Mary Louise Eklund

Tag: growing up

Wistful Remembering of A Childhood Promise

I laughed at this video. I smiled when Curiosity landed and Mission Control celebrated but it was bittersweet for me, accompanied with a sigh of regret. You see when I was a child I felt I was promised manned space travel. Ya know boldly going to other places, not just going out to the back yard to float around for a bit.

I adore Bobak Ferdowsi but he can’t remember watching men repeatedly land on the moon. He’s only 32. I watched his mission team celebrate and thought most of them didn’t see that first hand. Men going to some thing in space is either history and science fiction for them.

I get it. I know it’s better to do it this way. More cost effective to scope it out with robots and all. Yet, I was raised on Capt. Kirk and watching moon landings. Honestly you can’t tell me if we’d pushed as hard to go to another planet as we did to beat the Russians to the moon that we wouldn’t have been there by now. I mean we already had our natural satellite under our belt in just a few years. I honestly thought we’d be launching to go to other planet’s moons from our own by now.

As a kid I bought those dreams that National Geographic published of lush paintings showing what space colonies would look like. Something happened on the way to that place, just like it did for Allentown. We never quite got there. Instead we grew up, we became practical, and put our money in more earthly pursuits. I won’t even debate what ones were worthy of it and what ones weren’t. We did it, it’s done. I know that’s how life goes. You turn right to pay the mortgage when you could have turned left following the dream while living in a tent by the side of the road. I don’t fault NASA for it. Heck I don’t fault us for it. We made choices for good, bad, or indifferent.

Spacewalking Astronaut John Grunsfeld from NASA Goddard Photo and Video’s stream. Used under license granted by Creative Commons 2.0 Attribution license

It’s just that when I watched those who never crowded three classes into a classroom, dropped the blackout blinds, and watched a the only large black and white TV in that end of the school pick up a snowy picture of people walking on rocks that were NOT ON THIS EARTH… celebrate seeing their remote car do it I felt cheated. Cheated by growing up, cheated by being an adult, cheated of going off this planet to another, cheated of a childhood promise. It was just a wistful sigh for what the 7 year old me thought space travel would be when I was closing in on half a century on this planet.

I watched the younger Mission Control celebrate thinking they can’t even imagine just imagine how hard my 7 year old heart beat with excitement to see a HUMAN do it. They don’t know. They can’t get it. They never believed that promise of “this is just the start – in your life time we’ll…” never set foot off this planet again. No, that was not what they were telling me, but I wish they had. Because then, maybe then I could feel the same thrill Bobak felt.

I’ll have to settle for the enjoyment of watching them celebrate wildly. Don’t get me wrong I read every article I see on what Curiosity is doing. I love the images and jokes made from them. I’ll still breathlessly follow Space X and NASA hoping that maybe I’ll see another human, this one now as much younger than me as the astronauts I watched were older than me, go somewhere in space. I firmly believe we can to do it. We can solve those problems of deep space travel. I know we can because I have a Dick Tracy tv-phone crossed with Star Trek tricorder in my purse right now. I still believe the promises, I just don’t think I’ll live to see them fulfilled. So now I’m hoping for a holodeck here on earth.

August 17, 2012
My Unkie

Herbert Denton Rolen & Mary Louise Bright

I grew up with men that had odd nicknames—Trub, Hoot, Tip, Unkie. Being a child I never really thought of how those nicknames came to be. They just where. I took name to be what you told me it was. So my grandfather’s baby brother was Unkie. I never thought it was shorthand for uncle, nor did I think he was really my mom’s uncle. He was and always will be my Unkie.

Herbert Denton Rolen was the last of my maternal grandfather’s siblings. He died two weeks ago at the age of 93. The whole family feels the loss of that generation. I can’t say his passing was sad, it was a release for him. It was sad for us because we won’t have his grin that rumbling chuckle, or those strong gentle eyes watch another generation of kids grow up here with us. The sadness is selfish, for us. Still one of the good ones is gone from this life and I’ll miss him.

However, when I remember him I’ll always smile. My first image of him is in olive green work clothes – shirt and pants matching, sitting silently in the corner as I entered Granny Rolen’s house. He’d grin at me not in the condescending ways adults can smile at children but more in the conspiratorial way kids beam at each other when they know they could get into fun the adults might not wholly approve of them doing. Oh nothing harmful just stuff that could get good clothes dirty or make us late for dinner.

Granny, really my great grandmother, had grape and scuppernong vines. She was protective of them. I now know it was probably because growing such things in the climate of East Tennessee isn’t easy. As a kid I didn’t know why. But I knew I loved the fruit. If there were some ripe she’d go out with me to pick them. I wasn’t allowed to pick without her because she wanted to be sure to get just the ripe ones. One visit I waited for her to come out. The golden green globes looked so good I couldn’t resist. I picked one and popped it into my mouth. OH! It was bitter. Unkie came grinning from garden.

“That one wasn’t ripe. They are bitter until they turn gold.” He laughed as he watched my face and my hurry to spit the fruit from my mouth. “That’s why she wants you to wait.”

I suddenly felt guilty. “I’m sorry.” I was also worried I’d just gotten myself in trouble with three generations, Granny, Nanny, and Mom. I must have looked worried.

“Don’t worry I won’t tell.” He grinned and patted me picking some gold ones from higher up where they got full sun.

He and I were buddies then. Just like I was his brother’s, my grandfather’s, little buddy I was Unkie’s too. That day he became my Unkie because he didn’t tell on me. He understood what it was like to be a kid. He took time from working the farm to play with me. To catch tadpoles with legs, to chase grasshoppers in the field, to swing in the shade while eating ice cream we’d churned with Granny.

