sleep .  I’d be in my pajamas with a blanket watching the dark sky and Christmas lights go by until I fell asleep. 

    No for me it’s gone.  I get glimmers here and there of the thrill.  The closest sustained anxious feeling like that is when I race from the car to the bathroom in Target wondering if I’ll make it in time. (Hey there’s anticipation and squirming involved with great joyous relief when I get there).  No the anticipation isn’t the same. 

    Still looking on the bright side, I get to wear sweats, not wear the girls names about in public, enjoy a plain gravy while eating off my every day dishes, and skip making my bed that day.  All in all life’s pretty good.