I knew he was in the Merchant Marines that’s why he wasn’t there all the time. You’d never think the man in dirty farm overalls, with the shy smile, and East Tennessee twang in his voice had traveled the world. He was good ole’ down home folk. However, he’d been to every continent except Antarctica. He’d sailed through the dangerous seas of World War II. He’d been in Vietnam during the fighting and even visited a nephew serving in the US Army there. He’d seen the world but loved the valley that held his family farm. He’d come back every summer to cultivate that land, to play with kids that showed up, to fool strangers into thinking he’d never left those East Tennessee hills.

One story he told was when he was a young man his mother sent him to town to get a new broom. At the time the transportation available was their old mule. Herbert was a large fella so his legs hung awkwardly off the mule as he rode to town for the broom. He got the broom and was riding home holding the broom to the side and plodding away on the hair too small for him mule. That was when he spotted his sister Sammie Sue with her new beau. She turned red and ignored her baby but not little brother distracting the beau. Well, being one who couldn’t resist a good laugh Herbert shouted “Howdy” to his sister waving the broom. He made making sure that not only the beau saw him, but everyone else on the street did too. As he’d tell the story his smirk would spread, his eyes sparkle, and he’d end the telling with a good laugh.

He was one who loved to laugh. The laugh was a warm and welcoming one rolling up from his belly, erupting as a chuckle, then breaking into a full laugh would roll out making all who heard it join him. The big man never seemed threatening but always seemed loving, cuddly, and safe. The kind of protector a child and a country deserved. The kind of man who was pleased to oblige both.

The last conversation I had with him was one of equals just like the day I’d eaten the sour grape. Except this time we talked of warfare, Navy, ships and service. He as a man who’d retired from it, me as a wife of one doing it. He’d showed me a picture of his ship. Then he turned it over and showed me the billets of his service, various ports of call, missions we’d call them in US Navy. He told of life aboard the ship, port calls, and fear during war. My son was there to hear it from one who had lived history. Unkie was tired when we said good-bye but it was a good kind of tired. I knew because that grin that had welcomed me all my life was still there on his lips.

Last week I drove to Tennessee to attend his funeral. We all mourned our loss. Then over a fellowship dinner graciously given to the family by his church we began to laugh and grin remembering him. He brought us together as a family with smiles, memories happy times we’d all shared with him. I am proud to say that good man, Herbert Rolen, was my Unkie.

March 3, 2011
The Characters I’ve been

I have found how to live more than one life in this life. Really. I’ve had many lives since I was born, even carrying into adulthood. I’ll admit I enjoyed some more than others. None do I want to do again. That’s going backwards and as I like to say “Been there, done that, got (or didn’t want) a tee-shirt.” Things that weren’t fun aren’t worth getting a tee-shirt to remember.

I guess my first change in life was when I was in pre-school. My parents moved from Chattanooga, Tennessee where I was born to Fort Lauderdale, Florida. I LOVED it. We lived in an apartment building which I thought it was constant vacation living like a hotel. We had a winking burger sign out our kitchen window that lit up not only did he wink at night but he waved too! Dad had a yellow car that belonged to his company it was neat looking but I didn’t get to ride in it. We lived near where Flipper was filmed. The beach was grand and there was lots of sun. Once we found a police phone receiver in a parking lot. We went trick or treating without leaving the apartment building. I mean really how can you beat living in a place like that? On a visit back to Granny’s (my paternal grandmother) I informed her “I am a FLORIDA girl now.” Yes I remember saying it and holding out my brown dress with big yellow sunflowers print to prove the veracity of my statement. Little did I know I was on the odyssey of my second life in this one.

Apparently a winking waving burger sign out the kitchen window at night wasn’t what Mom and Dad were looking for in a place to raise a their daughter. We didn’t live there long before we moved back to Tennessee. I didn’t know it but Florida would be home at least two more of my lives later down the road.

I was a city kid that moved to the country. Then I was the country kid that went to the big college. I was a photographer in there for a bit. Then I was and still am a military wife. I worked for a nonprofit organizations as an office manager. Then I was an administrative assistant for one of the first in-house HMOs in upstate New York. Then I was a fine jewelry salesperson. Then I was a submariner officer’s wife who was looking for work. Then I was an insurance agent, followed by marketing researcher, followed by Health Club manager, followed by: a Weight Watcher’s lecturer, grad student, receptionist, office manager, real estate agent, temp worker, administrative assistant, Mary Kay Salesperson, Regulatory Compliance Specialist for management of hazardous and radioactive waste, stay at home mom, and now a

Those were just the job lives so far. We all go through changes and honestly if the order was shifted a bit I’d be a different person today. Each experience dovetailed into the previous and the next one to weave me. I look back at myself at any of those stages and the me of today would have handled them differently. That’s why they seem more like different lives than chapters of a life.

I always remember when writing that characters that are well done grow over chapters and aren’t the same person at the end of the tale as they were in the beginning or middle. That’s what makes a good story. I like to think the same thing applies to life. At the end of each chapter I’m not the same. That means I’m living a good life. I’m a great character because I change over the arc of my life story. Okay I’m not a literary character in that my growth isn’t mostly internal like say my ancestor that lived in the same house all her life. I’ve changed physically and moved to various settings. So I’m a dynamic character formed not just by internal dialogue (though I do talk to myself ALL the time so much so that sometimes I wish I’d shut up in my head) but by external challenges too.

In the end the thing that makes life interesting for me is trying new things. I guess some would say I’m a jack of all trades master of none. Maybe I am but at least I’m entertained by my life. I’ve always got an interesting story to tell from all of it be it mine or a person I met along the way. I guess that’s why I ended up a writer for now at least.

January 6, 2011
The Things I Don’t Miss About Christmas

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 5^th and 6^th 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 5^th 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.

December 25, 2010